The boy still looked imploringly at her, but did not open his lips. “Well, well,” she said at last, touching his lips with her wand, “I think that is enough in the way of punishment, though I am sorry you broke the bell-punch. Good-by! I don’t believe you will say ‘Oh, dear!’ any more.” And he didn’t. THE TRAVELLER, THE COOK, AND THE LITTLE OLD MAN. ONCE upon a time there was a little old man who lived in a well. He was a very small little old man, and the well was very deep; and the only reason why he lived there was because he could not get out. Indeed, what better reason could he have? He had long white hair, and a long red nose, and a long green coat; and this was all he had in the world, except a three-legged stool, a large iron kettle, and a cook. There was not room in the well for the cook; so she lived on the ground above, and cooked the little old man’s dinner and supper in the iron kettle, and lowered them down to him in the bucket; and the little old man sat on the three-legged stool, and ate whatever the cook sent down to him, with a cheerful heart, if it was good; and so things went on very pleasantly. [Illustration: “The old man thought it was raining.”] But one day it happened that the cook could not find anything for the old man’s dinner. She looked high, and she looked low, but nothing could she find; so she was very unhappy; for she knew her master would be miserable if he had no dinner. She sat down by the well, and wept bitterly; and her tears fell into the well so fast that the little old man thought it was raining, and put up a red cotton umbrella, which he borrowed for the occasion. You may wonder where he borrowed it; but I cannot tell you, because I do not know. Now, at that moment a traveller happened to pass by, and when he saw the cook sitting by the well and weeping, he stopped, and asked her what was the matter. The cook told him that she was weeping because she could not find anything to cook for her master’s dinner. “And who is your master?” asked the traveller. “He is a little old man,” replied the cook; “and he lives down in this well.” “Why does he live there?” inquired the traveller. “I do not know,” answered the cook; “I never asked him.” “He must be a singular person,” said the traveller. “I should like to see him. What does he look like?” But this the cook could not tell him; for she had never seen the little old man, having come to work for him after he had gone down to live in the well. “Does he like to receive visitors?” asked the traveller. “Don’t know,” said the cook. “He has never had any to receive since I have been here.” “Humph!” said the other. “I think I will go down and pay my respects to him. Will you let me down in the bucket?” “But suppose he should mistake you for his dinner, and eat you up?” the cook suggested.