“Father,” said she, when she returned, “since you have accepted the golden cup, you must leave this place, for the baron will always look enviously upon you. Had you left it with him he would have paid no more attention to you, but now it is different.”
“Why so?” said Peter; “hasn’t the baron given his promise that he will never arrest me or mine again? And about that goose——”
“a page was appointed to escort it.”
“Never mind the goose, father,” interrupted Kate. “I say again that every egg the goose lays shall be of pure gold.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t understand it,” said Peter, testily; “and, moreover, I am not going to leave Kaboutermannekensburg. The idea of your trying to teach me wisdom!”
“No, I could never do that,” murmured Kate, with a sigh.
“No, I should think not, indeed!” said Peter, pompously.
The baron could not make enough of his goose. He had a splendid pen made for it, of ebony inlaid with silver, the nest was of purest eider-down, and a special page was appointed to escort it every morning to the water and back. It was fed upon sweet herbs and sponge-cake; it grew enormously fat; and, as time went on, its voice, its appetite, and its healthy condition increased to an astonishing extent. Only one thing troubled the baron, and that was it did not lay. Every day he himself went to the nest expecting to find the much-looked-for golden egg, and every day he did not find it. So matters continued for a long time.
One morning, as Kate and her father were at breakfast, a squad of soldiers, headed by the high-sheriff, marched into the house.