Hanzli was nearly exhausted; and just as he was exerting his last strength to roll the sisyphian burden over a little mound—while Vendel urged him forward as usual, crying, "Push on, my lad, push out just a little more!"—plump! the barrow turned to one side, and the whole contents were precipitated into a muddy ditch.
"Oh! alas! I am lost! Mercy, Hanzli; save me!" cried the prostrate Blasius.
Hanzli did his best; and after much labour, succeeded in dragging his master out of the mud.
"But now you must get on, master, as you best can, on your own two legs; for if you expect me to push the barrow any more, I must just leave you here—my spine is split already; I shall never be fit for anything."
"Don't be foolish, my lad; you surely don't mean to forsake me! Help me at least to hide somewhere. You know very well how I always loved you—like my own son, Hanzlikam!"
"Well then, don't be talking about it; but just get up and give me your arm. Iai! if you are going to lean on me in that manner, master, I won't go a step farther. Just try to move your own legs—so, so."
And by dint of threats and encouragement, Hanzli succeeded in dragging his unhappy master through the maize till they reached a small shed, the sides and roof of which were somewhat dilapidated by wind and rain. Bundles of reeds, plaited together with maize stems, formed the shed-walls, through which the flowers of the sweet hazel-nut grew up luxuriantly; within, there was nothing but a legion of gnats.
"Am I to remain here?" asked Vendel in a voice of despair, surveying the shed, which was almost filled when he was inside.
"Don't be afraid, master! nobody will think of looking for you here."
"But where am I to sit down?"