When they had all they could carry, she waved the hand in farewell, as bidding them to depart, and vanished.
The White Stag.
Long centuries ago a peculiar appearance attracted the attention of the inhabitants of Dorf Treseburg.
Every morning stood, high on the summit of the Hagedornberg, which rises perpendicular to the banks of the Bode, a White Stag, and gazed fixedly below into the valley.
He stood hours at a time, and had done so over a hundred years, without any variation or the faintest sign of age. Wonderful as this was, it was still more remarkable that no one had ever been able to come near him, although various sportsmen had attempted it, not even when they waited in the early morning on the spot where he was wont to appear.
They waited in vain, and yet at the same time the villagers below had seen him as usual.
So it had come that for a whole generation no one had sought to come near the White Stag. Hence every one shook the head doubtfully when one day an herb-gatherer of the village, named Weidemann, declared that he had not only been near the Stag, but that the animal had come close to him, leaned against him, eaten of the plants he carried, and finally had followed him part way down the declivity of the mountain.
The herb-gatherer, however, was known to be a man of veracity, and they soon became convinced of the truth of his statement; for no sooner had he climbed the Hagedorn than the White Stag ran to him, and walked trustfully by his side, ate from his hand, and followed his steps.
This excited all the more surprise inasmuch as the stag avoided everybody else. Weidemann was surprised himself at this confidence, which grew every day; and it seemed to him, when the stag gazed at him with its clear eyes so winningly, as if it would speak, and only language failed.