at him in shy admiration. Never had he
remarked before what taking ways were hers, or noticed how bonnie and
bright the lassie was, and how graceful and supple she looked as she
stood in the doorway. And ever since the tradesman's daughter had looked
so strangely at him, he had no thought for any one but her. He was
always thinking what a way she had of holding her head, and how slim she
looked when she walked about, and what quick and lively blue eyes she
had, just like merry twinkling stars.

He would lay awake o' nights, and reflect upon his grievous abominable
sin in lowering himself to the level of an uncanny monster, and right
glad was he that he had cast the ring away.

But on Christmas Eve, when the shop was shut and the house folks and
servants were making ready for the festival in kitchen and parlour, the
shopkeeper took him aside into his counting-house. If he liked his
daughter, said he, there was no impediment that he could see. Let him
take heart and woo her, for it hadn't escaped him how she was moping
about all love-sick on his account. He himself, said the shopkeeper, was
old, and would like to retire from business.

The good-looking shopman did not wait to be asked twice. He wooed
straightway, and, before the Christmas cheer was on the table, he got
yes for an answer.

Then years and years passed over them, and they thrived and prospered in
house and home.

They had pretty and clever children. He rejoiced in his wife; nothing
was good enough for her, and honour and ease were her portion, both at
home and abroad.

But in the seventh year, when it was drawing towards Yule-tide, such a
strange restlessness came over him. He wandered about all by himself,
and could find peace nowhere.

His wife fretted and sorrowed over it. She knew not what it could be,
and it seemed to her that he oddly avoided her. He would wander for
hours together about the dark packhouse loft, among coffers and casks
and barrels and sacks, and it was as though he didn't like folks to come
thither when he was there.

Now it chanced on the day before Little Christmas Eve[1] that one of the
workpeople had to fetch something from the loft.

There stood the master, deep in thought, by one of the meal sacks,
staring down on the ground before him.

"Don't you see the iron ring down in the floor there?" he asked.

But the man saw no ring.

"I see it there--the earth draws," he sighed heavily.

On Little Christmas Eve he was