Christine did not know how about that; perhaps she would and perhaps she would not.  It was a nice, pretty little cap; what would the little underground man give her for it? that was the question.

Oh, the little man would give her five thalers for it, and gladly.

No; five thalers was not enough for such a pretty little cap—­see, there was a silver bell hanging to it too.

Well, the little man did not want to be hard at a bargain; he would give her a hundred thalers for it.

No; Christine did not care for money.  What else would he give for this nice, dear little cap?

“See, Christine,” said the little man, “I will give you this for the cap”; and he showed her something in his hand that looked just like a bean, only it was as black as a lump of coal.

“Yes, good; but what is that?” said Christine.

“That,” said the little man, “is a seed from the apple of contentment.  Plant it, and from it will grow a tree, and from the tree an apple.  Everybody in the world that sees the apple will long for it, but nobody in the world can pluck it but you.  It will always be meat and drink to you when you are hungry, and warm clothes to your back when you are cold.  Moreover, as soon as you pluck it from the tree, another as good will grow in its place. Now, will you give me my hat?”

Oh yes; Christine would give the little man his cap for such a seed as that, and gladly enough.  So the little man gave Christine the seed, and Christine gave the little man his cap again.  He put the cap on his head, and—­puff!—­away he was gone, as suddenly as the light of a candle when you blow it out.

So Christine took the seed home with her, and planted it before the window of her room.  The next morning when she looked out of the window she beheld a beautiful tree, and on the tree hung an apple that shone in the sun as though it were pure gold.  Then she went to the tree and plucked the apple as easily as though it were a gooseberry, and as soon as she had plucked it another as good grew in its place.  Being hungry she ate it, and thought that she had never eaten anything as good, for it tasted like pancake with honey and milk.

[Illustration:  Christine and the Apple]

By-and-by the oldest sister came out of the house and looked around, but when she saw the beautiful tree with the golden apple hanging from it you can guess how she stared.

Presently she began to long and long for the apple as she had never longed for anything in her life.  “I will just pluck it,” said she, “and no one will be the wiser for it.”  But that was easier said than done.  She reached and reached, but she might as well have reached for the moon; she climbed and climbed, but she might as well have climbed for the sun—­for either one would have been as easy to get as that which she wanted.  At last she had to give up trying for it, and her temper was none the sweeter for that, you may be sure.