times, and he remembered that though sometimes the Spirit had shown himself excessively touchy and spiteful, he had on other occasions manifested considerable kindness of heart to people in distress. He was aware, too, that one certain mode of irritating his Lordship was to call him by his nickname; but as he knew not how to make himself understood by any other means, he made up his mind to a sound cudgelling, and set to work, bawling at the pitch of his voice: “Rubezahl! Rubezahl!” Forthwith there started up before him a great black, sooty collier, with a broad red beard that reached down to his girdle; fire flashed from his eyes, and he was armed with an enormous club as long as a weaver’s beam, which he raised with a ferocious air, and was about to smash with it the impudent vagabond who had dared thus barefacedly to insult him.
“A word, by your leave, my Lord Rubezahl,” said Veit, with an intrepid air; “pray pardon me, that, unacquainted with your proper designation, I have, may-be, unintentionally addressed you by a title that seems disrespectful. I meant no offence.” This straightforward address, and the man’s care-worn face, expressive of anything in the world but insolence or impertinent curiosity, somewhat mollified the Gnome. “Earth worm!” cried he, “what can have possessed thee to disturb me thus?
