THE STOOL OF FORTUNE

the corner and began staring about him; and he liked the
looks of the place as little as any he had seen in all of his
life, for it smelled musty and dusty, it did: the three skulls
grinned at him, and he began
to think that the little old man
was no better than he should
be. “I wish,” says he, at last,
“that instead of being here I
might be well out of my scrape
and in a safe place.”

Now the little old man in
scarlet was a great magician,
and there was little or nothing
in that house that had not some
magic about it, and of all things
the three-legged stool had been
conjured the most.

“T wish that instead of being
here I might be well out of my
scrape, and in a safe place.”
That was what the soldier said ;
and hardly had the words left
his lips when —whisk! whir!—
away flew the stool through the
window, so suddenly that the
soldier had only just time
enough to gripe it tight by the legs to save himself from
falling. Whir! whiz !—away it flew like a bullet. Up and
up it went—so high in the air that the earth below looked
like a black blanket spread out in the night; and then
down it came again, with the soldier still griping tight to
the legs, until at last it settled as light as a feather upon a

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