“A cake for a pie,” said the old woman; “and what would you like to have in the way of a wish? for all that you have to do is to ask, and it shall be granted.” This old woman was a famous wise one, I can tell you, though the fiddler knew nothing of that. The fiddler thought and thought, but there was little that he had to wish for; nevertheless, since they were in the way of asking and giving, and seeing that his body was none of the largest, he would like to have it for a wish that whenever he should say, “Rub-a-dub-dub,” the staff in his hand would up and fight for him. So! and was that all that he wanted? Then it was granted and welcome, for it was little enough. After that they said, “Good-morning,” and the fiddler went one way and the old woman the other. So the three companions plodded along together until, by and by, night came, and there they were, in a deep forest, with branches over their heads and not a peep out from under the trees, no matter where they might look; and that was not the pleasantest thing for them, I can tell you. But by and by they saw a light, and then the world looked up with them again. So they hurried along more rapidly, and presently came to the house where the light was shining; and, after all, it was not much to look at. Rap, tap, tap! they knocked at the door, but nobody came; so they opened it for themselves and walked in. No; there was no one at home, but there was a table spread with a smoking hot supper, and places for three. Down they sat without waiting for the bidding, for their hunger was as sharp as vinegar. Well, they ate and they ate and they ate until they could eat no more, and then they turned around and roasted their toes at the warm fire. That was all very well and good, but by and by all the wood was burned, and then who was to go out into the dark forest and fetch another armful? “Not I,” says the tinker. “Not I,” says the shoemaker. And so it fell to the lot of the fiddler, and off he went. But many a one spills the milk-mug to save the water-jug, and so it was with the tinker and the shoemaker; for, while they sat warming their shins at the fire and rubbing their hands over their knees, in walked an ugly little troll no taller than a yard-stick, but with a head as big as a cabbage, and a good stout cudgel twice as long as himself in his hand; as for his eyes, why, they were as big as your mother’s teacups. [Illustration: The Fiddler gives the old woman all that he has in his purse. ¶):(⁋] “I want something to eat,” says he. “You’ll get nothing here,” says the tinker and the shoemaker. “Yes, but I will,” says the little manikin. “No, but you will not,” says the tinker and the shoemaker.