whither go you? wherefore so terrified?" And then first
he saw that he had before him a little old man so wrapped up in a rough
garment of fur, that scarcely one of his features was visible, and
wearing in his cap a strange-looking long feather.

"But whence come YOU and whither go YOU?" returned the angry Sintram.
"For of you such questions should be asked. What have you to do in our
domains, you hideous little being?"

"Well, well," sneered the other one, "I am thinking that I am quite big
enough as I am--one cannot always be a giant. And as to the rest, why
should you find fault that I go here hunting for snails? Surely snails
do not belong to the game which your high mightinesses consider that
you alone have a right to follow! Now, on the other hand, I know how to
prepare from them an excellent high-flavoured drink; and I have taken
enough for to-day: marvellous fat little beasts, with wise faces like
a man's, and long twisted horns on their heads. Would you like to see
them? Look here!"

And then he began to unfasten and fumble about his fur garment; but
Sintram, filled with disgust and horror, said, "Psha! I detest such
animals! Be quiet, and tell me at once who and what you yourself are."

"Are you so bent upon knowing my name?" replied the little man. "Let it
content you that I am master of all secret knowledge, and well versed in
the most intricate depths of ancient history. Ah! my young sir, if you
would only hear them! But you are afraid of me."

"Afraid of you!" cried Sintram, with a wild laugh.

"Many a better man than you has been so before now," muttered the little
Master; "but they did not like being told of it any more than you do."

"To prove that you are mistaken," said Sintram, "I will remain here with
you till the moon stands high in the heavens. But you must tell me one
of your stories the while."

The little man, much pleased, nodded his head; and as they paced
together up and down a retired elm-walk, he began discoursing as
follows:--

"Many hundred years ago a young knight, called Paris of Troy, lived in
that sunny land of the south where are found the sweetest songs, the
brightest flowers, and the most beautiful ladies. You know a song that
tells of that fair land, do you not, young sir? 'Sing heigh, sing ho,
for that land of flowers.'" Sintram bowed his head in assent, and sighed
deeply. "Now," resumed the little Master, "it happened that Paris led
that kind of life which is not unc