nowhere to be found, nor on the day
after, though they searched for him high and low, and made inquiries
about him everywhere amidst the Yule-tide bustle and merriment.

But late on Christmas Eve, while they were all running about in the
utmost anxiety, not knowing whether they should lay the table or not,
all at once in he came through the door.

He longed so much for both meat and drink, he said, and he was so happy
and merry and jovial the whole evening through, that they all clean
forgot the fright they had been in.

For a whole year afterwards he was chatty and sociable as before, and he
made so much of his wife that it was quite absurd. He bore her in his
hands, so to speak, and absolutely could not do enough for her.

But when it drew towards Yule-tide again, and the darkest time of the
year, the same sort of restlessness came over him. It was as though they
only saw his shadow amongst them, and he went moping about the packhouse
loft again, and lingering there.

On Little Christmas Eve the same thing happened as before--he
disappeared.

His wife and the people of the house went about in a terrible way, and
were filled with astonishment and alarm.

And on Christmas Eve he suddenly stepped into the room again, and was
merry and jovial, as he generally was. But when the lights had burnt
out, and they all had gone to bed, his wife could hold her tongue no
longer: she burst into tears, and begged him to tell her where he had
been.

Then he thrust her roughly from him, and his eyes shot sparks, as if he
were downright crazy. He implored her, for their mutual happiness' sake,
never to ask him such a question again.

Time went on, and the same thing happened every year.

When the days grew dark, he moped about by himself, all gloomy and
silent, and seemed bent upon hiding himself away from people; and on
Little Christmas Eve he always disappeared, though nobody ever saw him
go. And punctually on Christmas Eve, at the very moment when they were
about to lay the table, he all at once came in at the door, happy and
contented with them all.

But just before every autumn, towards the dark days, always earlier than
the year before, this restlessness came over him, and he moped about
with it, moodier, and shyer of people than ever.

His wife never questioned him; but a load of sorrow lay upon her, and it
seemed to her to grow heavier and more crushing, since she seemed no
longer able to take care of him, and he