From that day forth Holland has been the paradise of our Black Forest lads; the timber merchants knew nothing of this trade, and all the while money, swearing, evil habits, drink and gambling were being introduced by the raftsmen from Holland. Dutch Michael, so the story goes, disappeared and was nowhere to be found; but it is certain that he did not die. For one hundred years his spirit has haunted the forest, and it is said that he has helped many to become rich, at the cost of their poor souls, of which I would rather not say any more. This much is certain, that on such stormy nights as this he is up in the Pine-grove, where no one fells trees, selecting the biggest pines. And my father has seen him take hold of one, four to five feet in thickness, and snap it as one would a reed. This is his gift to those who turn from the straight path to go to him; at midnight they carry their timber to the water, and fare away on it into Holland. Oh, if I were only king and lord of Holland, I would send him to the bottom with grape-shot; for every ship, the hull of which contains one single beam of Dutch Michael's felling, must come to grief. And that is the reason why one hears of so many shipwrecks; how otherwise could a fine, strong ship, as big as a church, sink in the open sea? Every time Dutch Michael fells a pine on a stormy night in the Black Forest, one of his old ones is sprung from the bottom of some ship, the water rushes in, and that ship with all on board is lost. Such is the story of Dutch Michael, and it is but the truth when people declare that he is the author of all the evil which is committed in the Black Forest! "Ah! he can make you rich enough!" continued the old man, confidentially. "But I would receive nothing at his hands, not for all the gold in the world would I stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the Lanky Schlurker. And it is also thought that the Dance-King is one of his familiars." The storm had abated during the recital of the old man's story; the girls lit the lamps, and stole away; the men gave Peter Munk a sack full of leaves to serve as a pillow, and left him to sleep on the hearth, wishing him good-night as they went. Never in his life had Charcoal-Peter dreamed so heavily as during that night. First there appeared to him the dark gigantic form of Dutch Michael, who wrenched open the window and stretched an enormously long arm into the room, in the hand of which was a purse full of gold pieces, which he shook so that the money jingled temptingly. Then he saw the little, friendly Glassmanikin riding round the room on a huge green bottle, and he seemed again to hear that hoarse chuckle he had heard in the Pine-grove. Then it was as if someone was murmuring in his left ear: "From Holland comes Gold! Canst have it, if bold. For payment soon told! Gold! Gold!" Then again in his right ear he heard the little rhyme beginning: "Guardian of gold in the pine tree wold!"