It was towards the hour of vespers that he saw, coming along the road, a stout active pedestrian, bearing on his shoulders a heavy pack, the sound from which, at every step, indicated that it was filled with glass-ware. The Gnome, on catching sight of him, laughed in his sleeve, and prepared for a master-stroke. Stephen, puffing and blowing, had nearly reached the top of the mountain; but one more rising ground passed and he would begin the descent, at the bottom of which was his home. He increased his speed as well as he could, but the ascent was steep and his burden heavy. More than once was he fain to stop and rest awhile, propping up his load meantime with his knotty stick, to ease its weight, and wiping off the perspiration, which ran in big drops from his forehead. Collecting all his strength, he at length reached the summit of the mountain, along which a smooth straight path led to the descent. Midway on this lay a great fir-tree, beside the stump whence the saw had severed it, and the top of which, left about half-breast high, was as round and smooth as a table, while all around it grew flowering grasses and odoriferous herbs. The whole aspect of the place was so excessively alluring to the way-worn, heavily laden traveller, it seemed so peculiarly adapted for a resting-place, that, depositing his pack on the stump’s broad surface, he lay down in the soft grass.
Here, stretched out at his ease, he began to esti-
