When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend
in the melting pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing
remained but the red nose and the sparkling eyes, which looked
more malicious than ever. "And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after
being treated in that way." He sauntered disconsolately to the
window and sat himself down to catch the fresh evening air and
escape the hot breath of the furnace. Now this window commanded
a direct view of the range of mountains which, as I told you
before, overhung the Treasure Valley, and more especially of the
peak from which fell the Golden River. It was just at the close
of the day, and when Gluck sat down at the window, he saw the
rocks of the mountain tops, all crimson and purple with the
sunset; and there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and
quivering about them; and the river, brighter than all, fell, in
a waving column of pure gold, from precipice to precipice, with
the double arch of a broad purple rainbow stretched across it,
flushing and fading alternately in the wreaths of spray.

"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little
while, "if that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it
would be."

"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear, metallic voice close at
his ear.

"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was
nobody there. He looked round the room and under the table and a
great many times behind him, but there was certainly nobody
there, and he sat down again at the window. This time he didn't