“There won’t be a dry thread on the poor people who are out in this weather,” he said because he was such a kind poet.

“Oh, let me in! I’m freezing, and I’m so wet,” called a little child standing outside. The child cried and knocked on the door, while the rain poured down and the wind rattled all the windows.

“Oh, poor little thing!” said the old poet and went over to open the door. There was a little boy standing there. He was completely naked, and the water was dripping off his long, yellow hair. He was shivering from the cold, and if he couldn’t come inside, he would surely die in that terrible weather.

“Oh, you poor thing,” said the old poet and took his hand. “Come in here, and I’ll get you warmed up! You shall have wine and an apple, for you’re a sweet little fellow.”

And he was, too. His eyes looked like two clear stars, and even if water was running from his yellow hair, it curled beautifully. He looked like a little angel, but was pale from the cold, and his body was trembling all over. In his hand he held a lovely bow, but the rain had ruined it, and all the colors on the fine arrows were running into each other from the wet weather.

The old poet sat down by the stove and took the little boy in his lap, wrung the water out of his hair, warmed the little hands in his, heated wine for him, and then the little boy felt better. His cheeks turned pink, and he hopped down on the floor and danced around the old poet.

“You’re a cheerful fellow,” said the old man. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Cupid,” he said. “Don’t you recognize me? There’s my bow, and I can shoot with it, let me tell you! Look, it’s nice out now. The moon is shining.”

“But your bow is ruined,” said the old poet.

“That’s too bad,” said the little boy, and picked up the bow and looked at it. “But it’s dry already, and it’s not ruined! The string is completely taut. Now I’ll try it!” So he drew the bow, inserted an arrow, aimed, and shot the kindly old poet right in the heart. “You can see that my bow isn’t ruined,” he said and laughed loudly and ran off. That naughty boy—to think that he shot the old poet who had let him into the warm room, been kind to him, and had given him good wine and the best apple!

The old poet lay on the floor crying. He really had been shot right in the heart. Then he said, “Oh, what a bad boy that Cupid is! I’m going to tell all the children this so they can watch out and never play with him, for he’ll only hurt them.”

And all the good children he told about Cupid, both girls and boys, watched out for him, but Cupid fooled them anyway because he’s so cunning. When the students leave their lectures, he runs along side them with a book under his arm and dressed in a black cloak. They don’t recognize him then, and take him by the arm, and think that he’s also a student, but then he shoots the arrow into their chests. When the girls have been studying with the minister, and when they go for Confirmation, he’s after them there, too. He’s always after people! He sits in the big chandelier in the theater among the flames so people think it’s a lamp, but afterwards they notice something else! He runs around in the king’s garden and on the embankment. Indeed, at one time he shot your father and mother right in their hearts! Just ask them, and you’ll hear what they say. Yes, that Cupid is a naughty boy, and you must never have anything to do with him! He’s out to get all people. Just think, once he even shot an arrow at old grandmother, but that was long ago, so it’s worn off. But something like that she’ll never forget. Oh, how naughty Cupid is! But now you know him. You know what a bad boy he is.