"Why, on the ground, master."
"St. Jeremias! that is a hard seat."
"Never mind, master; it is better than being preserved in spirits of wine."
"But it is very cold; and then I am very hungry, too."
"Well, we can help that, master. I will go home and bring you a whole loaf, and some bacon."
"Nothing else? You surely do not wish me to starve, Hanzli?"
"I do not wish that, master; but indeed you must try and get down a little, at least half a hundredweight, unless you intend to spend your life here in eternal concealment."
Vendel looked round in dismay. "Very well, my son, very well—that is, I mean, very bad, very bad; but it can't be helped. Bring my dog, Hanzli, that I may have something to speak to at least when I am alone, and to take care of me."
"Well, Heaven bless you, master, till I come back again! and don't be afraid."
"Hanzli, don't speak of me to anybody,—you know who that is, Hanzli—not a syllable!"