he young man stood as though turned to stone, for there
stood a gigantic Black Demon with a napkin wrapped around his loins and
a scimitar in his right hand, the blade of which gleamed like lightning
in the flame of the lamp. Before him lay a basket filled with sawdust.

When the queen saw what she saw she screamed in a loud voice, "Thou hast
found it! Thou hast found it! Thou hast found what alone can satisfy all
thy desires! Strike, O slave!"

The young man heard the Demon Zadok give a yell of laughter. He saw a
whirl and a flash, and then he knew nothing.

The Black had struck--the blade had fallen, and the head of Aben Hassen
the Fool rolled into the basket of sawdust that stood waiting for it.

"Aye, aye," said St. George, "and so it should end. For what was your
Aben Hassen the Fool but a heathen Paniem? Thus should the heads of all
the like be chopped off from their shoulders. Is there not some one here
to tell us a fair story about a saint?"

"For the matter of that," said the Lad who fiddled when the Jew was in
the bramble-bush--"for the matter of that I know a very good story that
begins about a saint and a hazel-nut.

"Say you so?" said St. George. "Well, let us have it. But stay, friend,
thou hast no ale in thy pot. Wilt thou not let me pay for having it
filled?"

"That," said the Lad who fiddled when the Jew was in the bramble-bush,
"may be as you please, Sir Knight; and, to tell the truth, I will be
mightily glad for a drop to moisten my throat withal."

"But," said Fortunatus, "you have not told us what the story is to be
about."

"It is," said the Lad who fiddled for the Jew in the bramble-bush,
"about--"

Ill-Luck and the Fiddler

Once upon a time St. Nicholas came down into the world to take a peep
at the old place and see how things looked in the spring-time. On he
stepped along the road to the town where he used to live, for he had
a notion to find out whether things were going on nowadays as they
one time did. By-and-by he came to a cross-road, and who should he
see sitting there but Ill-Luck himself. Ill-Luck's face was as gray as
ashes, and his hair as white as snow--for he is as old as Grandfather
Adam--and two great wings grew out of his shoulders--for he flies fast
and comes quickly to those whom he visits, does Ill-Luck.

Now, St. Nicholas had a pocketful of hazel-nuts, which he kept cracking
and eating as he trudged along the road, and just then he came upon one
with a wo