On the first of the month, Snickchoo drove his goat cart to the Candy Miser's cabin in the gloomy glen. He tied Galatea, his silken nanny goat, so that she could nibble at the violets, her favorite salad. Then he placed a basket of licorice laces on the porch for inspection.

The Candy Miser examined each lace carefully, hands trembling. He grunted approval. Now the Candy Miser began to lay out a line of eight licorice laces to serve as a standard. Snickchoo noted that the Miser's laces were somewhat longer than his own.

Snickchoo was surprised to learn that he'd eaten so many -- so quickly -- with so little relish. But there it was: his "Snickchoo" scribbled beside the stated sum. Snickchoo remembered checking that sum on that fateful morning. So this must be correct.

Although his laces were shorter than the Miser's, he'd enough. It was just a matter of piecing out the licorice length before him.

"One, two, three, four, ...", Snickchoo counted, then stopped and waited.

The Candy Miser hunched over the two lines of licorice laces, head bobbing at this line, now at that, as he compared. He stood up and shook his head.

"Well, really, my dear chap, as you see, your line falls a little short. So --."

"Oh, very well!", Snickchoo grumbled. He hated to give the Candy Miser more than his "due". But he also had to get back to work. So Snickchoo threw in another licorice lace "for good measure".

But the Candy Miser again shook his head.

Snickchoo snorted. "What's the matter? That's more than enough. Look. My line of licorice is longer than yours. Admit it!"

"Oh, I'm not questioning that, Snickchoo. But that's hardly the point! You signed a pledge to match exactly the length of licorice laces I put down to represent what you consumed. And I expect you to do so!"

Snickchoo glowered, spluttered, shook his head. Then he remembered his dear friends in The Hollow and The Meadow, who depended upon him to maintain his reputation and composure. So Snickchoo pulled himself together, quickly searching his mind for choices.

"Ah, well." Taking his carving knife from his belt, and snatching a lace from his partly filled basket, he fitted the end carefully in place. Fitting his knife blade snugly against the end of the Miser's end lace, he neatly sliced a segment from the newly laid supplement. Now the two lines seemed equally long, viewed from top, or from the side.

But the Candy Miser now violently shook his head.

"Oh, Snickchoo! You shock me! You are known as a master carver. And also a master licorice maker. A very connaisseur of licorice laces! The finest licorice laces in the world are made right here in The Hollow. Hollow-brand licorice is the finest! Which is why I'm a collector of it. In the outside world, they simply twist together several long strings of licorice, then slice off sections to sell to nondiscriminating urchins. But this -- this elegance of licorice -- behold!"

The Candy Miser thrust a bundle toward the tree tops to catch the best light.

"One continued loop of licorice gathered and laced together. One defies the critic to find any joint -- any node of joining of two strings!"

Snickchoo nodded proudly at this praise of his handiwork. But the Candy Miser interrupted his reverie.

"And you -- you master and connaisseur of licorice -- you assault your own craft with carving knife! Severing the strings like arteries! And--" voice now almost in sobs "leave the stumps of licorice fibers dangling like bleeding flesh! All to achieve petty settlement of a contract!"

Snickchoo flushed with embarrassment. He nodded sheepishly, nervously rubbing hands together, shrugging his shoulders, muttering and gargling incoherent apologies.

Then, suddenly, the absurdity of his position came to him.

"But what, Sir, am I to do? You won't accept it a little short. You won't permit excess. You disapprove of my cutting to fit. What am I to --?"

"Well, really, dear Snickchoo. I'm surprised you ask this. Surely you've read the contract fully. No. I mean there -- in the fine print."

Snickchoo snatching up his birchbark document, adjusting his spectacles. Raising the contract to the dim light between the tree branches, he squinted at what he'd thought to be ink droplets. They now seemed to swim around like tiny waterspiders at the center of a pool.

"Hmmm. Oh, dear. It is fine print. Well, it seems to say that -- if my line of licorice laces doesn't match your line -- exactly -- and uncut -- then you are -- permitted -- to adjoin an another bundle of your laces to your line -- and I must try to match the extended line -- exactly -- and uncut. Oh, very well. Let' s get on with it."

(Snickchoo thought to himself: "Ah, this is how the old rogue collects his interest. But never mind. It's not as much as he usually charges. So no matter.")

But one more of the Miser's laces adjoined to his line produced a length that Snickchoo couldn't match exactly with adjunctions of his. So the Candy Miser adjoined another bundle of his laces. And Snickchoo tried and failed to piece out the length exactly.

Thus, the patchwork extended -- until Snickchoo's basket was empty.

Without a word, Snickchoo surrendered all his treasure. For that condition was also included in the fine print. He must begin anew on the first of the next month.

Pulling Galatea, struggling and bleating, from a violet patch she'd discovered, Snickchoo mounted the cart and drove off in a huff.

But, once beyond the glen, he pulled a golden cord from under his belt, dangled it on his finger, and chuckled with satisfaction.

When the Candy Miser wasn't looking, he'd cut this cord to fit the length of the Miser's bundle of laces. Next time he'd arrive with licorice laces of a length to match exactly each bundle as long as this cord.

(Ready for Chapter 5?)