My relation gave a sigh of relief when he began to recollect that his own head was quite safe, and that he was only called to witness the execution of another man. "But I can't go; I have sprained my ankle," pleaded the Englishman. "Oh, I don't intend to walk myself," replied the executioner. "I have my horse and cart ready, and can give you a lift." "Oh, if that's the case," said the student, "I shall be glad to go, as I wish to meet my friends in the township." "Come on, then," and the headsman assisted the Englishman into the cart. As they were about starting, a little red-haired ruffian of about ten, stout and well-built, and bearing a striking likeness to our host, appeared on the threshold. "Papa, you'll bring me home a football, won't you?" said the youth. "Ay, my boy, that will I, a good sized one," answered his father. "That's your son?" asked the student of his host. "Ah, a fine little fellow. Here, my little man," said he to the child, and slipping a small coin into his little fat fist, he patted him on the cheek and stepped into the cart. "Ah, he's a fine boy," said our host with a paternal pride, as he whipped on his horse. "There is nothing of the milksop about him. _He's_ not afraid of the devil himself." "You do well to be proud of him. I'll warrant you buy him many a pretty toy," observed the Englishman. "Buy him toys!" exclaimed the headsman, laughing. "As long as I bring him home a football now and then, he is quite content." And he laughed again. "Well, that is a toy, isn't it?" said the student, not as yet comprehending the headsman's meaning. "Yes, a toy that costs me nothing, and gives him no end of amusement. You should see how he kicks the heads about that I bring him home. It's quite a pleasure to see the youngster enjoy himself in his innocent way." "You do not mean to say," said the Englishman, in horror, "that the football you promised him is to be _a human head_!" "Aye, to be sure," replied the Scharfrichter. "What else should it be? What kicks he'll give it to be sure! Ha! ha! ha! that's the way to bring up boys; makes them hardy. _He's_ not afraid of a little blood. Talk of his not taking a liking to my business! Why he's always saying to me, 'Papa, when I am big enough to wield your sword, you'll let me cut off heads, won't you?' "'Yes, my boy, that you shall,' say I, for I like to give him encouragement. That's what I call bringing up boys well. I wouldn't give a fig for one of your milksops that scream or faint at the sight of blood, not I." "Humph," muttered my ancestor, and he remained silent for some minutes, absorbed in meditation. The headsman whipped on his horse in silence; at length he said to his guest: "Here we are at last. Look at yon crowd waiting to receive us."