ver beaker inscribed with a name
neither they nor the goldsmith, to whom they sold the goblet for a large
sum of money, could read. The district whence this story comes furnishes
us also with an account of a man who, being out late one night, came
upon a fire surrounded by a large circle of women sitting at a table. He
ventured to seat himself among them. Each one had brought something for
the meal; and a man-cook went round them asking each what she had got.
When he came to the hero of the story the latter struck him with his
stick, saying: "I have a blow which our Lord God gave the devil."
Thereupon the whole assembly disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the
kettle which hung over the fire, and which the man took and long
preserved to testify the truth of his story. A Cornish fisherman was
scarcely less lucky without the protection of a pious exclamation. For
one night going home he found a crowd of "little people" on the beach.
They were sitting in a semicircle holding their hats towards one of
their number, who was pitching gold pieces from a heap into them. The
fisherman contrived to introduce his hat among them without being
noticed, and having got a share of the money, made off with it. He was
followed by the piskies, but had a good start, and managed to reach home
and shut the door upon them. Yet so narrow was his escape that he left
the tails of his sea-coat in their hands.[107]

Vengeance, however, is sometimes swift and sure upon these robberies. It
is believed in Germany that the king of the snakes is wont to come out
to sun himself at noon; and that he then lays aside his crown, a prize
for any one who can seize it. A horseman, coming at the opportune
moment, did so once; but the serpent-king called forth his subjects and
pursued him. By the help of his good steed the man succeeded in arriving
at home; and, thankful to have escaped the danger, he patted the beast's
neck as he jumped down, saying: "Faithfully hast thou helped me!" At
that instant a snake, which had hidden herself unnoticed in the horse's
tail, bit the man; and little joy had he of his crime. In another story
the girl who steals the crown is deafened by the cries of her victim;
and elsewhere, when the serpent-king is unable to reach the robber, he
batters his own head to pieces in ineffectual rage. Perhaps he deserved
his fate in some of these cases, for it seems he had a foolish liking to
lay down his crown on a white cloth, or a white, or