“Quick now, Ernest; run for the doctor! Away, Johan; bring the Staats Physicus—bring two—all of them in the town! Frau Hostess, warm water and salt—salt, to rub him with—I know he is alive!”
A shake of the head from the old hostess seemed to offer a strong dissent.
“Never mind that! He is not dead, though he did fall from the Riesenfels.”
“From the Riesenfels!” exclaimed three or four together in amazement.
“Who was it came galloping at full speed over the Bridge, and passed the grand guard on the Platz at the same disorderly pace?” said the deep voice of the Burger-meister, who arose from his bed to learn the cause of the tumult.
“It was I,” exclaimed Cristoph, ruggedly; “there lies the reason.”
“The penalty is all the same,” growled the man of authority: “four gulden for one, and two gulden thirty kreutzers for the other offence.”
Cristoph either did not hear or heed the speech.
“Where’s the mail-bag? I haven’t seen that yet,” chimed in the Post-master; who, like a wise official, followed the lead of the highest village functionary.
Old Cristoph bustled out, and soon returned, not only with the leathern sack in question, but with a huge fragment of a wooden cross over his shoulders.