“Ay, what’s left o’ me; and here’s the remains o’ Winklemann,” said Warder, pointing to the cadaverous face of the starving German, who followed him.
Need we say that the hunters received a kindly welcome by the Ravenshaw family, as they sank exhausted into chairs. The story of starvation, suffering, and death was soon told—at least in outline.
“You are hungry. When did you eat last?” asked Mr Ravenshaw, interrupting them.
“Two days ago,” replied Warder, with a weary smile.
“It seems like two veeks,” observed the German, with a sigh.
“Hallo! Elsie, Cora, victuals!” cried the sympathetic old man, turning quickly round.
But Elsie, whose perceptions were quick, had already placed bread and beer on the table.
“Here, have a drink of beer first,” said the host, pouring out a foaming glass.
Warder shook his head. Winklemann remarked that, “beer vas goot, ver goot, but they had been used to vatter of late.”
“Ah!” he added, after devouring half a slice of bread while waiting for Cora to prepare another; “blessed brod an’ booter! Nobody can know vat it is till he have starve for two veek—a—I mean two days; all de same ting in my feel—”