window, he saw the rocks of the mountain tops, all crimson and purple
with the sunset; and there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning
and quivering about them; and the river, brighter than all, fell, in a
waving column of pure gold, from precipice to precipice, with the
double arch of a broad purple rainbow stretched across it, flushing and
fading alternately in the wreaths of spray.

"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little while,
"if that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be."

"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear, metallic voice close at his ear.

"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody
there. He looked round the room and under the table and a great many
times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down
again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help
thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were
really all gold.

"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.

"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what is that?" He looked again into all
the corners and cupboards, and then began turning round and round as
fast as he could, in the middle of the room, thinking there was
somebody behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It
was singing now, very merrily, "Lala-lira-la"--no words, only a soft,
running, effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the
boil. Gluck looked out of the window; no, it was certainly in the
house. Upstairs and downstairs; no, it was certainly in that very
room, coming in quicker time and clearer notes every moment:
"Lala-lira-la." All at once it struck Gluck that it sounded louder
near the furnace. He ran to the opening and looked in. Yes, he saw
right; it seemed to be coming not only out of the furnace but out of
the pot. He uncovered it, and ran back in a great fright, for the pot
was certainly singing! He stood in the farthest corner of the room,
with his hands up and his mouth open, for a minute or two, when the
singing stopped and the voice became clear and pronunciative.

"Hollo!" said the voice.

Gluck made no answer.

"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.

Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,
drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted and
its surface as smooth and polished as a river, but instead of
reflecting little Gluck's head