"Tis called," said he--

The Stool of Fortune

Once upon a time there came a soldier marching along the road, kicking
up a little cloud of dust at each step--as strapping and merry and
bright-eyed a fellow as you would wish to see in a summer day. Tramp!
tramp! tramp! he marched, whistling as he jogged along, though he
carried a heavy musket over his shoulder and though the sun shone hot
and strong and there was never a tree in sight to give him a bit of
shelter.

At last he came in sight of the King's Town and to a great field of
stocks and stones, and there sat a little old man as withered and brown
as a dead leaf, and clad all in scarlet from head to foot.

"Ho! soldier," said he, "are you a good shot?"

"Aye," said the soldier, "that is my trade."

"Would you like to earn a dollar by shooting off your musket for me?"

"Aye," said the soldier, "that is my trade also."

"Very well, then," said the little man in red, "here is a silver button
to drop into your gun instead of a bullet. Wait you here, and about
sunset there will come a great black bird flying. In one claw it carries
a feather cap and in the other a round stone. Shoot me the silver button
at that bird, and if your aim is good it will drop the feather cap and
the pebble. Bring them to me to the great town-gate and I will pay you a
dollar for your trouble."

"Very well," said the soldier, "shooting my gun is a job that fits me
like an old coat." So, down he sat and the old man went his way.

Well, there he sat and sat and sat and sat until the sun touched the rim
of the ground, and then, just as the old man said, there came flying a
great black bird as silent as night. The soldier did not tarry to look
or to think. As the bird flew by up came the gun to his shoulder, squint
went his eye along the barrel--Puff! bang--!

I vow and declare that if the shot he fired had cracked the sky he
could not have been more frightened. The great black bird gave a yell so
terrible that it curdled the very blood in his veins and made his hair
stand upon end. Away it flew like a flash--a bird no longer, but a
great, black demon, smoking and smelling most horribly of brimstone,
and when the soldier gathered his wits, there lay the feather cap and a
little, round, black stone upon the ground.

"Well," said the soldier, "it is little wonder that the old man had
no liking to shoot at such game as that." And thereupon he popped
the feather cap into one pocket a