He dreamed most horrible things: his head grew as big as his very largest ball of butter, and then grew still larger and so very heavy that he thought in terror, "I shall not be able to carry it alone; they will have to hold it up with props,—like an overloaded apple tree." And then he felt quite plainly that his head was full of gunpowder; some one had lighted it from behind and now it was burning with awful fury and soon would blow everything to pieces. Then suddenly Clear Brook came running down over his brow, cool and invigorating, then over his whole face and into his mouth; and Franz Martin swallowed and swallowed, and awoke to consciousness.
It was quite true,—shower after shower of icy water ran over his face; then he felt something at his mouth like a little bowl, and he greedily drank the cool water. Over him were the twinkling stars. These he could see plainly, and also that he was still lying out on the open ground. But it could not be Clear Brook that was flowing over him and giving him drink. He could not make out what it was, but it felt very good and refreshing, and he murmured gratefully, "O blessed Father, how I thank you for your kindness and for this ministering angel!"
At last he felt something on his brow, so cool and comforting that he said, "Now the fire cannot get through," and contentedly fell asleep and dreamed no more.
