Page:The shoemaker's apron (1920).djvu/202

 “It is I, Death,” a voice answered. “Open the door, blacksmith. Your time has come.”

The blacksmith threw open the door.

“Welcome,” he said to the woman standing there. “I’ll be ready in a moment when I put away my tools.” He smiled a little to himself. “Won’t you sit down on this stool, dear lady, and rest you for a moment? You must be weary going to and fro over the earth.”

Death, suspecting nothing, seated herself on the stool.

The blacksmith burst into a loud laugh.

“Now I have you, my lady! Stay where you are until I release you!”

Death tried to stand up but could not. She squirmed this way and that. She rattled her hollow bones. She gnashed her teeth. But do what she would she could not arise from the stool.

Chuckling and singing, the blacksmith left her there and went about his business.

But soon he found that chaining up Death had unexpected results. To begin with, he wanted at once to celebrate his escape with a feast. He had a hog which had been fattening for some time. He would slaughter this hog and chop it up into fine spicy sau-