ng very remarkable about those whom I have seen and talked to.
Most men live only to injure and plague each other. Everybody complains
more or less of others. Nobody regards his own faults and failings, but
lays the blame on others for what he has done himself."

Hans tried his best to dispute the truth of these words, but his
friendly host made the waiters fill his glass so heedfully that his
tongue became too heavy at last to utter another word, and he was
equally unable to understand what his host said. Presently he fell
asleep in his chair, and knew nothing more of what happened.

While he slept, he had wonderfully vivid dreams, in which the gold bars
constantly floated before him. As he felt much stronger in his dreams,
he took a few gold bars on his back, and easily carried them away. But
at last his strength failed under the heavy burden, and he was obliged
to sit down and take breath. Then he heard loud voices, which he took to
be the singing of the little smiths, and the bright fire from their
forges shone in his eyes. When he looked up, blinking, he saw the green
wood around him. He was lying on the flowery herbage, and it was not the
forge fires, but the sun-rays which shone cheerfully on his face. He
shook off his drowsiness, but it was some time before he could fully
recall what had happened to him.

At last, when he had fully recovered his recollection, everything seemed
so strange and wonderful to him that he could not reconcile it with the
ordinary course of events. Hans reflected how he had wandered from the
path during a stormy winter night between Christmas and New Year, and
what had happened to him afterwards came back to his recollection. He
had slept by a fire with a stranger, and next day the stranger, who
carried a fir staff, had received him as his guest. He had dined with
him and had drunk a good deal; in short, he had spent a few days in
jollity and carousal. But now it was the height of summer all around
him; there must be magic in it all. When he stood up, he found that he
was close by the ashes of an extinguished fire, which shone wonderfully
in the sun. But when he examined the place more carefully, he saw that
the supposed heap of ashes was fine silver dust, and the remaining
sticks were bright gold. Oh, what luck! where could he find a bag in
which to carry the treasure home? Necessity is the mother of invention.
Hans pulled off his winter fur coat, swept the silver ashes together, so