There was once a hard-working student who lived in an attic, and he had nothing in the world of his own. There was also a hard-working grocer who lived on the first floor, and he had the whole house for his own. The Goblin belonged to him, for every Christmas Eve there was waiting for him at the grocer’s a dish of jam with a large lump of butter in the middle. The grocer could afford this, so the Goblin stayed in the grocer’s shop; and this teaches us a good deal. One evening the student came in by the back door to buy a candle and some cheese; he had no one to send, so he came himself. He got what he wanted, paid for it, and nodded a good evening to the grocer and his wife (she was a woman who could do more than nod; she could talk). When the student had said good night he suddenly stood still, reading the sheet of paper in which the cheese had been wrapped. It was a leaf torn out of an old book--a book of poetry ‘There’s more of that over there!’ said the grocer ‘I gave an old woman some coffee for the book. If you like to give me twopence you can have the rest.’ ‘Yes,’ said the student, ‘give me the book instead of the cheese. I can eat my bread without cheese. It would be a shame to leave the book to be torn up. You are a clever and practical man, but about poetry you understand as much as that old tub over there!’ And that sounded rude as far as the tub was concerned, but the grocer laughed, and so did the student. It was only said in fun. But the Goblin was angry that anyone should dare to say such a thing to a grocer who owned the house and sold the best butter. When it was night and the shop was shut, and everyone was in bed except the student, the Goblin went upstairs and took the grocer’s wife’s tongue. She did not use it when she was asleep, and on whatever object in the room he put it that thing began to speak, and spoke out its thoughts and feelings just as well as the lady to whom it belonged. But only one thing at a time could use it, and that was a good thing, or they would have all spoken together. The Goblin laid the tongue on the tub in which were the old newspapers. ‘Is it true,’ he asked, ‘ that you know nothing about poetry?’ ‘Certainly not!’ answered the tub. ‘Poetry is something that is in the papers, and that is frequently cut out. I have a great deal more in me than the student has, and yet I am only a small tub in the grocer’s shop.’ And the Goblin put the tongue on the coffee-mill, and how it began to grind! He put it on the butter-cask, and on the till, and all were of the same opinion as the waste-paper tub. and one must believe the majority. ‘Now I will tell the student!’ and with these words he crept softly up the stairs to the attic where the student lived. There was a light burning, and the Goblin peeped through the key-hole and saw that he was reading the torn book that he had bought in the shop.