“Not at all,” said the gnome, “neither would it hurt her, for she would scarcely feel my little knife; the only thing is, that when I have done, her skin will be rather black and shrivelled like my own, but as mine has been good enough for me all these years, it will surely be good enough for a common human woman. Anyhow, now you know. I must have your wife’s complexion to wear with her hair, or else I go at once. And as it will be you who have broken the compact, I shall take all your wealth with me.” And repeating in a deep voice, “Remember, this day week at twelve o’clock,” the gnome grew small, and disappeared through the hole. Next day the ploughman was very miserable, and whenever he looked at his wife felt inclined to burst into tears. The wife, not knowing what was amiss, tried to cheer him, and asked if he were ill. But he shook his head, and told her “no,” and had not the courage to tell her the truth. Thus things went on, the ploughman growing sadder and sadder every day, till the evening before that on which the gnome had told him he must bring his wife to meet her. The ploughman was scarce able to check his sobs before his wife, and at last she came into the kitchen, and there found him crying outright. When she saw this, she kneeled down by him, and said, “Husband, you surely do not think me a good wife, for a good wife shares all her husband’s troubles. Tell me what troubles you. Two heads are better than one, and perhaps I can help you.” Then the ploughman told her all about the hated gnome, and how he had found it in a field, and how he had promised to give it some of the best of everything, and now how it wanted her face. At first the wife would scarcely believe it, and then she cried, “But if ’tis such a little creature why not pick it up and strangle it, or let me put my foot on it, while it is no bigger than a black beetle.” “Nay, do not think of such a thing,” said her husband, “for it is ill to play tricks with fairy folk, and most likely she would kill us outright.” “But part with my face I never will,” cried the wife. “Then we will let her go and take with her the house and all our wealth, and be contented to live in my old cottage again, and be quite poor folk,” said her husband.