It is very discouraging to do other men's work, especially when you are not allowed to see the results of your labor; and I had worked some months without a single hint of what I was about. I began to believe I had made a mistake. What good would it do me to work away in the dark, learning little or nothing, and without hope of doing better? My uncle would tell me nothing, and was provoked by being even questioned. I became very much discouraged over my prospects, and wondered whether I ought not to confess I had made a mistake, and to begin the study of some regular profession. How long I sat thinking, I can not tell; but I was aroused by the faint flicker of my fire as it went out, leaving me in perfect darkness. As I groped about my room, looking for matches, I heard a rustling which seemed to come from the other side of the room. Then came tiny knockings, irregularly, and muffled shouting, as though far away. By listening more intently I heard the sounds plainly enough to distinguish the squeaking of mice and--could I be mistaken?--a scream; very faint, it is true, but still a scream of fright. "Ah!" said I to myself, "there must be mice in the closet! But what can the scream be?" I went to the closet, and, opening the door, was amazed to see that the upper part was faintly lighted, as though by a big fire-fly. Puzzled at this, I brought a chair, and, climbing upon it, saw--a grand battle. Upon one end of the shelf was a flying host of mice. How they scurried away! Some jumped to the floor; some seemed to merely vanish, and they were gone! While smiling at their panic, what was my surprise to hear from the other end of the shelf some one addressing me in a piping, little voice. "Eh?" I exclaimed; "did any one speak?" "I had the honor!" the voice replied. Turning, I saw upon the shelf a diminutive figure carrying a little lantern in one hand, and something like a needle in the other. Before I could recover from my astonishment, and not before I had been asked sarcastically whether I should know him the next time we met, the little man went on: "This is a pretty way to treat me,--isn't it?" "What in the world--what can this mean?" I blundered out. "Well! I like that," replied the pigmy in a scornful tone; "asking what this can mean, after having kept me shut up in that old leather satchel for over two thousand years!--Why, I should have been starved before long; my provisions were almost gone, I can tell you! Perhaps you think I'm not hungry now? Oh, no! of course not!--and you want to know what this means?" [Illustration: "THE LITTLE MAN HELD HIS LANTERN NEAR MY FACE AND SAID: 'I THINK I MUST HAVE MADE A MISTAKE.'"] Here he burst out laughing so loudly that I plainly heard it.