“Dare not try to put me off,” thundered Adolph Schneider, shaking his cane at the simple one. “Without more ado, fetch it to me.”
All this time Gerson Brandt had been standing silent and sad. He now waited expectantly for the last answer. He knew that his precious book was, indeed, in jeopardy.
Hans Peter gently took Walda’s hand from his shoulder, and, backing to the door, said, rolling his great head from side to side:
“The fool hath no memory. If he would know the thing that happened yesterday he must mark upon a gourd words that will bring back to his poor mind what is past.”
“Let him not make terms; let him not trade upon his folly,” interposed Karl Weisel.
“Thou hast not forgotten where the Bible is hidden?” inquired Walda, very gently.
“I did bury the gourd that told me where the Bible is, and upon another gourd I marked where that gourd was hidden.”
“Quick! We care not about thy lunatic pastimes. Bring the Bible!” shouted the Herr Doktor, overcome with impatience.
“And the second gourd I carried in my pocket until one day, when I was marking on it something the stranger had told me, the Herr Doktor struck it out of my hand with his cane and put his heel upon it. The Bible is safe, but it cannot be found without long search.”
When the simple one had made his tantalizing speech, the school-master spoke in a quiet tone: