“A loaf for you perhaps, and a crumb for me!” she said. “There is more than that in your mind, and I can read your heart as if you were a ripped up raven. You are one of those who can never keep their fingers at rest, and must knead everybody’s dough; must push, and drive and stir something. Every jacket is too tight for you. If you were three feet taller, and the son of a priest, you might have gone far. High you will go, and high you will end; as the friend of a king--or on the gallows.” The old woman laughed; but Nemu bit his lips, and said: “If you had sent me to school, and if I were not the son of a witch, and a dwarf, I would play with men as they have played with me; for I am cleverer than all of them, and none of their plans are hidden from me. A hundred roads lie before me, when they don’t know whether to go out or in; and where they rush heedlessly forwards I see the abyss that they are running to.” “And nevertheless you come to me?” said the old woman sarcastically. “I want your advice,” said Nemu seriously. “Four eyes see more than one, and the impartial looker-on sees clearer than the player; besides you are bound to help me.” The old woman laughed loud in astonishment. “Bound!” she said, “I? and to what if you please?” “To help me,” replied the dwarf, half in entreaty, and half in reproach. “You deprived me of my growth, and reduced me to a cripple.” “Because no one is better off than you dwarfs,” interrupted the witch. Nemu shook his head, and answered sadly-- “You have often said so--and perhaps for many others, who are born in misery like me--perhaps-you are right; but for me--you have spoilt my life; you have crippled not my body only but my soul, and have condemned me to sufferings that are nameless and unutterable.” The dwarf’s big head sank on his breast, and with his left hand he pressed his heart. The old woman went up to him kindly. “What ails you?” she asked, “I thought it was well with you in Mena’s house.”