h; but they did not understand much about the value of these
treasures; toys or sweeties would have been more to their taste.

At last they reached a long, narrow hall where thousands of little men,
with leather aprons on, sat busy at work. Each was employed in adorning
and completing some work of art: costly goblets, beautiful chain rings,
and necklaces were there, such as were never seen in the finest shops of
Paris, Berlin or London.

The "joy of the making" was written on every countenance; for the artist
is always happy when at work.

One dwarf was illuminating a book, and a beautiful design of grasses and
butterflies grew up under his clever fingers.

"Take the book," said King Reinhold to Hugo. "It is only a tiny chapter
from the great book of Nature that has neither beginning nor end. But if
you study it carefully and earnestly, it will always bring you hope and
happiness, whatever your learned men may say to the contrary. Hold the
pages to the light, and you will see that they are transparent."

As Hugo did so with the deepest interest, behold! the pictures became
alive; the butterflies changed into fairies and laughed, and nodded at
him in a friendly way.

"Look _through_ the book of Nature till you find the soul of things,"
said King Reinhold.

Although this sounded very deep and mysterious, Hugo seemed to
understand. Do you, I wonder, little children, who read this story? Or
are you like the boy in the kindergarten to whom I was telling a fairy
story and who interrupted me contemptuously with the remark: "Fairies
don't exist!"

"O don't they my little man!" said I. "Well _you_ think so."

Presently we read of a ball that grew, and he spoke again with great
energy: "Balls don't grow."

"Oh, Oh!" said I, "Have you ever seen a little green apple." Then I
tried to show him what wonderful things are always happening in this
world of ours, if only we have eyes to see them. I do not think I
convinced him; for he was very pig-headed and had a great opinion of
himself; and such people big or little are very difficult to argue with.

To Elsa, Reinhold gave a handful of exquisite roses. "In fairyland roses
mean love and happiness," he said. "Little girls should be happy all the
day long, and not wet the world with their tears. There are tears enough
already"--he said ponderingly--"tears in the centre of the earth."

Opening out of the hall on either side were huge furnaces. Here the
Kobolds were busy smel