if killing and murder were everyday matters to him.

"That was not the worst of it," continued Dame Brinker, knitting
slowly and trying to keep count of her stitches as she talked.
"That was not near the worst of it. The dreadful landlord went
and cut up the young gentlemen's bodies into little pieces and
threw them into a great tub of brine, intending to sell them for
pickled pork!"

"Oh!" cried Gretel, horror-stricken, though she had often heard
the story before. Hans was still unmoved and seemed to think
that pickling was the best that could be done under the
circumstances.

"Yes, he pickled them, and one might think that would have been
the last of the young gentlemen. But no. That night Saint
Nicholas had a wonderful vision, and in it he saw the landlord
cutting up the merchant's children. There was no need of his
hurrying, you know, for he was a saint, but in the morning he
went to the inn and charged the landlord with murder. Then the
wicked landlord confessed it from beginning to end and fell down
on his knees, begging forgiveness. He felt so sorry for what he
had done that he asked the saint to bring the young masters to
life."

"And did the saint do it?" asked Gretel, delighted, well knowing
what the answer would be.

"Of course he did. The pickled pieces flew together in an
instant, and out jumped the young gentlemen from the brine tub.