in store, and twisting his hide apron round his loins, he
muttered, "Demon or no demon, I'll go," and strode out of the smithy and
up the hill-side as fast as though he feared that if he went slowly his
courage would not carry him as far up as the heather-bush which the long
yellow finger had pointed out.

When the young wife of Jacques came to look for her husband, she saw
him returning with his apron full of black morsels of shining stone. She
smiled at him; but when he threw them on the furnace and went to get a
brand to set them alight, she looked solemn enough, for she thought he
had left his wits on the hill-top. Great was her surprise when she saw
the stones burn! But her joy was greater than her surprise when she
heard her husband's hammer ring merrily, and found the wage of the
smith all spared for home use, instead of being set aside for the
charcoal-burner. That night Jacques had two full wine-cups and, setting
them on the anvil, had scarcely said to himself, "I wonder whether
He'll come!" when in walked the Old Man and, nodding familiarly, seated
himself on the head of the big hammer. Jacques was a bold and grateful
as well as a good-natured fellow, and in a few minutes he and his
visitor were on excellent terms. No more shivering or chattering of
teeth was seen or heard in the smithy that night. The black stones
burned away merrily on the hearth, and the bright flames shone on the
honest face of the smith as he hobnobbed with his companion, and looked
as though he really thought the stranger as handsome as he certainly had
been useful. He sang his best songs and told his best stories, and when
the wine had melted his soul he told his new friend how dearly he loved
his wife and what charming, dear creatures his children were. "Demon
or no demon," he swore the stranger was a good fellow, and though the
visitor spoke but little, he seemed to enjoy his company very much.
He laughed at the jokes, smiled at the songs, and once rather startled
Jacques by letting out again his long telescope arm to pat him on his
shoulder when, with a mouth full of praises of his wife, a tear sparkled
in his eye as he told over again how dearly he loved his little ones.

Day broke before the wine was exhausted or their hearts flagged, and
when the voice of the early cock woke the swan that tended her callow
brood amongst the sedges of the Meuse the Old Man departed. Jacques
never saw him again, although he often looked in all direc