ure enough,
there lay the poor Dwarf, dead upon the ground. His head was half
immersed in the Dwarf's Well, which, in the dark, he had probably not
observed. But whether or not, Klaus Stringstriker had been upset, and
had stumbled, poor wretch, upon his death!

"It was very natural for Twirling-stick Mike to repent him suddenly of
his wanton cruelty. The scoffing words of the dwarf rang in his ears,
and he felt by no means easy. To make what amends he might to the
deceased, he had him sumptuously buried at his own expense, with funeral
oration, psalms, prayer, and benediction; and what is more, put up a
very pretty monument to his memory, which, in very legible characters,
made known the talents and virtues of the fiddler, and carried them down
to remote posterity. The Dwarf, however, was scarcely in his grave,
before all manner of strange reports were whispered about in the
neighbourhood. In the first place, Twirling-stick Mike's garden was said
to be haunted o' nights. Noises were heard and lights seen on the path
crossing his fields; and you had only to stray into the vicinity of the
Dwarf's Well to be forsaken at once of seeing and hearing. If Simon
enquired more particularly into these worrying rumours, every body
professed to know nothing at all of the matter. One man referred him to
his neighbour, and he to the next; who, in his turn, protested that the
whole was a heap of lies; or said any thing that seemed most likely to
appease the farmer's anxious state of mind. Simon, troubled as he was by
the absurd babbling of the people, was nevertheless unable to suppress
it, or prevent its growth. Indeed there was a small chance of its
diminishing, when, in less than two months, there was not a soul in the
neighbourhood who could not swear that he had been a witness to most
unearthly doings. There was no need of further mystery, of doubtful
head-shaking, and ominous whispers--every one had seen Klaus
Stringstriker near Twirling-stick Mike's house, playing his fiddle in
the clear light of the moon. It was true, none could aver that he had
heard a single note; but it was impossible to mistake his figure, and
that had been seen, time after time, gliding in from the adjoining
field, making the tour of Simon's house, and exhibiting all the
gesticulations of a violin-player. Many affirmed, too, that the fiddler
was followed by a swarm of fluttering lights causing an odd noise, like
nothing so much as the multitudinous clackin