"If you go, you won't remain alive, and if you don't go, just the same! But you'd better go. Don't drink much brandy, drink just what is right; and when the wind blows, and the coffin begins to rock, slip straight into the stove. There no one will find you." The Soldier got ready and went to the merchant's, who seated him at table, and began plying him with brandy. Afterwards he took him to where the corpse was, and locked him into the room. The Soldier went on reading, reading. Midnight came, the wind blew, the coffin began to rock, the coffin lid fell afar off on the ground. He was into the stove in a moment. Out jumped the witch and began rushing about; round her swarmed devils, the room was full of them! "What are you looking for?" they cry. "Why, there he was reading a moment ago, and now he's vanished out of sight. I can't find him." The devils flung themselves on the stove. "Here's the place," they cried, "where he was last night!" There was the place, but he wasn't there! This way and that they rushed. Suddenly the cocks began to crow, the devils vanished, the witch lay stretched on the floor. The Soldier stayed awhile to recover his breath, crept out of the stove, put the merchant's daughter back in her coffin, and took to reading the psalter again. Presently he looks round, the day has already dawned. His host arrives: "Hail, Soldier!" says he. "I wish you good health, master merchant." "Has the night passed comfortably?" "Glory be to God! yes." "Come along here, then." The merchant led him out of the room, gave him a hundred roubles, and said-- "Come, please, and read here a third night; I sha'n't treat you badly." "Good, I'll come." The Soldier returned home. "Well, grandson, what has God sent you?" says his grandfather. "Nothing much, grandfather! The merchant told me to come again. Should I go or not?" "If you go, you won't remain alive, and if you don't go, you won't remain alive! But you'd better go." "But if anything happens where must I hide?" "I'll tell you, grandson. Buy yourself a frying-pan, and hide it so that the merchant sha'n't see it. When you go to his house he'll try to force a lot of brandy on you. You look out, don't drink much, drink just what you can stand. At midnight, as soon as the wind begins to roar, and the coffin to rock, do you that very moment climb on to the stove-pipe, and cover yourself over with the frying-pan. There no one will find you out." The Soldier had a good sleep, bought himself a frying-pan,[367] hid it under his cloak, and towards evening went to the merchant's house. The merchant seated him at table and took to plying him with liquor--tried every possible kind of invitation and cajolery on him. "No," says the Soldier, "that will do. I've had my whack. I won't have any more." "Well, then, if you won't drink, come along and read your psalter."