While he sat there and waited for the thief to make his appearance, he
began to wonder what that dark shadow was which fell across the edge of
the chest. He looked and looked--and did not want to believe his eyes.
But the thing, which at first seemed shadowy, became more and more
clear to him; and soon he saw that it was something real. It was no less
a thing than an elf who sat there--astride the edge of the chest!
To be sure, the boy had heard stories about elves, but he had never
dreamed that they were such tiny creatures. He was no taller than a
hand's breadth--this one, who sat on the edge of the chest. He had an
old, wrinkled and beardless face, and was dressed in a black frock coat,
knee-breeches and a broad-brimmed black hat. He was very trim and smart,
with his white laces about the throat and wrist-bands, his buckled
shoes, and the bows on his garters. He had taken from the chest an
embroidered piece, and sat and looked at the old-fashioned handiwork
with such an air of veneration, that he did not observe the boy had
awakened.
The boy was somewhat surprised to see the elf, but, on the other hand,
he was not particularly frightened. It was impossible to be afraid of
one who was so little. And since the elf was so absorbed in his own
thoughts that he neither saw nor heard, the boy thought that it would be
great fun to play a trick on him; to push him over into the chest and
shut the lid on him, or something of that kind.
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