Days passed on. Hanzli continued to bring food to his master morning and evening, and to enliven his solitude with the numerous reports he had heard in the village, and which were not unfrequently the cause of sleepless nights to poor Vendel.
Meanwhile, the maize was growing tall and yellow; the pumpkins were ripening beneath their great shady leaves, and the starlings visited the happy fields. Early in the mornings Vendel went up a neighbouring hillock, from whence he could see the village, and watch the smoke of the chimneys, and hear the dogs barking from a distance, and the bells ringing; then, when the sun rose, he would sigh deeply and go back to his hut, where he lay down till Hanzli returned with food; nor would he venture out again till the sun sank below the horizon, when he would creep forth once more, and watch the shepherds' fires on the meadows, and listen to the herd-bells returning to the village, or the merry creaking of waggon-wheels over the plains; and then the moon rose, like a bright silver twentypence—so rare an appearance in those days (not the moon, but the twentypence), and poor Hornyicsek gazed at St. David and his harp in the bright planet, and bethought him of the happy times when he used to watch it from his marble bench, with his head in a state of brilliant clairvoyance, illuminated by beer. The mild evening breeze sighed softly through the leaves of the maize, and the crickets chirped around him. If Vendel had been a poet, he could not have desired more; but unfortunately, as it was, all this was lost to him, and he would readily have been excused the enjoyment of such romantic scenes.
The good man now discovered that his clothes were growing wider every day, and that he mounted the hillock with much less difficulty than formerly. He began to think that he might now with safety return to the village; but Hanzli dissuaded him, declaring that he was still much too fat, though he put him on stricter diet every day.
Thus several weeks passed by, which were unmarked by any incident of great importance in regard to Vendel. True, the ants sometimes took his residence by storm, causing him considerable inconvenience by day and night; once a fearful hurricane nearly terrified him to death; and a mad buffalo kept beating about the maize-ground one afternoon, bellowing fearfully round the shed, while Vendel did not dare to breathe or stir. But there was one adventure which very much disturbed the good man's equanimity; and as it had, besides, some influence on his future proceedings, we shall relate it more in detail.
We have already mentioned that Vendel was haunted by some uncanny spirit, which seemed to converse in German, was cold to the touch, and moved. This visit had been frequently repeated, and Vendel had as often covered the intruder with his cap; but next morning, when he raised it carefully, there was nothing to be seen but a hole in the ground, which was quite dark, and seemed to descend into the depths of the earth.
One evening, as he was musing over the mysteries of this secret passage, he thought he heard steps outside the shed, accompanied by low whisperings. Shortly after, a strange phenomenon took place at the mysterious hole; it seemed as if trying to speak—gurgling, hickupping, and sobbing, exactly like a human throat; he thought he heard it sigh, too. By degrees it grew louder and louder; a gulping sound followed, then a terrible scratching was heard, nearer and nearer, and louder! Vendel trembled like an aspen leaf. At last—hah!—at last, a fearful head appeared,—two eyes, two ears, sharp teeth, a red tongue! higher and higher it came, struggling out of the hole. One struggle more, and a terrible, wild-looking, dirty creature, with sharp nails and shining eyes, rushed forth!
It was a water-rat!
"Saint Bartholomew, help!" cried the brewer; "it will eat me!"
And as the creature issued from the hole, a deluge rose after it, squirting and bubbling; and in an instant the rat, Vendel, and his residence were completely inundated.
The mystery may be thus explained. Some mischievous shepherd boys had come to fill up the hole with water, and having found the entrance on that side of the mound on which the forsaken shed stood, they had brought water from a neighbouring pond in buckets, which they poured down the hole; and, ignorant of its telegraphic theory, they cursed the frogs for drinking all their water, while Vendel's residence was undergoing an inundation at the other outlet of the rat's hole.