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The thieves had learnt their lesson, and never stole the apples again.

Some time passed by, when one day some one again knocked at old Misery’s door.

“Come in,” she cried.

“Guess who I am,” said a voice. “I am old Father Death himself. Listen, little mother,” he continued. “I think that you and your old dog have lived long enough; I have come to fetch you both.”

THE ENCHANTED APPLE-TREE

“You are all-powerful,” said Misery. “I do not oppose your will, but before I pack up, grant me one favour. On the tree yonder there grow the most delicious apples you have ever tasted. Don’t you think it would be a pity to leave them, without gathering one?”

“As you ask me so graciously, I will take one,” said Death, whose mouth was watering as he walked towards the tree. He climbed up to the topmost branches to gather a large rosy apple, but directly he touched it, the wretch remained glued to the tree by his long bony hand. Nothing could tear him off, in spite of his struggles.

“There you are, old tyrant, hanging high and dry,” said Misery.