The room was all full of twilight; but there they sat, every one of them. I did not count them, but there were ever so many: Aladdin, and Ali Baba, and Fortunatis, and Jack-the-Giant-Killer, and Doctor Faustus, and Bidpai, and Cinderella, and Patient Grizzle, and the Soldier who cheated the Devil, and St. George, and Hans in Luck, who traded and traded his lump of gold until he had only an empty churn to show for it; and there was Sindbad the Sailor, and the Tailor who killed seven flies at a blow, and the Fisherman who fished up the Genie, and the Lad who fiddled for the Jew in the bramble-bush, and the Blacksmith who made Death sit in his apple-tree, and Boots, who always marries the Princess, whether he wants to or not--a rag-tag lot as ever you saw in your life, gathered from every place, and brought together in Twilight Land. Each one of them was telling a story, and now it was the turn of the Soldier who cheated the Devil. “I will tell you,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil, “a story of a friend of mine.” “Take a fresh pipe of tobacco,” said St. George. “Thank you, I will,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil. He filled his long pipe full of tobacco, and then he tilted it upside down and sucked in the light of the candle. Puff! puff! puff! and a cloud of smoke went up about his head, so that you could just see his red nose shining through it, and his bright eyes twinkling in the midst of the smoke-wreath, like two stars through a thin cloud on a summer night. “I’ll tell you,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil, “the story of a friend of mine. Tis every word of it just as true as that I myself cheated the Devil.” He took a drink from his mug of beer, and then he began. “Tis called,” said he-- 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.”