“Impossible, forsooth! Run and lay your hands on a candle-end which has been lighted without a blessing having been uttered over it.”
In an instant the devils brought the candle-end, piled up a lot of wood right under the stove-pipe, and set it alight. The flame leapt high into the air, the Soldier began to roast: first one foot, then the other, he drew up under him.
“Now,” thinks he, “my death has come!”
All of a sudden, luckily for him, the cocks began to crow, the devils vanished, the witch fell flat on the floor. The soldier jumped down from the stove-pipe, and began putting out the fire. When he had put it out he set every thing to rights, placed the merchant’s daughter in her coffin, covered it up with the lid, and betook himself to reading the psalter. At daybreak came the merchant, and listened at the door to find out whether the Soldier was alive or not. When he heard his voice he opened the door and said—
“Hail, Soldier!”
“I wish you good health, master merchant.”
“Have you passed the night comfortably?”
“Glory be to God, I’ve seen nothing bad.”
The merchant gave him a hundred and fifty roubles, and said—
“You’ve done a deal of work, Soldier! do a little more. Come here to-night and carry my daughter to the graveyard.”