“What nonsense, to dream such stuff!” he said impatiently. “Why, it’s the cows lowing in the place underneath, waiting to be milked, and shaking their bells.”
But, all the same, he felt a thrill of horror run through him, and tried to pierce the gloom by which he was surrounded, for certainly something was holding him down with its feet upon his chest, and stooping by him so that he could feel its breath.
The sensation to him was horrible, for it raised its head now, making a strange noise; and he could faintly see by a pencil of light a hideous-looking head, with tall curved horns and a long beard, and though he could not see them, he seemed to feel that a pair of glowing eyes were fixed upon his not a yard away.
There was no time to think or reason in such a position. He could see the head, and feel the pressure of the feet; and he knew that he was not dreaming now. Frightened he was naturally, but he acted at once as a lad of manly character might be expected to act: he struck out with his doubled fist, giving the object a heavy blow just beneath the horns.
The effect was instantaneous. The creature gave a bound, there was a pattering sound on the floor, and something rushed out through the open door, uttering a dismal b–a–a–ah!
“Why, it was a jolly old goat!” said Saxe, half aloud. “I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”
The next moment he was lying back laughing silently, fully grasping his position now, and listening to a rustling movement away to his left.
“That you, Melchior?” he said.
“Ah, herr: awake? Good morning.”
“Not time to get up, is it?”