"I am August Strehla. My father is Hans Strehla. We live in Hall, in the Innthal; and Hirschvogel has been ours so long—so long!"
His lips quivered with a broken sob.
"And have you truly traveled inside this stove all the way from
Tyrol?"
"Yes," said August; "no one thought to look inside till you did."
The king laughed; then another view of the matter occurred to him.
"Who bought the stove of your father?" he inquired.
"Traders of Munich," said August, who did not know that he ought not to have spoken to the king as to a simple citizen, and whose little brain was whirling and spinning dizzily round its one central idea.
"What sum did they pay your father, do you know?" asked the sovereign.
"Two hundred florins," said August, with a great sigh of shame. "It was so much money, and he is so poor, and there are so many of us."
The king turned to his gentlemen-in-waiting. "Did these dealers of
Munich come with the stove?"