"If you doubt my honor, I will refer you to the catechism. Do you believe in the catechism?"

"Is it true then that you have done nothing contrary to its precepts?"

"It is indeed true," replied Carl, gravely.

"Then I am satisfied," said Magde, "and I am grateful to you, my good Carl, for the welcome present."

"Good? Yes, can I really believe you, Magde?"

"Yes, I so consider you, and therefore I am good to you."

Carl commenced laughing, and a.s.sumed a crane-like position, as he balanced himself upon one leg. This was his usual custom when pleased.

"Well, well, then you love poor Carl a little. That's good!"

"Carl is my good boy," replied Magde, who during the conversation had been engaged in spreading out a number of skeins of knitting yarn that had been placed out to bleach upon the gra.s.s plot.

"Listen," said Carl, approaching nigher to Magde, "would Magde shed a tear upon my grave if G.o.d should call me from earth?"

There reposed in these words a tone of mingled fear and humility, and Magde, much moved by the peculiar expression of Carl's countenance, replied:

"Certainly, Carl, I would shed many, many tears, for I believe there are none who love you as I do."

"I am grateful, Magde," said Carl, violently sc.r.a.ping the ground with the sole of his hob-nailed shoe, an action which could scarcely be called a bow--"your words shall be remembered. I am Magde's servant, and shall be so as long as I live."

With these words, he turned on his heel, and trotted towards his place of destination.

"The poor lad has a good heart," thought Magde, as she concluded her labors in the yard; but she little imagined the true state of Carl's heart.

Magde now entered the house to prepare breakfast. Her three children crowded around her, loudly testifying their admiration of the partridges and hares. She commenced dressing the game with that placidity of countenance, and with that dexterity which proved she was well versed in that most important branch of a housekeeper's duties--cookery.

CHAPTER VIII.

CONCERNING THE HUNTER IN THE WOODS, AND HIS HOMEWARD WALK.

We now return to our friend the sportsman, who soon awoke from his sound slumber, quite refreshed. He yawned, stretched himself, and mechanically extended his hand towards the spot where he had placed his game-bag.

Although his hand touched nothing but the gra.s.s and his gun, he nevertheless was not troubled, for he thought that he had miscalculated the distance. He searched still further; but to his surprise the game-bag was still missing. He now raised himself up in a sitting posture, and rubbing his eyes vigorously, he searched the ground closely. But his eyes, usually so good, must have been dimmed by some enchantment, for he could perceive neither the hares nor the partridges, which he could not but think were there.

Determined, however, not to believe in such marvels, for honest Fabian was a man of intelligence, he arose and peered through the bushes in the gra.s.s; he looked in the air, and he closely scanned the tops of the trees; but his efforts were fruitless. The game was not to be found.

"It is astonishing!" said he to himself. "I can not believe it! They must be here! But where the devil are they then!"

The trees retained a stubborn silence, and their example was followed by the earth, the air, and the water. Although the heat of the day was rendered still more insufferable by Mr. Fabian's thick hunting suit, yet his flesh chilled with fear when he discovered the actual loss of his partridges and hares.

To return home without his game, was a misfortune, which under ordinary circ.u.mstances he could have endured; but on this occasion he had reason to expect a more than usually severe lecture from his wife whose command he had stubbornly disobeyed by not awakening Gottlieb. While the unfortunate sportsman was bewailing his fate he discovered the face of his "butler," who was peering out from between the bushes with an expression of mingled humility and mirthfulness.

"Where are my partridges, you rascal?" shouted Mr. Fabian, his face glowing with anger.

"Do you think, Mr. H----, that I have taken them?"

"Such a jest would be but natural. What are you doing here? Have I not paid you enough?"

"I never do anything without orders, and if you do not wish me to remain, I will go instantly. I thought, however, that you would be pleased if I should tell you what had become of your game."

"That is just what I wish to know! Has any one presumed to steal it?"

"Very likely."

"Who? Quick! Tell me!"

But the butler answered only with a long drawn. "Ah!"

"Can you substantiate what you are about to say?"

"I can swear to it, if it is necessary. I waited here only that I might be able to explain everything to my employer, after he should awake."

"You are a fine fellow, now tell me what evil being has entered the woods, and committed this depredation?"

"If you wish to have a full account of the matter, you should tender full payment," said the butler, who considered this play of words exceedingly apt and forcible.

"Yes, yes, I will not be ungenerous," replied Mr. Fabian taking a bank-note from his pocket.

"Carl,--the fool of the valley--purloined the hares and partridges."

"What! that cur!--the son of old Lonner!"

"The same."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, as certain as I am that I live."

"Good," said Mr. Fabian, and he repeated the same word several times, each time appearing better satisfied, and certainly the thoughts that occupied his mind must have afforded him great pleasure, for he not only forgot the trouble that awaited his return home, but also the question, which in truth should have been the first one--why the Butler had not stopped the thief and rescued the booty. The Butler, however, thought it expedient not to await further questions, and therefore soon found an opportunity of retreating.

Our readers may be a.s.sured that when the sportsman returned home his wife was not in the best of humor. She awaited his coming in the parlor; but when she heard his footsteps in the court-yard, she could no longer restrain her impatience, but hastened to the window and exclaimed:

"Where were your silly thoughts wandering, when you left the house without calling Gottlieb. I must say that you conduct yourself friendly towards _my_ relations, and I do think it is equally astonishing that you have come home without him. I sent him to look for you a long time ago. What! can I believe my eyes! Where is the game that I was to have for dinner?"

"Dear Ulrique Eugenie, can you not wait until I have changed my clothes?

I have travelled so far through the woods, that I can scarcely breathe, I am so weary."

"Where is the game?"