FA IKY TALES FOE LITTLE FOLKS. 195 



door creaked, the fire crackled, the wind whistled. 

 Horror on horrors! the door opened! unquestiona 

 bly it swung open, and the cold night air rushed in. 

 For a moment afterward all was silent, then pat, pat, 

 pat went little feet across the floor. Yes, above the 

 rattling and the creaking could his sharpened senses 

 detect the unearthly tread of those little feet pat, 

 pat, pat. They seemed now to pause before the fire. 

 Pat, pat, pat, they walk to the window. Then pat, 

 pat, pat, they approached the bed. Old Marrott 

 shivered, but it was not with cold this time ; old 

 Marrott shrank down, but it was not to avoid the 

 night air. 



He hoped he would escape observation ; but no ; 

 there was a rustle, and something rested on the bed. 

 The old man s breath came thick and fast. Sudden 

 ly the covers were dragged from off him, and as he 

 sprang up to a sitting posture a fearful sight met his 

 eyes. There, upon the foot of the bed, stood the old 

 gander, with one end of the bedclothes in his mouth. 

 There he stood, grim and silent, and now the old 

 man saw but too plainly the revengeful glow of his 

 piercing eye. Around and behind him were feath 

 ers millions of feathers the same that had been 

 plucked from him during his long life. They had 

 all arrived for that night of vengeance. Some had 



