In a land far away called Arda, there once lived two dwarves
who had the same name. They were both called Claus. One of them had 
four mountain mules, but the other had only one, which wasn't
quite tamed yet; so to distinguish them (the men), people called 
the owner of the four mules, "Great Claus," and he who had only 
one, "Little Claus." Now we shall hear what happened to them, 
for this is a true story.

    Through the whole week, Little Claus was obliged to mine for 
Great Claus, and lend him his one mule; and once a week, on a Highday
(or Oraearon as some elves call it), Great Claus lent him all his 
four mules. Then how Little Claus would smack his whip over all five 
mules, they were as good as his own on that one day. The sun shone 
brightly, and the temple bells in the Grey Havens were ringing merrily 
as the people passed by, dressed in their best clothes, with their 
prayer-books under their arms and weapons sheathed. They were going 
to hear the clergyman preach. They looked at Little Claus mining with 
his five mules helping him carrying the load, and he was so proud 
that he smacked his whip, and said, "Gee-up, my five mules."

    "
You must not say that," said Big Claus; "for only one of them 
belongs to you." But Little Claus soon forgot what he ought to say, 
and when any one passed he would call out, "Gee-up, my five mules!"

    "Now I must beg you not to say that again," said Big Claus; "for 
if you do, I shall cleave your mule's head, so that he will drop dead 
on the spot, and there will be an end of him."

    "I promise you I will not say it any more," said the other; but 
as soon as people came by, bowing and nodding to him, and wishing him 
"Good day," he became so pleased, and thought how grand it looked to 
have five mules helping him mine, that he cried out again, "Gee-up, 
all my mules!"

    "I'll gee-up your mules for you," said Big Claus; and wielding a
mighty dwarven axe, he struck the one mule of Little Claus on the 
head, and he fell dead instantly.

     "Oh, now I have no mule at all," said Little Claus, weeping. But 
after a while he took off the dead mule's skin with his knife, and hung 
the hide to dry in the wind. Then he put the dry skin into a backpack, 
and, placing it over his shoulder, went out into Bree to sell the skin. 
He had a very long way to go, and had to pass through a dark, entangled
forest. Presently a storm arose, and he lost his way, and before he 
discovered the right path, evening came on, and it was still a long way 
to the town, and too far to return home before night. Near the road stood 
a large farmhouse. The shutters outside the windows were closed, but 
lights shone through the crevices at the top. "I might get permission to 
stay here for the night," thought Little Claus; so he went up to the 
door and knocked. The farmer's wife - a fair and pretty elf opened the 
door; but when she heard what he wanted, she told him to go away, as her 
husband would not allow her to admit strangers. "Then I shall be obliged 
to lie out here," said Little Claus to himself, as the farmer's wife shut 
the door in his face. Near to the farmhouse stood a large haystack, and 
between it and the house was a small shed, with a thatched roof. "I can 
lie up there," said Little Claus, as he saw the roof; "it will make a 
famous bed, but I hope the ravens will not fly down and bite my legs;" 
for on it stood a living raven, whose nest was in the roof. So Little 
Claus climbed to the roof of the shed, and while he turned himself to get 
comfortable, he discovered that the wooden shutters, which were closed, 
did not reach to the tops of the windows of the farmhouse, so that he could 
see into a room, in which a large table was laid out with wine, roast pork, 
and a splendid fresh crab. The farmer's wife and a hobbit were sitting 
at the table together; and she filled his glass, and helped him plenteously 
to fish, which appeared to be his favorite dish. "If I could only get some, 
too," thought Little Claus; and then, as he stretched his neck towards the 
window he spied a large, beautiful pie,--indeed they had a glorious feast 
before them.

    At this moment he heard some one riding down the road, towards the 
farmhouse. It was the farmer returning home. He was a good elf, but still he 
had a very strange prejudice,--he could not bear the sight of a hobbit. If 
one appeared before him, he would put himself in a terrible rage. In 
consequence of this dislike, the hobbit had gone to visit the farmer's wife 
during her husband's absence from home, and the good elven woman had placed 
before him the best she had in the house to eat. When she heard the farmer 
coming she was frightened, and begged the hobbit to hide himself in a large 
empty chest that stood in the room. He did so, for he knew her husband could 
not endure the sight of a halfling. The woman then quickly put away the wine, 
and hid all the rest of the nice things in the oven; for if her husband had 
seen them he would have asked what they were brought out for.

    "Oh, dear," sighed Little Claus from the top of the shed, as he saw all 
the good things disappear.

    "Is any one up there?" asked the farmer, looking up and discovering Little 
Claus. "Why are you lying up there? Come down, and come into the house with me.
" So Little Claus came down and told the farmer how he had lost his way and 
begged for a night's lodging.

    "All right," said the farmer; "but we must have something to eat first."

    The wife received them both very kindly, laid the cloth on a large table, 
and placed before them a dish of porridge. The farmer was very hungry, and ate 
his porridge with a good appetite, but Little Claus could not help thinking 
of the nice roast pork, crab and pies, which he knew were in the oven. Under 
the table, at his feet, lay the backpack containing the mule's skin, which 
he intended to sell at the next town. Now Little Claus did not relish the 
porridge at all, so he trod with his foot on the sack under the table, and the 
dry skin squeaked quite loud. "Hush!" said Little Claus to his backpack, at 
the same time treading upon it again, till it squeaked louder than before.

    "Hallo! what have you got in your backpack!" asked the farmer.

    "Oh, it is a wizard," said Little Claus; "and he says we need not eat 
porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat, fish, and pie."

    "Wonderful!" cried the farmer, starting up and opening the oven door; and 
there lay all the nice things hidden by the farmer's wife, but which he supposed 
had been conjured there by the wizard under the table. The wife dared not say 
anything; so she placed the things before them, and they both ate of the crab, 
the meat, and the pastry.

    Then Little Claus trod again upon his backpack, and it squeaked as before. 
"What does he say now?" asked the farmer.

    "He says," replied Little Claus, "that there are three bottles of wine for 
us, standing in the corner, by the oven."

    So the wife was obliged to bring out the wine also, which she had hidden, 
and the farmer drank it till he became quite merry. He would have liked such 
a magician as Little Claus carried in his backpack. "Could he conjure up the 
evil one, Sauron?" asked the farmer. "I should like to see him now, while I 
am so merry."

    "Oh, yes!" replied Little Claus, "my conjuror can do anything I ask him,--
can you not?" he asked, treading at the same time on the backpack till it s
queaked. "Do you hear? he answers 'Yes,' but he fears that we shall not like 
to look at him."

    "Oh, I am not afraid. What will he be like?"

    "Well, he is very much like a hobbit."

    "Ha!" said the farmer, "then he must be ugly. Do you know I cannot endure 
the sight of a hobbit. However, that doesn't matter, I shall know who it is; 
so I shall not mind. Now then, I have got up my courage, but don't let him 
come too near me."

    "Stop, I must ask the conjuror," said Little Claus; so he trod on the backpack, 
and stooped his ear down to listen.

    "What does he say?"

    "He says that you must go and open that large chest which stands in the 
corner, and you will see the evil one crouching down inside; but you must hold 
the lid firmly, that he may not slip out."

     "Will you come and help me hold it?" said the farmer, going towards the 
chest in which his wife had hidden the hobbit, who now lay inside, very much 
frightened. The farmer opened the lid a very little way, and peeped in.

    "Oh," cried he, springing backwards, "I saw him, and he is exactly like 
a hobbit. How dreadful it is!" So after that he was obliged to drink again, 
and they sat and drank till far into the night.

    "
You must sell your wizard to me," said the farmer; "ask as much as you 
like, I will pay it; indeed I would give you directly a whole moneybag of gold."

    "No, indeed, I cannot," said Little Claus; "only think how much profit I 
could make out of this little wizard."

    "But I should like to have him," said the farmer, still continuing his 
entreaties.

    "Well," said Little Claus at length, "you have been so good as to give 
me a night's lodging, I will not refuse you; you shall have the wizard for a 
moneybag of money, but I will have quite full measure."

    "So you shall," said the farmer; "but you must take away the chest as well. 
I would not have it in the house another hour; there is no knowing if he may 
not be still there."

    So Little Claus gave the farmer the backpack containing the dried mule's 
skin, and received in exchange a moneybag of money--full measure. The farmer 
also gave him a wheelbarrow on which to carry away the chest.

    "Farewell," said Little Claus, as he went off with his money and the great 
chest, in which the hobbit lay still concealed. On one side of the forest was a 
broad, deep river, the water flowed so rapidly that very few were able to swim 
against the stream. A new bridge had lately been built across it, and in the 
middle of this bridge Little Claus stopped, and said, loud enough to be heard 
by the hobbit, "Now what shall I do with this stupid chest; it is as heavy as 
if it were full of stones: I shall be tired if I roll it any farther, so I may 
as well throw it in the river; if it swims after me to my house, well and good, 
and if not, it will not much matter."

    So he seized the chest in his hand and lifted it up a little, as if he were 
going to throw it into the water.

    "No, leave it alone," cried the hobbit from within the chest; "let me out 
first."

    "Oh," exclaimed Little Claus, pretending to be frightened, "he is in there 
still, is he? I must throw him into the river, that he may be drowned."

    "Oh, no; oh, no," cried the hobbit; "I will give you a whole moneybag full 
of moneyif you will let me go."

    "Why, that is another matter," said Little Claus, opening the chest. The 
hobbit crept out, pushed the empty chest into the water, and went to his house, 
then he measured out a whole moneybag full of gold for Little Claus, who had 
already received one from the farmer, so that now he had two full moneybags.

    "I have been well paid for my mule," said he to himself when he reached his
home, the Blue Mountains, entered his own room, and emptied all his money into 
a heap on the floor. "How vexed Great Claus will be when he finds out how rich 
I have become all through my one mule; but I shall not tell him exactly how it 
all happened." Then he sent a boy to Great Claus to borrow a bushel measure.

    "What can he want it for?" thought Great Claus; so he smeared the bottom 
of the measure with tar, that some of whatever was put into it might stick 
there and remain. And so it happened; for when the measure returned, three 
new silver coins were sticking to it.

    "What does this mean?" said Great Claus; so he ran off directly to Little 
Claus, and asked, "Where did you get so much money?"

    "Oh, for my mule's skin, I sold it yesterday."

    "It was certainly well paid for then," said Great Claus; and he ran home 
to his house, seized a hatchet, and knocked all his four mules on the head, 
butchered off their skins, and took them to Bree to sell. "Skins, skins, 
who'll buy skins?" he cried, as he went through the streets. All the leatherworkers
and tanners came running, and asked how much he wanted for them.

    "A moneybag of money, for each," replied Great Claus.

    "Are you mad?" they all cried; "do you think we have money to spend by the 
bushel?"

    "Skins, skins," he cried again, "who'll buy skins?" but to all who inquired 
the price, his answer was, "a moneybag of money."

    "He is making fools of us," said they all; then the leatherworkers took their
straps, and the tanners their leather aprons, and began to beat Great Claus.

    "Skins, skins!" they cried, mocking him; "yes, we'll mark your skin for you, 
till it is black and blue."

    "Out of the town with him," said they. And Great Claus was obliged to run as 
fast as he could, he had never before been so thoroughly beaten.

    "Ah," said he, as he came to his house; "Little Claus shall pay me for this; 
I will beat him to death."

    Meanwhile the old grandmother of Little Claus died by a spell cast upon her. 
She had been cross, unkind, and really spiteful to him; but he was very sorry, 
and took the dead dwarven woman and laid her in his warm bed to see if he could 
bring her to life again. There he determined that she should lie the whole night, 
while he seated himself in a chair in a corner of the room as he had often done 
before. During the night, as he sat there, the door opened, and in came Great 
Claus with a hatchet. He knew well where Little Claus's bed stood; so he went 
right up to it, and struck the old grandmother on the head. thinking it must be 
Little Claus.

    "There," cried he, "now you cannot make a fool of me again;" and then he went 
home.

    "That is a very wicked dwarf," thought Little Claus; "he meant to kill me. It 
is a good thing for my old grandmother that she was already dead, or he would have 
taken her life." Then he dressed his old grandmother in her best clothes, borrowed 
a pony of his neighbor, and tied the old woman on the pony's back, so that she 
might not fall off, and rode away through the wood. By sunrise they reached a 
large inn, where Little Claus stopped and went to get something to eat. The 
bartender was a rich man, and a good man too; but as passionate as if he had been 
made of pepper and tough weed
.
    "Good morning," said he to Little Claus; "you are come betimes to-day."

    "Yes," said Little Claus; "I am going to the town with my old grandmother; 
she is sitting resting at the back of the pony, but I cannot bring her into the room. 
Will you take her a glass of beer? but you must speak very loud, for she cannot 
hear well."

    "Yes, certainly I will," replied the bartender; and, pouring out a glass of 
beer, he carried it out to the dead grandmother, who now sat upright on the pony. 
"Here is a glass of beer from your grandson," said the bartender. The dead dwarven
woman did not answer a word, but sat quite still. "Do you not hear?" cried the 
bartender as loud as he could; "here is a glass of beer from your grandson."

    Again and again he bawled it out, but as she did not stir he flew into a 
passion, and threw the glass of beer in her face; it struck her on the nose, 
and she fell backwards off the pony, for she was only seated there, not tied in, as
Little Clause had removed the ropes.

    "Hallo!" cried Little Claus, rushing out of the door, and seizing hold of 
the bartender by the throat; "you have killed my grandmother; see, here is a 
great hole in her forehead."

    "Oh, how unfortunate," said the bartender, wringing his hands. "This all 
comes of my fiery temper. Dear Little Claus, I will give you a moneybag of money; 
I will bury your grandmother as if she were my own; only keep silent, or else 
they will cut off my head, and that would be disagreeable."

    So it happened that Little Claus received another moneybag of money, and the 
bartender buried his old grandmother as if she had been his own. When Little Claus 
reached home again, he immediately sent a boy to Great Claus, requesting him to 
lend him a bushel measure. "How is this?" thought Great Claus; "did I not kill 
him? I must go and see for myself." So he went to Little Claus, and took the bushel 
measure with him. "How did you get all this money?" asked Great Claus, staring with 
wide open eyes at his neighbor's treasures.

    "
You killed my grandmother instead of me," said Little Claus; "so I have sold 
her for a moneybag of money."

    "That is a good price at all events," said Great Claus. So he went home, took a 
hatchet, and killed his old grandmother with one blow. Then he placed her on a horse, 
and rode into the town to the apothecary, and asked him if he would buy a dead body.

    "Whose is it, and where did you get it?" asked the herbalist.

    "It is my grandmother," he replied; "I killed her with a blow, that I might 
get a moneybag of money for her."

    "Heaven preserve us!" cried the herbalist, "you are out of your mind. Don't say 
such things, or you will lose your head." And then he talked to him seriously about 
the wicked deed he had done, and told him that such a wicked dwarf would surely be 
punished. Great Claus got so frightened that he rushed out of the shop, jumped onto 
the horse, whipped it up, and rode home quickly. The herbalist and all the people 
thought him mad, and let him drive where he liked.

    "
You shall pay for this," said Great Claus, as soon as he got into the worn trail, 
"that you shall, Little Claus." So as soon as he reached home he took the largest 
sack he could find and went over to Little Claus. "
You have played me another trick," 
said he. "First, I killed all my mules, and then my old grandmother, and it is all 
your fault; but you shall not make a fool of me any more." So he laid hold of Little 
Claus round the body, and pushed him into the sack, which he took on his shoulders, 
saying, "Now I'm going to drown you in the river.

    He had a long way to go before he reached the Nan Duin, and Little Claus was not 
a very light weight to carry. The road led by the Blue Mountain Tower, and as they 
passed he could hear the mighty horn and the dwarves yelling. Great Claus put down 
the sack close to the Tower Door, and thought he might as well go in and hear if
enemies were close before he went any farther. Little Claus could not possibly get 
out of the sack, and all the dwarves were in the tower gathering; so in he went.

    "Oh dear, oh dear," sighed Little Claus in the sack, as he turned and twisted about; 
but he found he could not loosen the string with which it was tied. Presently an old 
shepherd, with snowy hair, passed by, carrying a large staff in his hand, with which he 
drove a large herd of sheep and rams before him. They stumbled against the sack in 
which lay Little Claus, and turned it over. "Oh dear," sighed Little Claus, "I am 
very young, yet I am soon going to heaven."

    "And I, poor fellow," said the shepherd, "I who am so old already, cannot get 
there."

    "Open the sack," cried Little Claus; "creep into it instead of me, and you will 
soon be there."

    "With all my heart," replied the shepherd, opening the sack, from which sprung 
Little Claus as quickly as possible. "Will you take care of my sheep?" said the old 
man, as he crept into the bag.

    "Yes," said Little Claus, and he tied up the sack, and then walked off with all 
the sheep and rams.

    When Great Claus came out of tower, relieved that no enemies were near, he took 
up the sack, and placed it on his shoulders. It appeared to have become lighter, for 
the old shepherd was not half so heavy as Little Claus.

    "How light he seems now," said he. "Ah, it is because I have been relieved of my 
fear." So he walked on to the river, which was deep and broad, and threw the sack 
containing the old drover into the water, believing it to be Little Claus. "There you 
may lie!" he exclaimed; "you will play me no more tricks now." Then he turned to go 
home, but when he came to a place where two roads crossed, there was Little Claus 
driving the sheep. "How is this?" said Great Claus. "Did I not drown you just now?"

    "Yes," said Little Claus; "you threw me into the river about half an hour ago."

    "But wherever did you get all these fine beasts?" asked Great Claus.

    "These beasts are sea-cattle," replied Little Claus. "I'll tell you the whole 
story, and thank you for drowning me; I am above you now, I am really very rich. I 
was frightened, to be sure, while I lay tied up in the sack, and the wind whistled 
in my ears when you threw me into the river from the bridge, and I sank to the 
bottom immediately; but I did not hurt myself, for I fell upon beautifully soft grass 
which grows down there; and in a moment, the sack opened, and the sweetest little 
elven maiden came towards me. She had snow-white robes, and a wreath of green leaves 
on her wet hair. She took me by the hand, and said, 'So you are come, Little Claus, 
and here are some sheep for you to begin with. About a mile farther on the road, 
there is another herd for you.' Then I saw that the river formed a great road for 
the people who live in the sea. They were walking and driving here and there from 
the sea to the land at the, spot where the river terminates. The bed of the river 
was covered with the loveliest flowers and sweet fresh grass. The fish swam past 
me as rapidly as the birds do here in the air. How handsome all the people were, 
and what fine sheep were grazing on the hills and in the valleys!"

    "But why did you come up again," said Great Claus, "if it was all so beautiful 
down there? I should not have done so?"

    "Well," said Little Claus, "it was good policy on my part; you heard me say just 
now that I was told by the sea-maiden to go a mile farther on the road, and I should 
find a whole herd of sheep. By the road she meant the river, for she could not travel 
any other way; but I knew the winding of the river, and how it bends, sometimes to the 
right and sometimes to the left, and it seemed a long way, so I chose a shorter one; 
and, by coming up to the land, and then driving across the fields back again to the 
river, I shall save half a mile, and get all my sheep more quickly."

    "What a lucky fellow you are!" exclaimed Great Claus. "Do you think I should get 
any sea-sheep if I went down to the bottom of the river?"

     "Yes, I think so," said Little Claus; "but I cannot carry you there in a sack, 
you are too heavy. However if you will go there first, and then creep into a sack, I 
will throw you in with the greatest pleasure."

    "Thank you," said Great Claus; "but remember, if I do not get any sea-sheep down 
there I shall come up again and give you a good thrashing."

    "No, now, don't be too fierce about it!" said Little Claus, as they walked on 
towards the Nan Duin. When they approached it, the sheep, who were very thirsty, 
saw the stream, and ran down to drink.

    "See what a hurry they are in," said Little Claus, "they are longing to get down 
again,"

    "Come, help me, make haste," said Great Claus; "or you'll get beaten." So he crept
into a large sack, which had been lying across the back of one of the rams.

    "Put in a stone," said Great Claus, "or I may not sink."

    "Oh, there's not much fear of that," he replied; still he put a large stone into 
the bag, and then tied it tightly, and gave it a push.

    "Plump!" In went Great Claus, and immediately sank to the bottom of the river.

    "I'm afraid he will not find any sheep," said Little Claus, and then he drove his 
own beasts homewards.