‘“I am from England,” I said rather hotly, “from London, a small place you may have heard of.”
‘He nodded, “Oh yes, I know. You have not come all that way alone; surely a lady by herself....”
‘“Oh yes I have,” I said, “and I have a good mind to go up among those hills by myself too; perhaps some one up there might tell me what they are called.”
‘“Look here,” he said, “if you really mean to go, let me lend you my map. I have got such a splendid one. And I shan’t be using it for months, as there is no one to mind the shop for me.”
‘He brought it out of a drawer and unfolded it, while I stared in my turn.
‘“You see,” he said, “that is the highest point; now be sure you don’t miss seeing that. You see Forsthaus Diana marked; well there is the inn, that spot close to it. That is where all those wonderful stories were told.”
‘“What stories?” I said; “nothing about the Little Glass Man, I suppose?”
‘He went to the back of the shop and fumbled about.
‘“Yes, of course, about the Little Glass Man, and about the Golden Florin,” he said; “even if you live in an out-of-the-way place like London, you must have heard of them. Here is the book; stories by Hauff. Dear me, to think that my father met the man more than once who stored up all these treasures! You can take the book as well as the map, if you like; if you are not coming back this way you can send them by any one who is.”