“And now he falls, wounded,” said he.
And he whistled like a sea-mew.
Suddenly the church bell rang out the wacharm, a shrill lad’s voice cried through the village:
“Awake, ye sleeping folk, the weer-wolf is caught.”
“Praise be to God!” said Ulenspiegel.
Toria, Betkin’s mother, Lansaem her husband, Josse and Michiel her brothers, came the first with their lanterns.
“He is taken?” said they.
“See him on the roadway,” replied Ulenspiegel.
“Praise be to God!” said they.
And they made the sign of the cross.