"And therefore they are determined to weigh you to-morrow; and if you strike the weight, they will immediately hand you over to the Emperor of the French! All this they whispered very low; but I heard them, master, for all that."

"But what does he want with me, Hanzli? do you not know what he wants?"

"Oh, it will kill you, master, to hear it! Nothing more nor less than"--

"Than what?"

"Than to preserve you in spirits for his museum!"

"All ye saints!" roared Vendel, leaping up on his bed; "preserve me in spirits of wine like the four-legged hen, or the double-tailed lizard!"

"Just so, master, and alive too!"

"But it shall not be!" roared Vendel. "They shall not preserve me in spirits; I have no desire for such an honour--none at all! Come, help me up. Where are my slippers? Holy prophet Jonas! no wish for it whatever! Reach me my jacket and my cap. St. Florian and Habakkuk!

help me to dress. My cloak, my cloak, Hanzli--St. Cecilia! my cloak!

Let us run, my lad, run"--

"But whither?"

This was the question.

"Where? out of the window, of course. Take the hatchet and knock out the cross beams--that's it! never mind breaking the gla.s.s! Now, raise me up, Hanzli; let us run!"

And the next moment there was a terrible crash outside the window, occasioned by the descent of Vendel, which luckily the noise of the revellers within prevented them from hearing.

"But where shall we go now?"

This was the next question, for Vendel-gazda's legs were not exactly fashioned to run away with him. What was to be done?

At last Hanzli bethought him of a large wheel-barrow, which lay under a shed close by; and bringing it out, he placed his master in it, and wheeled him down a by-road which led behind the village; while the gigantic effort of this superhuman undertaking bent his back into a C, and caused his eyes to start almost out of their sockets.

His master tried to encourage him as well as he could: "Push on, my brave boy! I will serve you another time--only push on!"

At last they reached the end of the village. Poor Hanzli still continued pushing his immense burden before him, panting and snorting, while his back seemed ready to break at every step, and Vendel still continued his words of encouragement. "That's right I push on, my boy!--we will rest anon."

They reached the maize-ground.

Hanzli was nearly exhausted; and just as he was exerting his last strength to roll the sisyphian burden over a little mound--while Vendel urged him forward as usual, crying, "Push on, my lad, push out just a little more!"--plump! the barrow turned to one side, and the whole contents were precipitated into a muddy ditch.

"Oh! alas! I am lost! Mercy, Hanzli; save me!" cried the prostrate Blasius.

Hanzli did his best; and after much labour, succeeded in dragging his master out of the mud.

"But now you must get on, master, as you best can, on your own two legs; for if you expect me to push the barrow any more, I must just leave you here--my spine is split already; I shall never be fit for anything."

"Don't be foolish, my lad; you surely don't mean to forsake me! Help me at least to hide somewhere. You know very well how I always loved you--like my own son, Hanzlikam!"

"Well then, don't be talking about it; but just get up and give me your arm. Iai! if you are going to lean on me in that manner, master, I won't go a step farther. Just try to move your own legs--so, so."

And by dint of threats and encouragement, Hanzli succeeded in dragging his unhappy master through the maize till they reached a small shed, the sides and roof of which were somewhat dilapidated by wind and rain. Bundles of reeds, plaited together with maize stems, formed the shed-walls, through which the flowers of the sweet hazel-nut grew up luxuriantly; within, there was nothing but a legion of gnats.

"Am I to remain here?" asked Vendel in a voice of despair, surveying the shed, which was almost filled when he was inside.

"Don't be afraid, master! n.o.body will think of looking for you here."

"But where am I to sit down?"

"Why, on the ground, master."

"St. Jeremias! that is a hard seat."

"Never mind, master; it is better than being preserved in spirits of wine."

"But it is very cold; and then I am very hungry, too."

"Well, we can help that, master. I will go home and bring you a whole loaf, and some bacon."

"Nothing else? You surely do not wish me to starve, Hanzli?"

"I do not wish that, master; but indeed you must try and get down a little, at least half a hundredweight, unless you intend to spend your life here in eternal concealment."

Vendel looked round in dismay. "Very well, my son, very well--that is, I mean, very bad, very bad; but it can't be helped. Bring my dog, Hanzli, that I may have something to speak to at least when I am alone, and to take care of me."

"Well, Heaven bless you, master, till I come back again! and don't be afraid."

"Hanzli, don't speak of me to _anybody_,--you know who _that_ is, Hanzli--not a syllable!"

"No, no; no, no!"

And Vendel was left alone to his own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. Cold and hungry, turned out of his comfortable home and warm bed, to pa.s.s the night in a damp maize-shed--and all for the caprice of a sovereign who wished to preserve him in spirits!

In about an hour's time, every moment of which seemed an eternity to our poor fugitive, Hanzli returned laden with various articles. Vendel descried him at some distance, and rejoiced in seeing him thus bent beneath his burden, believing he had brought the whole contents of the larder on his back.

"What is that on your back, Hanzli?" he called to him as he approached.

"A sheaf of straw, and a cloak."

"Iai! nothing to eat? And what is that in your arms?"

"That is the poodle, which I was obliged to carry, for he would not come with me."

"And the bread, and the other things?" asked Vendel anxiously.

"Here it is, in the bag."

Alas! this bag was a very small concern.

"And have you brought nothing to drink, Hanzli?"