“Pride will have a fall,” answered the little man of the pine wood, rather more kindly. “What a singular race you are, you men! It is but rarely that one is contented with the condition in which he was born and bred, and I would lay a wager that if you were a glass-manufacturer, you would wish to be a timber-merchant, and if you were a timber-merchant you would take a fancy to the ranger’s place, or the residence of the bailiff. But no matter for that; if you promise to work hard, I will get you something better to do. It is my practice to grant three wishes to those born on a Sunday, who know how to find me out. The first two are quite free from any condition, the third I may refuse, should it be a foolish one. Now, therefore, Peter, say your wishes; but mind you wish something good and useful.” “Hurrah!” shouted Peter; “you are a capital glass-mannikin, and justly do people call you the treasure-keeper, for treasures seem to be plentiful with you. Well then, since I may wish what my heart desires, my first wish is that I may be able to dance better than the king of the ball-room, and to have always as much money in my pocket as fat Hezekiel.” “You fool!” replied the little man, angrily, “what a paltry wish is this, to be able to dance well and to have money for gambling. Are you not ashamed of this silly wish, you blockish Peter? Would you cheat yourself out of good fortune? What good will you and your poor mother reap from your dancing well? What use will money be to you, which according to your wish is only for the public-house, thereto be spent like that of the wretched king of the ball-room? And then you will have nothing for the whole week and starve. Another wish is now left free to you; but have a care to desire something more rational.” Peter scratched himself behind his ears, and said, after some hesitation, “Now I wish the finest and richest glass-factory in the Schwarzwald, with every thing appertaining to it, and money to carry it on.” “Is that all?” asked the little man, with a look of anxiety; “is there nothing else, Peter?” “Why you might add a horse and chaise.” “Oh, you stupid Peter!” cried the little man, while he flung his glass pipe against a thick pine so that it broke in a hundred pieces. “Horses? a carriage? Sense, I tell you, sense--common sense and judgment you ought to have wished, but not a horse and chaise. Come, come, don’t be so sad, we will do all we can to make it turn out for the best, even as it is, for the second wish is on the whole not altogether foolish. A good glass-factory will support its man; but you ought to have wished judgment and sense in addition; a horse and chaise would come as a matter of course.” “But, Mr. Schatzhauser,” replied Peter, “I have another wish left, and might very well wish sense, if I am so much in need of it, as you seem to think.”