gold!'hewasquitegiddy,icouldhaveblownhimdown,"saidthewind;"butionlyfannedtheglowingcoals,andaccompaniedhimthroughthedoortotheroomwherehisdaughtersatshivering.hiscoatwaspowderedwithashes,andtherewereashesinhisbeardandinhistangledhair.hestooderect,andheldhighintheairthebrittleglassthatcontainedhiscostlytreasure.'found!found!gold!gold!'heshouted,againholdingtheglassaloft,thatitmightflashinthesunshine;buthishandtrembled,andthealchymicglassfellfromit,clatteringtotheground,andbrakeinathousandpieces.thelastbubbleofhishappinesshadburst,withawhizandawhir,andirushedawayfromthegold-maker'shouse.

"lateintheautumn,whenthedayswereshort,andthemistsprinkledcolddropsontheberriesandtheleaflessbranches,icamebackinfreshspirits,rushedthroughtheair,swepttheskyclear,andsnappedoffthedrytwigs,whichiscertainlynogreatlabortodo,yetitmustbedone.therewasanotherkindofsweepingtakingplaceatwaldemardaa's,inthecastleofborreby.hisenemy,oweramel,ofbasnas,wasthere,withthemortgageofthehouseandeverythingitcontained,inhispocket.irattledthebrokenwindows,beatagainsttheoldrottendoors,andwhistledthroughcracksandcrevices,sothatmr.owerameldidnotmuchliketoremainthere.idaandannadorotheaweptbitterly,joannastood,paleandproud,bitingherlipstillthebloodcame;butwhatcouldthatavail?oweramelofferedwaldemardaapermissiontoremaininthehousetilltheendofhislife.noonethankedhimfortheoffer,andisawtheruinedoldgentlemanlifthishead,andthrowitbackmoreproudlythanever.thenirushedagainstthehouseandtheoldlime-treeswithsuchforce,thatoneofthethickestbranches,adecayedone,wasbrokenoff,andthebranchfellattheentrance,andremainedthere.itmighthavebeenusedasabroom,ifanyonehadwantedtosweeptheplaceout,andagrandsweeping-outtherereallywas;ithoughtitwouldbeso.itwashardforanyonetopreservecomposureonsuchaday;butthesepeoplehadstrongwills,asunbendingastheirhardfortune.therewasnothingtheycouldcalltheirown,exceptingtheclothestheywore.yes,therewasonethingmore,analchymist'sglass,anewone,whichhadbeenlatelybought,andfilledwithwhatcouldbegatheredfromthegroundofthetreasurewhichhadpromisedsomuchbutfailedinkeepingitspromise.waldemardaahidtheglassinhisbosom,and,takinghisstickinhishand,theoncerichgentlemanpassedwithhisdaughtersoutofthehouseofborreby.iblewcoldlyuponhisflusteredcheeks,istrokedhisgraybeardandhislongwhitehair,andisangaswellasiwasable,'whir-r-r,whir-r-r.goneaway!goneaway!'idawalkedononesideoftheoldman,andannadorotheaontheother;joannaturnedround,astheylefttheentrance.why?fortunewouldnotturnbecausesheturned.shelookedatthestoneinthewallswhichhadonceformedpartofthecastleofmarckstig,andperhapsshethoughtofhisdaughtersandoftheoldsong,-

"theeldestandyoungest,hand-in-hand,

wentforthalonetoadistantland."thesewereonlytwo;heretherewerethree,andtheirfatherwiththemalso.theywalkedalongthehigh-road,whereoncetheyhaddrivenintheirsplendidcarriage;theywentforthwiththeirfatherasywanderedacrossanopenfieldtoamudhut,whichtheyrentedforadollarandahalfayear,anewhome,withbarewallsandemptycupboards.crowsandmagpiesflutteredaboutthem,andcried,asifincontempt,'caw,caw,turnedoutofournest-caw,caw,'astheyhaddoneinthewoodatborreby,whenthetreeswerefelled.daaandhisdaughterscouldnothelphearingit,soiblewabouttheirearstodrownthenoise;whatusewasitthattheyshouldlisten?