trees. The poor man stopped, and asked out loud,--

"Who are you who are singing with me?"

And a little thin voice answered out of the shadows by the roadside,
under the trees,--

"I am Misery."

"So it was you, Misery, who were helping me?"

"Yes, master, I was helping you."

"Well, little Master Misery, come along with us and keep us company."

"I'll do that willingly," says little Master Misery, "and I'll never,
never leave you at all--no, not if you have no other friend in the
world."

And a wretched little man, with a miserable face and little thin legs
and arms, came out of the shadows and went home with the peasant and
his wife.

It was late when they got home, but little Master Misery asked the
peasant to take him to the tavern. "After such a day as this has
been," says he, "there's nothing else to be done."

"But I have no money," says the peasant.

[Illustration: Misery seated himself firmly on his shoulders and