"Thanks, thanks! Oh, get me some water!"
Anderl knew where there was a spring, and he ran and brought some in his hat.
"It is raining very hard," said he, "and there is shelter not far off: do you think you can crawl to it?"
"Well, I'll try—it's so forlorn to be left to die here. You're not taking me to people that will knock me on the head?" added he quickly.
"Oh, no! Not to any people at all, only to a shepherd's deserted hut scooped out of the rock. Edge yourself along this way, on your elbow and the side that isn't bleeding. I know it will hurt you, but you mustn't mind that."
Following the advice and guidance of the humane little boy, the young Bavarian, with a good deal of wincing, and some additional effusion of blood, wormed himself along to the rude little cavity which Anderl had dignified by the name of a hut. It contained, however, a rough bed of fir branches, a stool and table of rude construction, and a little hidden store of rye-cakes and cheese.
"And now," said Anderl, after having good-naturedly settled him on the rustic couch, and put the food within his reach, "I'll fetch you some water; and then I must leave you, or my mother will fancy I've come to harm."
"I hope the owner of the hut will not return, though," said the Bavarian wistfully. "You couldn't get me a musket, could you? I dare say mine is down among the grass."
"Why, now, how can you expect it?" said the boy. "Here have I had mercy on you, our enemy; and you want me to give you the means of shooting one of my friends!"