of the gentle rush
of the middle current there seemed to come to him a marvellous mist of
drifting sound--ineffably, rapturously sweet!

With a light movement Nils runs his bow over the strings, but not a
ghost, not a semblance, can he reproduce of the swift, scurrying flight
of that wondrous melody. Again and again he listens breathlessly, and
again and again despair overwhelms him.

Should he, then, never see the Nixy, and ask the fulfilment of his three
wishes?

Curiously enough, those three wishes which once were so great a part
of his life had now almost escaped him. It was the Nixy's strain he had
been intent upon, and the wishes had lapsed into oblivion.

And what were they, really, those three wishes, for the sake of which he
desired to confront the Nixy?

Well, the first--the first was--what was it, now? Yes, now at length he
remembered. The first was wisdom.

Well, the people called him Wise Nils now, so, perhaps, that wish was
superfluous. Very likely he had as much wisdom as was good for him. At
all events, he had refused to acquire more by going abroad to acquaint
himself with the affairs of the great world.

Then the second wish; yes, he could recall that. It was fame. It was odd
indeed; that, too, he had refused, and what he possessed of it was as
much, or even far more, than he desired. But when he called to mind the
third and last of his boyish wishes, a moderate prosperity or a good
violin--for that was the alternative--he had to laugh outright, for both
the violin and the prosperity were already his.

Nils lapsed into deep thought, as he sat there in the summer night, with
the crowns of the trees above him and the brawling rapids swirling about
him.

Had not the Nixy bestowed upon him her best gift already in permitting
him to hear that exquisite ghost of a melody, that shadowy, impalpable
strain, which had haunted him these many years? In pursuing that he had
gained the goal of his desires, till other things he had wished for had
come to him unawares, as it were, and almost without his knowing it. And
now what had he to ask of the Nixy, who had blessed him so abundantly?

The last secret, the wondrous strain, forsooth, that he might imprison
it in notes, and din it in the ears of an unappreciative multitude!
Perhaps it were better, after all, to persevere forever in the quest,
for what would life have left to offer him if the Nixy's strain was
finally caught, when all were finally attaine