"Are you at home?" exclaimed a voice from without. The door opened and the little pitchman entered, carrying a young kid in his arms.
"Thank God you're safe and sound," he exclaimed, laying the kid down by the empty fireplace. With his sleeve, which was far wetter that either, he wiped the water from his eyes and forehead. Then he took a bottle of gentian brandy from the upper shelf and, after taking a drink, and forcing Gundel and Irma to do likewise, he went on to say: "I've gone through a good deal in my time, but never anything like this. I know every tree and every rock for miles, but I seemed to have lost my way. While I stood there in the midst of the storm, I heard a chamois doe bleating pitifully, and I went up to her and there she stood, with the young kid that had just been born. It had hardly come into the world, before the hail tried to beat it to death. When the mother saw me, she ran away, but came back again and placed herself over the young kid, so that the hail shouldn't strike it, but her instead. I went near her, but the mother ran away again. I picked up the young one and, just as we were going on to look for shelter, I heard human voices. Two people were calling to a third one, who was roaring and screaming. When the lightning flashed, I saw that he was lying on the ground, unable to move.
"'Honored master, just lean on us; we'll soon find shelter,' I heard them saying, and when the lightning flashed again, I saw that we were near the Witches' Table. So I called out to them: 'The Witches' Table is over yonder.' Then there was another flash, and I saw that the two men who had been standing had also fallen down. They told me, afterward, that they had been afraid of me, and I couldn't think hard of them. In such a storm, and on such a night, one would almost believe in anything. I went up to them, told them who I was, and offered to lead them. It was hard work, though, to get along, for the blind man went on as if crazed, and kept talking about a lost child. At last, safe and sound, but dripping with water, we got under the Witches' Table, and there we lay. And whenever it lightened we could see the hailstones dancing on the rocks and beating against the trees. We waited until it stopped hailing, and the blind man told me that the next time I came down to the apothecary's, in the town, he would give me a gold piece. The king's there and so is the queen. He promised to see to it that I should get the medal for saving a life, and a pension, in the bargain, for the rest of my days. And now, children, get to bed, for you're soaking wet. What ails you, Irmgard? Why do you shiver so?"
The little pitchman scolded Gundel for having let cousin Irmgard sit about in her wet clothes. Now and then the little kid would cry piteously and shiver all over, so that the little pitchman brought down his bed-cover from the hay-loft and wrapped the kid in it. Then, with three fingers, he cleverly fed it with milk from a dish.
The little kid was soon asleep, and, in the room within, Irma was sleeping too.
"Thank God, you've had a good sleep," said Gundel, who was standing at Irma's bedside, late on the following morning. "How strange it seems! The hail didn't hurt you a bit and just see how I look." She showed the marks, but quickly added: "That's no matter; it'll soon be over. Just look at the sky! Don't it look as if it never could do any harm. Over by the stream, the lightning struck a tree and split it in two, and places where it used to be dry are covered with water. If I didn't feel it in every bone of my body, and couldn't see it, I'd hardly believe there had ever been a storm. But we were lucky, after all. None of the cattle were hurt, and the cowboy is here, too. He crept away, down the valley, where there was no storm at all."
It was a clear, bracing morning. Here and there, there were still some large hailstones lying in the crevices of the rocks. The cows were grazing on the meadow, and the cowboy was singing merrily. He was proud that the goats were the best judges of the weather; while grazing, they had moved down toward the valley, and that was the surest sign that a storm was brewing.
At noon, Franz came up from the farm. The torrents of water that had rushed down into the valley, had led them to suppose that something had happened, and Walpurga had sent Franz to find out all about it. The hot, midday sun soon dried up everything, and the waters did not long remain on the heights. Irma went out to her favorite resting-place and, spreading her blue rug on the ground, lay down.
Suddenly, she heard the sounds of a bugle horn. What was it? Was it royalty, or a dream?
The sounds were repeated. Irma's heart beat violently. Something drew near. She could hear it panting, as it forced its way through the crackling brush. She looked up and saw a stag rushing through the clearing near by, and the huntsmen pursuing and gaining upon it. Irma passed her hand over her eyes--she looked once more-- It was the king and his suite.