"'Have you settled?' enquired the Dwarf. 'Don't keep me, Mike; there are plenty of fellows who'll jump to get the ducats.' "'Ducats! ducats!' continued Simon, still arguing with himself.--'What's a dead head in a scale with ducats? Nothing at all!--precious ducats! How many I have lost! one for a step, two for a hop. I had better close the bargain!' "'You won't have them, then!' exclaimed the Dwarf. "'Yes! Done--agreed!' cried Simon eagerly. 'I'll consent, dear Klaus!' "'Very well!' replied the Dwarf. 'We'll to business, then!' "'You recollect the terms, dear gossip! One for a step, two for a hop; and you are to have my head as soon as I die, and have no further use for it. Now, play a very slow waltz, there's a good Klaus--very slow, if you love me! Don't fiddle too long, and let the ducats come down prettily!' "The Dwarf made no reply; but simply laughed like a growling bear. He cocked his fiddle under his chin, however, as quick as lightning; scraped a little by way of timing, and then broke out. Klaus Stringstriker had fiddled for a very few minutes before Simon was springing about, and cutting such capers as no professional performer had ever attempted, whilst the beams and rafters of the house quivered again. The impoverished farmer held in his hands about twenty large empty money-bags, which he grasped very tightly. It was quite wonderful to see how at every caper, at every kick of the foot, there fell at least two dozen real and true Kremnitz ducats, right down from his head straight into the pockets. Down they came faster and faster, so thick that before the dance was half over, the bags were all chokeful, and the dancer himself hardly able to bear the weight of all his treasure. But, mad with joy at the unexpected rushing back of all his wealth, he burst into the wildest laughter, flung himself about like a lunatic, and devoured with greedy gluttonous eyes the clinking, twinkling gold, that in starry showers discharged itself around him. "At the end of a short quarter of an hour, the bags were bursting in Simon's hands. The Dwarf wriggled with delight, and played on--on--on; and the old farmer, intoxicated and insane, jumped till his hoary and fated skull struck against the ceiling. Now his joints cracked under the weight of gold that he bore; but he could not put it from him, for the bags stuck to his hands, as though they had grown to them. His strength decayed; his thoughts languished. He tried to speak; but he could not stammer out a word. "'Gos-en-o, Kl-kl-oh-oh-oh'--