TWILIGHT LAND

will just go a little farther in and listen,” and so he entered
and closed the door behind him. Well, he went on and
on until—-pop! there he was out at the farther end, and
before he knew what he was about he had stepped out
upon the sea-shore, just as he had done before.

Whiz! whirr! Away flew the Fiddler like a bullet,
and there was Il-Luck carrying him by the belt again.
Away they sped, over hill and valley, over moor and
mountain, until the Fiddler’s head grew so dizzy that he
had to shut his eyes. Suddenly Ill-Luck let him drop,
and down he fell—thump! bump!—on the hard ground.
Then he opened his eyes and sat up, and, lo and behold!
there he was, under the oak tree whence he had started
in the first place. There lay his fiddle, just as he had
left it. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the
strings—trum, twang! Then he got to his feet and
brushed the dirt and grass from his knees. He tucked
his fiddle under his arm, and off he stepped upon the way
he had been going at first.

‘Just to think!” said he, “I would either have been
the richest man in the world, or else I would have been a
king, if it had not been for Ill-Luck.”

And that is the way we all of us talk.