"Not if he does not point it at you. Besides, it wouldn't go off."
"I shan't understand his language."
"Why, you understand mine. But he doesn't talk at all, only makes a dismal noise, and keeps smiting his hands. I advise you to say your prayers, and then you won't think of him any more."
Away went Anderl, with a very unfavourable impression of Bavarian courage. Meanwhile, the wounded soldier felt very lonely without his little companion; and weak from the loss of blood. A good deal of what courage he had, had certainly ebbed away with it; for he was presently sadly scared by a sudden, rushing, unaccountable sound of many small feet, which he thought must be those of a legion of hill-sprites rather than of one.
It only proceeded, however, from the flock of sheep, who, having remained under the hill while the spring storm lasted, were now returning to the sweet short grass higher up.
A couple of days afterwards, Anderl, who had often thought of the Bavarian, made up a little packet of cakes and cheese, and set off on a walk of several miles to see after him.
"The gate was there, but not the lad!"
Anderl looked about, but could find nothing of him. The food was eaten, and he was gone.
It was best for all parties that he should have made off. After a night's good sleep, he had awoke sufficiently refreshed to make a hearty breakfast of what would have fed a temperate Tyrolese for two or three days; and then, examining his wound, he found himself able to bind it up sufficiently well to admit of his moving slowly, with a good deal of limping.