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sted for the lord Baron's supper. Where hast thou been for all this time?" "No matter," said the boy, sullenly, as he laid the fagots ready for the lighting; "no matter, I was not running after Long Jacob, the bowman, to try to catch him for a sweetheart, as thou hast been doing." The reply was instant and ready. The cook raised her hand; "smack!" she struck and a roar from the scullion followed. "Yes, good," thought Hans, as he looked down upon them; "I am glad that the boy's ear was not on my head." "Now give me no more of thy talk," said the woman, "but do the work that thou hast been bidden." Then--"How came all this black soot here, I should like to know?" "How should I know?" snuffled the scullion, "mayhap thou wouldst blame that on me also?" "That is my doing," whispered Hans to himself; "but if they light the fire, what then becomes of me?" "See now," said the cook; "I go to make the cakes ready; if I come back and find that thou hast not built the fire, I will warm thy other ear for thee." "So," thought Hans; "then will be my time to come down the chimney, for there will be but one of them." The next moment he heard the door close and knew that the cook had gone to make the cakes ready as she said. And as he looked down he saw that the boy was bending over the bundle of fagots, blowing the spark that he had brought in upon the punk into a flame. The dry fagots began to crackle and blaze. "Now is my time," said Hans to himself. Bracing his elbows against each side of the chimney, he straightened his legs so that he might fall clear His motions loosened little shower of soot that fell rattling upon the fagots that were now beginning to blaze brightly, whereupon the boy raised his face and looked up. Hans loosened his hold upon the chimney; crash! he fell, lighting upon his feet in the midst of the burning fagots. The scullion boy tumbled backward upon the floor, where he lay upon the broad of his back with a face as white as dough and eyes and mouth agape, staring speechlessly at the frightful inky-black figure standing in the midst of the flames and smoke. Then his scattered wits came back to him. "It is the evil one," he roared. And thereupon, turning upon his side, he half rolled, half scrambled to the door. Then out he leaped and, banging it to behind him, flew down the passageway, yelling with fright and never daring once to look behind him. All the time One-eyed Hans was brushing away
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