The Imp

It was a simple task, sweep the floors and keep the fire going whatever his master was brewing the flame must not go out Tittle thought himself adequate and most confident out he went into the woods to gather stick and brush bundling them and tying together on a rope to drag home He had enough kindling to keep the pot boiling through the night he drag the logs of fire wood one by one and stacked them just right easy for his master's needs. Tittle climbed into the dinning chair and reached for the bread left for him to eat. He had worked up an appetite and was satisfied He curled into the chair's seat and fell into a deep slumber. Morning light spiraled through the window upon Tittle's face Tittle slowly got up and stretched, yawning and rubbing his eyes patting his forehead where his big white spot shown. He looked at the fire place and saw a smoldering stream of smoke whispering through the chimney. Slowly fear crept through him his master had not yet return and he failed. The fire was out Shaking he grabbed the loaf of bread, jumped off the chair and fled. Not knowing where he was to go just running through the woods his heart beat so fast it pained him up the hill faster and faster and alas he tripped tumbling down the hill onto the path landing at his master's feet. Shuddering he cried out Master oh Master I failed thee the flame is out, what was hot now cold, Master please forgive poor humble Tittle. Do you seek me out to tell me this? Yes! Yes! Yes! my wise Master Tittle assured him his eyes soft with fear. Hmmm... let us return home and remedy this. Through the journey back Tittle spoke of how he swept the floors and gather fire wood. Not a word did the master speak as Tittle scrambled by his side. At home the master checked the pot, the flame had not expire long and it's contents still warm. With ladle he stirred and sniffed and smiled, Tittle ever watchful blurted out, Tittle did good master, Tittle good? Wood! the master barked as Tittle dragged the logs into place and ignited the kindling by rubbing his fingers sparking a flame for the fire. It will suffice, Master nodded and eased into his big chair while Tittle quietly swept the floors eyeing his master's mood. Nothing... The brew was finished and carefully poured into bottles and flask sealed by cap and wax. Gently Tittle placed the bottles into baskets while his master gather the horse and wagon and loaded the potion for trade with the witches. Tittle I shall be gone for a long spell Is Tittle come also? No you will remain here for my return. Tittle do good master, no worries as he looked up into the face of master and smiled. At that the master opened his flask and pour the potion onto Tittle's head turning him into solid stone with his big soft eyes open. The master placed Tittle on top the table and sprinkled a little potion onto a piece of bread turning it into stone and placing it in Tittle's gasping mouth. Better... Off the master went thinking maybe this time I should trade for a smarter imp, but not to clever, the clever ones are so mischievous.