have cracked it, and away trotted the wellcared-for horses with a good will, for they seemed to know that they were bound for home, and they, like the other visitors, were now quite tired of Carlsbad.

When the carriage reached the Giant Mountains, the Countess told the postilion that she wished to call for Lord Giantdale as she passed; and she asked him to drive to the Castle by the long avenue which led to it through the park from the great gate on the high road. The postilion drove on and on, uphill and downhill, along the mountain-road, but nowhere could he see either the gate or the avenue or the park; and indeed there was nothing all around but high hills and rugged rocks, and endless trees. The Countess and her daughters, as they looked out from the carriage windows, were greatly astonished, and felt quite bewildered. They thought they had somehow gone astray; but both Carl and Fritz said they remembered the road well, and that indeed they could not have gone off it, as there was no other carriage-road through the Giant Mountains. The Countess asked every one they met about Lord Giant

dale and his castle, but no one had ever heard of Lord Giantdale or of his castle; and shepherds and hunters who knew every part of the Giant Mountains, said it was certain that there was no lord of that name who lived among the Giant Mountains, or anywhere near them, and that there was no such castle as the Countess told them she had seen. The Countess became satisfied that it was useless to search any longer for Lord Giantdale or his castle, and so she told Carl to drive on. Carl drove on as he was told, and the Countess and her daughters reached home towards evening of the second day after they had left Carlsbad.

The Countess used often afterwards to amuse her friends and visitors, by telling them the story of her adventure among the Giant Mountains; and sometimes she spoke of it as a dream which she fancied she and her daughters must each have dreamt when driving through the mountains asleep at night; and sometimes she spoke of it as a wonderful vision which they had actually seen with their eyes; but at any rate she never again laughed at the stories which

people told about Number Nip, or about the spirits of the mountains, or of the waters, or of the air; and when she spoke of such spirits herself, she always did so with a grave voice and serious face, as if they both saw and heard her, although she could neither see nor hear them.

But what more befell Red Beard? He told Number Nip a long story about how he had begun life well with the help of a good father's advice, but afterwards had become dishonest and bad. He said he really had intended to rob the Countess; and when his story was done Number Nip locked him up in the dungeon of Giantdale Castle. He went to sleep there; and next morning he found himself in the prison of Hirschberg, from which he had escaped two days before. He then had time to think of all his bad ways, and to remember the good advice that his father used to give him. So he said to himself, "I will be honest and good in time to come;" and when he got out of prison he learned to do honest work, and gave up all his bad ways.

K

man, and used to fish for salmon

with his rod and line in a river

that flowed from the Giant Mountains. One day, after fishing for hours without getting even a nibble at his bait, he at last hooked a great salmon. The salmon darted from pool to pool, and up the river, and down the river, and Klaus followed, holding on bravely all the time-letting out line or drawing in line as a skilful salmon-fisher only knows how to do. But the salmon struggled and darted about so long, that Klaus became quite exhausted; and fearing

lest he should lose his prize after all, he called out, "I wish Number Nip were here to help me."

Klaus had no sooner said this than a respectable, grave-looking man, of about middle age, stood at his side.

"You have him," said the grave-looking

man.

"That I have," answered Klaus, the salmon having stopped struggling; "he is certainly mine now."

"Don't be so sure of that," said the gravelooking stranger; "there is many a slip between the cup and the lip."

"Yes, no doubt," said Klaus; "but he will be a clever fish if he gets away from me;" and going forward to the place where the salmon was lying very quietly, he was about to lay hold of it, when it dashed away with great force once more, broke the line, and was free.

"Ha! gone, are you-and with my hook too?" Klaus called out in a tone of sad disappointment, looking after the fish as it swam into a deep pool on the opposite side the river.