head. "What a fool I was to let him go!" thought he, and began to shake
the snare violently, so the elf would tumble down again.

But the instant the boy did this, he received such a stinging box on the
ear, that he thought his head would fly in pieces. He was dashed--first
against one wall, then against the other; he sank to the floor, and lay
there--senseless.

When he awoke, he was alone in the cottage. The chest-lid was down, and
the butterfly-snare hung in its usual place by the window. If he had not
felt how the right cheek burned, from that box on the ear, he would have
been tempted to believe the whole thing had been a dream. "At any rate,
father and mother will be sure to insist that it was nothing else,"
thought he. "They are not likely to make any allowances for that old
sermon, on account of the elf. It's best for me to get at that reading
again," thought he.

But as he walked toward the table, he noticed something remarkable. It
couldn't be possible that the cottage had grown. But why was he obliged
to take so many more steps than usual to get to the table? And what was
the matter with the chair? It looked no bigger than it did a while ago;
but now he had to step on the rung first, and then clamber up in order
to reach the seat. It was the same thing with the table. He could not
look over the top without climbing to the arm of the chair.

"What in all the world is this?" said the boy. "I believe the elf has
bewitched both the armchair and the table--and the whole cottage."

The Commentary lay on the table and, to all appearances, it was not
changed; but there must have been something queer about that too, for he