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 manded William; “and what has happened to father Kuno?” “Simply this,” replied Bertram; “his portrait fell of itself from the wall this morning, just as the bell tolled seven; and the silly woman settled it that a goblin must be at the bottom of the mishiefmischief [sic], and that we are haunted accordingly.”

“At seven,” repeated William, “at seven!” and he thought, with a strange feeling of affright, of the soldier who parted from him exactly at that moment. “Yes, seven,” continued Bertram, still laughing. “I do not wonder at your surprise; it is not a usual ghostly hour, but Anne would have it so.” The latter shook her head doubtfully, and prayed that all might end well; while William shivered from head to foot, and would secretly have vowed not to use the magic balls, but that the thought of his ill luck haunted him. “Only one of them,” said he internally; “only one of them for the master-shot, and then I have done with them for ever.” But the forester urged him the next instant to accompany him into the forest; and as he dared not excite fresh suspicions of his want of skill, nor offend the old man by refusing, he was again compelled to make use of his wondrous balls; and in the course of a few days he had so accustomed himself to the use of them, and so