The Stool of Fortune

Once upon a time there came a soldier marching along the road,
kicking up a little cloud of dust at each step--as strapping
and merry and bright-eyed a fellow as you would wish to see in a
summer day. Tramp! tramp! tramp! he marched, whistling as he
jogged along, though he carried a heavy musket over his shoulder
and though the sun shone hot and strong and there was never a
tree in sight to give him a bit of shelter.

At last he came in sight of the King's Town and to a great field
of stocks and stones, and there sat a little old man as withered
and brown as a dead leaf, and clad all in scarlet from head to
foot.

"Ho! soldier," said he, "are you a good shot?"

"Aye," said the soldier, "that is my trade."

"Would you like to earn a dollar by shooting off your musket for
me?"

"Aye," said the soldier, "that is my trade also."

"Very well, then," said the little man in red, "here is a silver
button to drop into your gun instead of a bullet. Wait you here,
and about sunset there will come a great black bird flying. In
one claw it carries a feather cap and in the other a round stone.
Shoot me the silver button at that bird, and if your aim is good