The air became more and more sultry. The sky, which had been bright blue, grew white in some places, and the white ran together like thick milk and heaped itself in close masses. The sun was no longer to be seen. The clouds changed to gray and violet and dark-blue, with glowing edges, and thunder began to roll among the mountains. Anton could not see the valley now at all. The lofty peaks towered one behind another, and there seemed to be nothing else in the world. The path grew steeper and yet steeper.
Little Anton began to be frightfully tired. He had to lie down again and again on the ground, groaning with weariness. Not a drop more of the refreshing sour wine did he have to quench his thirst,—the bottle had been drained long ago.
Suddenly he heard a rushing sound, and lo! from the rock bubbled a white foaming stream of water, so fresh and living that one could not understand how it could gush forth from the dead stones. Anton knelt down and drank eagerly from his hands. Never had he found any draught so wonderfully reviving.
When he had quenched his thirst, he thought he would resume his journey, but at that instant he caught sight of a dove flying toward him. It was a charming wood-dove, with blue-flecked wings and a little round head. The dove must, like him, have been thirsty, for she flew directly to the foaming water and bent over it to drink. "That is a lovely bird," thought Anton; and he took his gun noiselessly from his shoulder. "I can surely hit her."
He had laid the gun to his cheek and was taking aim, when the dove lifted her head from the water and fluttered her wings.
"Why should you shoot me, little Anton?" she asked. "You have quenched your thirst and I have quenched mine. The spring has been good to both of us. Why should you do evil to me?"
"You have such beautiful wings," said Anton. "It would look fine if I stretched you out flat and fastened you on the barn door."
"It looks much finer when I float upward toward the sunlight," said the dove. "The mountain path is difficult for you, little Anton; but you are at least free to pursue your way. Let me fly mine. Here in these solitudes no one should do another harm."
The dove looked so gentle and talked in such friendly tones that Anton felt thoroughly ashamed of himself.
"Yes, fly away, little dove, fly wherever you will," said he, waving his hands. "We might see which of us two will get to Falkensten first."