“The pail is bewitched!” cried the poor girl.  “How my mother will beat me for this!  And my back aches as if I were carrying lead, and yet the water is nearly all gone.”

“This is something like fun!” laughed the Nix.  “When I go home and relate my adventures, no dwarfs pranks will be named again!” But when Bess looked into the pail, he was the same slimy, stupid-looking worm as before.  She dared not return to the lake for more water—­“for,” said she, “I should be as much beaten for being late as for bringing short measure, and have the labour to boot.”  So she took up her burden again, and the Nix began his dance afresh, and by the time they came to their journey’s end, there was not a quart of water in the pail.

“Was ever a poor woman plagued with such a careless hussy?” cried the mother when she saw the dripping dress; and, as Bess had expected, she seasoned her complaints with a hearty slap.  “And look what she calls a pailful of water!” added the mother, with a second blow.

“Late in the morning’s unlucky all day,” thought poor Bess, and, as her mother curled her, she screamed till the house rang with the noise; for she had good lungs, and knew that it is well to cry out before one gets too much hurt.

Meanwhile the Nix thought she was enduring agonies, and could hardly contain his mischievous glee; and when the woman bade her “warm some water quickly for the wash,” he was in no way disturbed, for he had never seen boiling water, and only anticipated fresh sport as he slipped from the pail into the kettle.

“Now,” cried the mother sharply, “see if you can lift that without slopping your clothes.”

“Aye, aye,” laughed the Nix, “see if you can, my dear!” and as poor Bess seized it in her sturdy red hands he began to dance as before.  But the kettle had a lid, which the pail had not.  Moreover Bess was a strong, strapping lass, and, stimulated by the remembrance of her mother’s slaps, with a vigorous effort she set the kettle on the fire.  “I shall be glad when I’m safely in bed,” she muttered.  “Everything goes wrong to-day.”

“It is warm in here,” said the Nix to himself, after a while; “in fact—­stuffy.  But one must pay something for a frolic, and it tickles my ears to hear that old woman rating her daughter for my pranks.  Give me time and opportunity, and I’ll set the whole stupid race by the ears.  There she goes again!  It is worth enduring a little discomfort, though it certainly is warm, and I fancy it grows warmer.”

By degrees the bottom of the kettle grew quite hot, and burnt the Nix, so that he had to jump up and down in the water to keep himself cool.  The noise of this made the woman think that the kettle was boiling, and she began to scold her daughter as before, shouting, “Are you coming with that tub to-night or not?  The water is hot already.”

This time the Nix laughed (as they say) on the other side of his mouth; for the water had now become as hot as the bottom of the kettle, and he screamed at the top of his shrill tiny voice with pain.