Accustomed from his youth upwards to go to work with a full pocket, the thrifty way of life to which he was obliged to conform, was any thing but pleasant to him; but worse than all, and more difficult to support, were the evidences of disrespect which poor Nicholas observed in the conduct of the neighbouring farmers--and which every day became more palpable. Before his poverty was known, as the son of his father, he had been treated with some regard--and if folks did call him _Lying Klaus_, it was more by way of joke than to give him pain. Now, however, the neglect of him was bare-faced; and the meanest of the village learnt to make their ill-natured remarks, and to fling his nickname over meadow and field after him as he went. He was welcome nowhere--deserted and forsaken on every side. Even in his work, he was the most unfortunate of labourers. Ill-luck ever attended it. If he ploughed, either the ploughshare would go to pieces, or the furrows would turn over so often, that he could not stir. If he sowed in the serenest weather, when not a breath of air was moving, a whirlwind would arise as soon as he had begun, carrying the grain to some one distant spot, and rendering it there perfectly useless. Sometimes he would find that he held a handful of mere husks, and then if, in the bitterness of his soul, he began to curse and tear his hair--he would all at once espy in those very husks-- eyes that fleered at him, whilst a horrible laughter echoed from every side. These were Klaus's out o' doors troubles. Those within were still worse. His sound, strong horses perished one after another--till at last he had nothing left in his stables but one old gaunt mare called _Blaessel_. A distemper broke out amongst his horned stock, and before a month passed, destroyed every thing in his stalls, with the exception of an old goat and a gormandizing and insatiable porker. A much more sedate man than Klaus would have been ready to jump out of his skin in the midst of so much disaster. Once more he had recourse to a sale. With a heavy heart he put up his inheritance, and with inexpressible dismay he received the first buyers. Upon their close inspection of house and farm, it soon became too apparent that the whole of the woodwork was thoroughly worm-eaten, and, in the ground-floor, destructive fungus hard at work. Those who came inclined to buy, shook their heads and wished him good-morning: and in less than four-and-twenty hours after their departure, every soul in the parish knew that Lying Klaus was as good as a bankrupt; that his house was already tumbling about his ears; and that he himself would be forced to go from house to house, and practise the art of lattice-tapping.[1] [1] The more ancient village houses have still, for the most part, before the house door, a kind of _lattice_, upon which the beggar taps, by way of announcing himself to the dwellers.