"But whither?"
This was the question.
"Where? out of the window, of course. Take the hatchet and knock out the cross beams—that's it! never mind breaking the glass! Now, raise me up, Hanzli; let us run!"
And the next moment there was a terrible crash outside the window, occasioned by the descent of Vendel, which luckily the noise of the revellers within prevented them from hearing.
"But where shall we go now?"
This was the next question, for Vendel-gazda's legs were not exactly fashioned to run away with him. What was to be done?
At last Hanzli bethought him of a large wheel-barrow, which lay under a shed close by; and bringing it out, he placed his master in it, and wheeled him down a by-road which led behind the village; while the gigantic effort of this superhuman undertaking bent his back into a C, and caused his eyes to start almost out of their sockets.
His master tried to encourage him as well as he could: "Push on, my brave boy! I will serve you another time—only push on!"
At last they reached the end of the village. Poor Hanzli still continued pushing his immense burden before him, panting and snorting, while his back seemed ready to break at every step, and Vendel still continued his words of encouragement. "That's right I push on, my boy!—we will rest anon."
They reached the maize-ground.