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14 Chit-Chat by Puck.
“ About the leeks!” cried another, and imme-
diately a sweet-scented hyacinth grew out of the
inkbottle, which took the shape of a flower-pot.
“Write a tale about cherries and berries!” said
a third, and the hyacinth was transformed into a
little cherry tree with juicy fruits.
Suddenly the window curtains rustled gently, and
a little head, with a red cap on, peeped forth.
“To-night I am the one that must say some-
thing,” said the urchin, and nodded, evidently in
good humour.
“And who are you?” the poet asked.
“TI have many names, but generally they call me
‘Puck.’ Every night, when the clock strikes twelve,
I begin my journey round the town, and wherever
I see a light glimmer I make a call to comfort and
help. Often I see things that would be well worth
reading about in a book, and that is the reason I
make myself visible to you, though I very seldom
care to be seen by anybody.”
The little fellow now came forward, showing his
whole figure, and placed himself astride on one of
the ornaments of the writing table. He wore a
dark garment, held together with a broad belt, shining
as if it were made of burnished gold. He carried a
staff in his hand, on the top of which appeared a
small bunch of flowers, while the other end was
shaped into a sharp, glittering spear.
“ Will you accompany me on my route ?” said Puck.
“With pleasure ; but how about the conveyance ?”
the poet answered.
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