until the foot instead of the head was in front of Death. The duke recovered and rewarded Martin richly.
But Death when next she met Martin reproved him:
“My friend, don’t try that trick on me again. Besides, it is not a real cure. The duke’s time has come; he must go to his appointed place; and it is my duty to conduct him thither. You think you have saved him from me and he thinks so, but you are both mistaken. All you have given him is a moment’s respite.”
The years went by and Martin grew old. His hair whitened and his muscles stiffened. The infirmities of age came upon him and life was no longer a joy.
“Dear Godmother Death,” he cried, “I am old and tired! Take me!”
But Death shook her head.
“No, my friend, I can’t take you yet. You lengthened the candle of your life and now you must wait until it burns down.”
At last one day as he was riding home after visiting a sick man, Death climbed into the carriage with him. She talked with him of old times and they laughed together. Then jokingly she brushed his chin with a green branch. Instantly Martin’s eyes grew heavy.
