But at length he began to make out what they were saying; they were all exclaiming and talking about him.  “Look at him! look at him!” they cried.  “Who is he?  What, Martin—­this Martin?  Never.  No, no, no!  Yes, yes, yes!  Martin himself—­Martin with nothing on!  Not a shred—­not a thread!  Impossible—­it cannot be!  Nothing so strange has ever happened! Naked—­do you say that Martin is naked?  Oh, dreadful—­from the crown of his head to his toes, naked as he was born!  No clothes—­no clothes—­oh no, it can’t be Martin.  It is, it is!” And so on and on, until Martin could not endure it longer, for he had been naked for days and days, and had ceased to think about it, and in fact did not know that he was naked.  And now hearing their remarks, and seeing how they were disturbed, he looked down at himself and saw that it was indeed so—­that he had nothing on, and he grew ashamed and frightened, and thought he would run and hide himself from them in some hole in the ground.  But there was no place to hide in, for now they had gathered all round him in a vast crowd, so that whichever way he turned there before him they appeared—­hundreds and hundreds of dark, excited faces, hundreds of grimy hands all pointing at him.  Then, all at once, he caught sight of an old rag of a garment lying on the ground among the ashes and cinders, and he thought he would cover himself with it, and picking it hastily up was just going to put it round him when a great roar of “No!” burst out from the crowd; he was almost deafened with the sound, so that he stood trembling with the old dirty rag of cloth in his hand.  Then one of the little men came up to him, and snatching the rag from his hand, flung it angrily down upon the floor; then as if afraid of remaining so near Martin, he backed away into the crowd again.

Just then Martin heard a very low voice close to his ear speaking to him, but when he looked round he could see no person near him.  He knew it was the same voice which had spoken to him in the cave where he slept, and had told him to go down into that place underground.

[Illustration:  ]

“Do not fear,” said the gentle voice to Martin.  “Say to the little men that you have lost your clothes, and ask them for something to put on.”

Then Martin, who had covered his face with his hands to shut out the sight of the angry crowd, took courage, and looking at them, said, half sobbing, “O, Little Men, I’ve lost my clothes—­won’t you give me something to put on?”

This speech had a wonderful effect:  instantly there was a mighty rush, all the Little Men hurrying away in all directions, shouting and tumbling over each other in their haste to get away, and by-and-by it looked to Martin as if they were having a great struggle or contest over something.  They were all struggling to get possession of a small closed basket, and it was like a game of football with hundreds of persons all playing, all fighting for possession of the ball.  At length one of them succeeded in getting hold of the basket and escaping from all the others who opposed him, and running to Martin he threw it down at his feet, and lifting the lid displayed to his sight a bundle of the most beautiful clothes ever seen by child or man.