In a modest little cottage of a German village Hans Gottlieb was sitting on his cobbler's bench before the fire, busily putting the last touches to his holiday order of shoes. Outside, the snow and darkness were ushering in the Christmas Eve; in the bare room the children had been eagerly preparing a welcome for the festival. All was quiet now; the sleepy feet had climbed up the ladder to their dreams in the garret; and the house-wife was baking the seven kinds of meat that a man must partake of on the festive day if he wishes to be prosperous. "Tap! tap! tap!" rang the hammer on the last, and the fire leapt and the merry shadows danced all over the room.

The cuckoo-clock was just calling nine when muffled steps. were heard in the snow, and the upper half of the door sprang open with a blast of sleet and cold. Framed in the darkness of the door stood a dapper little man, his face red from battling with the storm. "What! working so late!" he exclaimed. “Had I not desired my new boots for the morrow, I had never ventured out on a night like this."

"Sit ye down at the fire, neighbor," was the reply, "and ye shall have them in a minute."

This the little man was nothing loth to do. Pompously setting a pair of learned spectacles upon his nose, he took his seat by the fireplace and talked, about himself, about his travels, about his vast store of knowledge, and especially about the stupidity of others. "Look there!" he finished, pointing an accusing finger at the window, where a bundle of hay and a plate of food were set.

""Tis for the Christ-child and his horse, the children put it there but now," answered the old man mildly.

"And that thing?"

"Surely, you know the Christmas tree, neighbor, with its candles burning like stars to lead the child hither, and its gilded nuts and toys!"

"Oh!" snorted the incensed little man, "Foolishness, I tell you! Superstitious! Old wives' tales! I can't walk a step in this ridiculous village without folly pretending to instruct me, and fables held up for facts. When the wind sweeps through the branches, and the thunder rolls,-why, 'tis a giant or spirit, harming mankind in his anger. The earth quakes, and you tell me 'tis the heroes, struggling as prisoners within. On a summer day ye fill the woods with sprites; the drifting clouds above the green forest are the white arms of nymphs, and butterflies and water-falls must needs be elves and nixies to suit your pleasure. Simpletons! Ye never go to cities and never see clever folk, but stay at home and let the gossips fool ye. They change the world, they disguise it, they make a new one to suit themselves. Did you ever see a prince come out of a fox? Did you ever hear a chicken talk? Have the fairies or witches ever sat in your kitchen? Yet you've told the children such rubbish often, aha, I have caught you there, cobbler! Don't tell me! aha!"

During this long tirade the old man sat quietly on his settle, hammering and listening, a wise, patient smile on his face. Now his kind and quiet voice broke in on the high staccato.

"I'm not a travelled man, like you, neighbor, and I've never read a book, but I've thought on these things often while the shoes are in my hand. We people of the village love these stories. Our mothers have told them to us. We have hushed our children to sleep with them. We have lived with them in woods and cottage always. I like to think that they're comrades to us, the trees, the stars, the animals and the flowers,- that

they help us and we them. I like to think of the dwarfs in the mountains, and the fairies dancing in the river. Maybe 'tisn't real, maybe 'tis. But 'tis what belongs to me and I'll hold it fast."

The old cobbler finished the shoes and opened the door. "You would take much from me. You would give me nothing back," he said, and carefully shielded the hay for the Christ-child from the wind. "No, say no more! Good-night!"

For a long time the cobbler sat before the fire, thinking of his neighbor's words, and the pitying, scornful smile with which he had left him. The crystal ball that hung in the window,the sign of a shoemaker, - quivered and swung as the wind. rocked the house, but he heard it not. Ah, how he loved the dear old stories, the familiar faces of fairies and animals! It was long since he had heard of their doings and their haunts. He gazed down into the embers and fell to thinking.

Crack the logs fell apart with a sputter of sparks and a glowing bit of wood sailed into the room and above the crystal ball. Oh wonder! Before the very eyes of the astounded man it glimmered and grew into-a flashing goblin that hovered before him, chanting in a weird voice, like the murmur of distant winds and underground streams,

"I am a spirit of the night,

And in the mystic firelight

I will show you the world disguised to-night."

At these words a red glow flooded the crystal ball. The glass seemed to melt away, the globe grew larger, until the cobbler was gazing into the heart of a vast mountain chain; and by some magic gift heard and saw the fairy adventures he loved so much take place before his eyes.

Out of a cavern in the hills strides the mighty spirit of the mountains, wearied of his underground dominions and come to wander in the upper air. The giant seems hugely surprised to find the trees cut and houses built upon his property. It is his first encounter with mankind. He at once sets about making the acquaintance of the valley people and amusing himself with their oddities.

One afternoon he chances upon a group of pretty damsels sporting in the woods, in their midst the princess of the land. Quickly changing himself into a raven, he perches on the nearest tree. Then the raven disappears, and a handsome youth

stands in his place, concealed behind the bushes. His fascinated gaze is on the lovely princess, and he burns with love and vows to win her hand. Next day the damsels return to the forest to find their favorite spot metamorphosed. Gone are the rude stones and brawling streams! Before their delighted gaze rises an alabaster grotto, where the brook pours its white cascades into a golden basin. Delicious strawberries and fragrant bunches of violets await them in the cool shade of a jasmine hedge. With cries of astonishment the girls run about and long to bathe in the shallow pool where the blue sky lies mirrored. But alas! hardly does the lovely princess slip over the rim of the basin when the treacherous waters rise up and close over her before her comrades can clutch her golden hair. Though her favorite maiden plunges in, to share the fate of her mistress, she is unable to sink, but floats, like a delicate lily, on the water.

While the maidens are left lamenting, the princess is carried to a magic palace, where a handsome youth guides her through fragrant gardens into a hall of golden pillars and silver floors, where hundreds of birds fill the air with song. At first, she delights in the marvels, but soon she seems to droop, a wistful loneliness falls upon her. Perceiving this, the clever spirit procures a basket of turnips, and teaches the lovely Emma to transform them into any one she pleases with a single touch of her wand. In a twinkling the turnips have disappeared and the palace resounds with the shouts of the favorite damsels. All goes well for a time; dance and song alternate in the happy palace. But soon the princess sees how day by day her companions grow pale and worn, she alone blooms like a rose among them. One morning, wrinkled hags, tottering on canes and coughing piteously advance to meet her. In her terror and anger she strikes them with her wand and they drop to the ground, turnips again, withered and faded.

But it is winter now, and no turnips grow in the land. The princess must wait till spring for her companions. On a morning in May she robes herself in bridal white and meets her magician lover in the garden. "Go, count the turnips in the field,” she commands, "if you accomplish that correctly you shall have my hand." Wild with joy, the spirit flies to his task. In a twinkling Emma has out a fat turnip, transforms him with one touch into a horse, and flees home to her lover and her

kingdom, leaving the infuriated mountain-lord to hurl idle thunderbolts after her, rush through the fields of air and swear enmity to the false tribe of man.

Picture after picture passes through the crystal globe, showing the pranks and adventures of Rübezahl, or Turnip-counter, as the valley people named him. Here wicked misers are threading the forest, deceived with glimpses of gold, and lured by a blue light ever flickering before them to their death in a mountain chasm. There hangs a dog who ventured too far into the hills, cut into a thousand pieces, and each piece nailed onto the separate branch of a tree. Sometimes the spirit helps the poor peasants, changing their fire-faggots into gold, fattening their cattle on the mountain grass, giving them a wonderful springwurzel, whose touch cures all sicknesses.

Conceited people had better never venture into Rübezahl's land, for it is his especial delight to torture them. A doctor comes upon a peasant seeking herbs for his rheumatism. "Ignoramus!" cries he, "take my pills, and you will be cured forever." With learned talk he expatiates on their wonderful powers, and forces the countryman to take bitter doses of pills. Instantly the earth yawns underneath their feet, and no peasant, but a ferocious giant, stands before him, half-naked, grinning, his red beard sweeping the ground. Miserable earthworm!" he roars, and with remorseless hand forces the whole knapsack of medicine into the doctor's mouth. The wretch's jaws are held with an iron grasp, and though he wriggles and squirms, he must swallow all the loathsome pills and burning draughts. Then, with a mighty kick, the spirit sends him rolling down the mountain.

Suddenly there

A tailor is picnicing with his apprentices. appears a terrible monster, all in red, and riding on a goat. The tailor once cheated Rübezahl. He and his companions are fastened to the goat as if by magic. They rise high up and whizz through the air, screaming, and clinging to the beast. After many rushing rides, they drop to the market-place, and are forced to go backwards to their house, amid the jeers of the town.

Many benefits the mountain-lord confers upon the needy. Plum-trees spring up in one night, bearing at once the most delicious fruit. Bridegrooms find their pockets filled with gold, poor children have delicate repasts spread for them in the fields.