The merchant took him to his dead daughter, left him alone with her, and locked the door.
The Soldier read and read. Midnight came, the wind blew, the coffin began to rock, the cover flew afar off. The Soldier jumped up on the stove-pipe, covered himself with the frying-pan, protected himself with a sign of the cross, and awaited what was going to happen. Out jumped the witch and began rushing about. Round her came swarming countless devils, the izba was full of them! They rushed about in search of the Soldier; they looked into the stove—
“Here’s the place,” they cried, “where he was last night.”
“There’s the place, but he’s not there.”
This way and that they rush,—cannot see him anywhere. Presently there stepped across the threshold a very old devil.
“What are you looking for?”
“The Soldier. He was reading here a moment ago, and now he’s disappeared.”
“Ah! no eyes! And who’s that sitting on the stove-pipe there?”
The Soldier’s heart thumped like anything; he all but tumbled down on the ground!
“There he is, sure enough!” cried the devils, “but how are we to settle him. Surely it’s impossible to reach him there?”