All the time One-eyed Hans was brushing away the sparks that clung to his clothes. He was as black as ink from head to foot with the soot from the chimney.
"So far all is good," he muttered to himself, "but if I go wandering about in my sooty shoes I will leave black tracks to follow me, so there is nothing to do but e'en to go barefoot.
He stooped and drawing the pointed soft leather shoes from his feet, he threw them upon the now blazing fagots, where they writhed and twisted and wrinkled, and at last burst into a flame. Meanwhile Hans lost no time; he must find a hiding-place, and quickly, if he would yet hope to escape. A great bread trough stood in the corner of the kitchen - a hopper-shaped chest with a flat lid. It was the best hiding place that the room afforded. Without further
