are a clever and practical man, but about poetry you understand as much as that old tub over there!'
And that sounded rude as far as the tub was concerned, but the grocer laughed, and so did the student. It was only said in fun.
But the Goblin was angry that anyone should dare to say such a thing to a grocer who owned the house and sold the best butter.
When it was night and the shop was shut, and everyone was in bed except the student, the Goblin went upstairs and took the grocer's wife's tongue. She did not use it when she was asleep, and on whatever object in the room he put it that thing began to speak, and spoke out its thoughts and feelings just as well as the lady to whom it belonged. But only one thing at a time could use it, and that was a good thing, or they would all have spoken together.
The Goblin laid the tongue on the tub in which were the old newspapers.
'Is it true,' he asked, 'that you know nothing about poetry?'
'Certainly not!' answered the tub. 'Poetry is something that is in the papers and that is frequently cut out. I have a great deal more in me than the student has, and yet I am only a small tub in the grocer's shop.'
And the Goblin put the tongue on the coffee-mill, and how it began to grind! He put it on the butter-cask, and on the till, and all were of the same opinion as the waste-paper tub, and one must believe the majority.
'Now I will tell the student!' and with these words he crept softly up the stairs to the attic where the student lived.
There was a light burning, and the Goblin peeped through the key-hole and saw that he was reading the torn book that he had bought in the shop.
But how bright it was! Out of the book shot a streak of light which grew into a large tree and spread its
