At last the night came. It was full moon, and the farmer looked
anxiously about, fearing the dwarf might not be true to his
appointment. But at midnight he appeared, with the flour-bag neatly
folded in his hand.
"You hold to the agreement," said the farmer, "of course. My wife was
witness. I am to have anything under the sun that I ask for; and I am
to have it now."
"Ask away," said the dwarf.
"I want neighbour Merryweather's estate," said the farmer.
"What, all this land below here, that joins on to your own?"
"Every acre," said the farmer.
"Farmer Merryweather's fields are under the moon at present," said the
dwarf, coolly, "and thus not within the terms of the agreement. You
must choose again."
But as the farmer could choose nothing that was not then under the
moon, he soon saw that he had been outwitted, and his rage knew no
bounds at the trick the dwarf had played him.
"Give me my bag, at any rate," he screamed, "and the string--and your
own extra gift that you promised. For half a loaf is better than no
bread," he muttered, "and I may yet come in for a few gold pieces."
"There's your bag," cried the dwarf, clapping it over the miser's head
like an extinguisher; "it's clean enough for a nightcap. And there's
your string," he added, tying it tightly round the farmer's throat
till he was almost throttled. "And, for my part, I'll give you what
you deserve;" saying which he gave the farmer such a hearty kick that
he kicked him straight down from the top of the hill to his own back
door.
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