He came to the foot of the bed, and stood there for a time.  The merchant
  grew impatient, and felt his anger rising.

  The dwarf turned away his flaming eyes from him and began to handle the
  straps of the portmanteau of jewels.

  The merchant’s anger at the annoyance grew, and became uncontrollable.

  “Avaunt!” cried he with terrible oath, leaping from the bed.

  The dwarf stood before him and began to grow.  He shot up at last into
  a flame, and stretched out his arms.  He was a giant.

  “Help! help!” cried the merchant.

  There was a sound in the rooms below.  The red giant reeled through the
  door and down the stairs and out into the night.

  The collier came running up the stairs,

  “What, what,” he demanded, “have you been doing to our House Spirit?”

  “To your House Spirit?”

  “Yes, he has just gone out; he is a giant again!”

  The good wife was following her husband, and wailing.

  “Now we will have to live him down again; oh, woe, woe; this is an evil
  night; we will have to live him down again.”

“Stranger,” said the collier, “these things may seem strange to you, but when we came here our lives were haunted by the red giant that has gone out into the wood.  We knew not what to do, but we sent for the old pastor, and he said:  ’Good forester, you can live him down.  Think only good thoughts, speak only good words, do only good deeds, and he will become smaller and smaller, less and less.  Harbor no evil-minded person in your house.  You may one day live him out of sight, and change him angel.’  We had almost lived him down!”

  “But what was he?” asked the merchant.

  “He was our Visible Temptation.”

  In the morning the merchant hurried away.

  Ten years passed.  The merchant chanced to travel through the same forest
  again.  Night was coming on, and he recalled the collier’s house.

  He went to it again.  He knocked and an old man met him at the door.

  “Thou art welcome,” said the old man.  “We are not forgetful to entertain
  strangers.  What wouldst thou?”

  “Supper and lodging,” said the merchant.

  “They shall be yours.  We offer hospitality to all.”

  He was Herman, the collier.  He did not recognize the merchant.

  The old woman—­for she was now gray—­set before him an ample supper. 
  The children had grown to be young men and women.

  The cuckoo clock struck the hour of nine.

  The collier altered the musical glasses.

  “Will you join with us in singing?” asked he of the traveler.

  The family sang as before the old German hymn: 

    “Now the woods are all sleeping,
    Guard us we pray.”

  “Let us pray now,” said the collier.