lacksmith 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 sausages which his neighbors
and friends would help him eat. The hams he would hang in the chimney to
smoke.

But when he tried to slaughter the animal, the blow of his axe had no
effect. He struck the hog on the head and, to be sure, it rolled over on
the ground. But when he stopped to cut the throat, the creature jumped
up and with a grunt went scampering off. Before the blacksmith could
recover from his surprise, the hog had disappeared.

Next he tried to kill a goose. He had a fat one which he had been
stuffing for the village fair.

"Since those sausages have escaped me," he said. "I'll have to be
satisfied with roast goose."

But when he tried to cut the goose's throat, the knife drew no blood. In
his surprise he loosened his hold and the goose slipped from his hands
and went cackling off after the hog.

"What's come over things today?" the blacksmith asked himself. "It seems
I'm not to have sausage or roast goose. I suppose I'll have to be
satisfied with a pair of pigeons."

He went out to the pigeon-house and caught two pigeons. He put them on
the chopping-block and with one mighty blow of his ax cut off both their
heads.

"There!" he cried in triumph. "I've got you!"

But even as he spoke the little severed heads returned to their bodies,
the heads and bodies grew together as if nothing had happened, and
cooing happily the two pigeons flew away.

Then at last the truth flashed upon the blacksmith's mind. So long as he
kept Death fastened to that stool, nothing could die! Of course not! So
no more spicy sausages, no more smoked hams, no more roast goose--not
even a broiled pigeon! The prospect was not a pleasing one, for the
blacksmith loved good things to eat. But what could he do? Release
Death? Never that! He would be her first victim! Well then, if he could
have no fresh meat, he would