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 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 speak, but he couldn't
help thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were
really all gold.

"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.

"Bless me!" said Gluck again; "what _is_ that?" He looked again into
all the corners and cupboards, and then began turning round, and
round, as fast as he could in the middle of the room, thinking there
was somebody behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear.
It was singing now very merrily, "Lala-lira-la;" no words, only a soft
running, effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the
boil. Gluck looked out of the window. No, it was certainly in the
house. Upstairs, and downstairs. No, it was certainly in that very
room, coming in quicker time, and clearer notes, every moment.