Amelia looked at the dwarf.  He was very smutty, and old, and wizened.  Truly, a queer partner!  But “handsome is that handsome does;” and he had done her a good turn.  So when he had learnt the step, he put his arm round Amelia’s waist, and they danced together.  His shoe-points were very much in the way, but otherwise he danced very well.

Then he set to work on the broken ornaments, and they were all very soon “as good as new.”  But they were not kicked up into the world, for, as the dwarfs said, they would be sure to break on the road.  So they kept them and used them; and I fear that no benefit came from the little tinker’s skill to Amelia’s mamma’s acquaintance in this matter.

“Have I any other tasks?” Amelia inquired.

“One more,” said the dwarfs; and she was led farther on to a smooth mossy green, thickly covered with what looked like bits of broken thread.  One would think it had been a milliner’s work-room from the first invention of needles and thread.

“What are these?” Amelia asked.

“They are the broken threads of all the conversations you have interrupted,” was the reply; “and pretty dangerous work it is to dance here now, with threads getting round one’s shoe-points.  Dance a hornpipe in a herring-net, and you’ll know what it is!”

Amelia began to pick up the threads, but it was tedious work.  She had cleared a yard or two, and her back was aching terribly, when she heard the fiddle and the mazurka behind her; and looking round she saw the old dwarf, who was playing away, and making the most hideous grimaces as his chin pressed the violin.

“Dance, my lady, dance!” he shouted.

“I do not think I can,” said Amelia; “I am so weary with stooping over my work.”

“Then rest a few minutes,” he answered, “and I will play you a jig.  A jig is a beautiful dance, such life, such spirit!  So!”

And he played faster and faster, his arm, his face, his fiddle-bow all seemed working together; and as he played, the threads danced themselves into three heaps.

“That is not bad, is it?” said the dwarf; “and now for our own dance,” and he played the mazurka.  “Get the measure well into your head.  La, la fa la! la, la fa la!  So!”

And throwing away his fiddle, he caught Amelia round the waist, and they danced as before.  After which, she had no difficulty in putting the three heaps of thread into a basket.

“Where are these to be kicked to?” asked the young goblins.

“To the four winds of heaven,” said the old dwarf.  “There are very few drawing-room conversations worth putting together a second time.  They are not like old china bowls.”

BY MOONLIGHT.

Thus Amelia’s tasks were ended; but not a word was said of her return home.  The dwarfs were now very kind, and made so much of her that it was evident that they meant her to remain with them.  Amelia often cooked for them, and she danced and played with them, and never showed a sign of discontent; but her heart ached for home, and when she was alone she would bury her face in the flowers and cry for her mother.