egging, and her young daughter looking on and weeping, but
afraid to say or do anything.

They hanged the lady, and I threw a stone at her, although in my heart
I was sorry for her; but all were throwing stones and each was watching
his neighbor, and if I had not done as the others did it would have been
noticed and spoken of. Satan burst out laughing.

All that were near by turned upon him, astonished and not pleased.
It was an ill time to laugh, for his free and scoffing ways and his
supernatural music had brought him under suspicion all over the town and
turned many privately against him. The big blacksmith called attention
to him now, raising his voice so that all should hear, and said:

"What are you laughing at? Answer! Moreover, please explain to the
company why you threw no stone."

"Are you sure I did not throw a stone?"

"Yes. You needn't try to get out of it; I had my eye on you."

"And I--I noticed you!" shouted two others.

"Three witnesses," said Satan: "Mueller, the blacksmith; Klein, the
butcher's man; Pfeiffer, the weaver's journeyman. Three very ordinary
liars. Are there any more?"

"Never mind whether there are others or not, and never mind about what
you consider us--three's enough to settle your matter for you. You'll
prove that you threw a stone, or it shall go hard with you."

"That's so!" shouted the crowd, and surged up as closely as they could
to the center of interest.

"And first you will answer that other question," cried the blacksmith,
pleased with himself for being mouthpiece to the public and hero of the
occasion. "What are you laughing at?"

Satan smiled and answered, pleasantly: "To see three cowards stoning a
dying lady when they were so near death themselves."

You could see the superstitious crowd shrink and catch their breath,
under the sudden shock. The blacksmith, with a show of bravado, said:

"Pooh! What do you know about it?"

"I? Everything. By profession I am a fortune-teller, and I read the
hands of you three--and some others--when you lifted them to stone
the woman. One of you will die to-morrow week; another of you will die
to-night; the third has but five minutes to live--and yonder is the
clock!"

It made a sensation. The faces of the crowd blanched, and turned
mechanically toward the clock. The butcher and the weaver seemed smitten
with an illness, but the blacksmith braced up and said, with spirit:

"It is not long to wait for prediction number one.