"You ought to learn to glide," said the ghost, languidly. "It's ever so much easier than walking."
"When I'm all turned into faded smoke," said the gnome, a little crossly, "I'll try it; but I can't possibly do it now."
So the ghost glided more slowly, and the two soon came to the cottage of a wizard and a witch, who lived near the foot of the hill, where they sometimes got odd jobs from the people, who were going up to the magician's castle. As the wizard and his wife were still up, the gnome and his companion went in to see them and have a chat.
"How are you getting on?" said the ghost, as they all sat around the fire. "Have you done much incanting lately?"
"Not much," said the wizard. "We thought we would get a good deal of business when the old man died; but the folks seem to go up to the castle the same as ever."
"Yes," said the gnome, "and there's rare work going on up there now. They're trying to make root-beer for an old woman, and you never saw such a lot of poisonous trash as they have stewed up."
"They can't make root-beer!" sharply cried the witch. "They don't know anything about it. There is only one person who has that secret, and that one is myself."
"Oh, tell it to me!" exclaimed the gnome, jumping from his chair. "There's to be a reward for the person who can do it right, and——"
"Reward!" cried the witch. "Then I'm likely to tell it to you, indeed! When you're all done trying, I'm going to get that reward myself."
"Then I suppose we might as well bid you good-night," said the gnome, and he and the ghost took their departure.
"I'll tell you what it is," said the latter, wisely shaking his head, "those people will never prosper; they're too stingy."
