The next moment he heard the door close and knew that the cook
had gone to make the cakes ready as she said. And as he looked
down he saw that the boy was bending over the bundle of fagots,
blowing the spark that he had brought in upon the punk into a
flame. The dry fagots began to crackle and blaze. "Now is my
time," said Hans to himself. Bracing his elbows against each
side of the chimney, he straightened his legs so that he might
fall clear His motions loosened little shower of soot that fell
rattling upon the fagots that were now beginning to blaze
brightly, whereupon the boy raised his face and looked up. Hans
loosened his hold upon the chimney; crash! he fell, lighting
upon his feet in the midst of the burning fagots. The scullion
boy tumbled backward upon the floor, where he lay upon the broad
of his back with a face as white as dough and eyes and mouth
agape, staring speechlessly at the frightful inky-black figure
standing in the midst of the flames and smoke. Then his
scattered wits came back to him. "It is the evil one," he
roared. And thereupon, turning upon his side, he half rolled,
half scrambled to the door. Then out he leaped and, banging it
to behind him, flew down the passageway, yelling with fright and
never daring once to look behind him.

All the time One-eyed Hans was brushing away the sparks that
clung to his clothes. He was as black as ink from head to foot
with the soot from the chimney.

"So far all is good," he muttered to himself, "but if I go
wandering about in my sooty shoes I will leave black tracks to
follow me, so there is nothing to do but e'en to go barefoot.