Ille.—"He had never made him live any such life; and even if he had, better live like a dog than as a robber wolf."
Hic.—"He was no robber. Who had belied him so? He and his friends were on their way to Poland to join the army."
Ille.—"Wherefore, then, had he tricked his Highness of Stettin out of the horses?"
Hic.—"That was only a revenge upon the equerry, to pay him back in his own coin, for he was his enemy, and had broken faith with him."
Ille.—"But he had robbed his Grace Duke Barnim, likewise, of the herons' feathers. No one else had done it."
Hic.—"Who dared to say so? He was insulted and belied by every one." Then he cursed and swore that he knew nothing whatever of these herons' feathers which he was making such a fuss about.
Meanwhile the band stood round with cocked muskets, and as the burghers now pressed forward, to save their leader, if any violence were offered, Konnemann called out, "Give the word, master—shall I shoot down the churl?"
Here Johann's conscience was moved a little, and he shouted,
"Back! back!—he is my father!"
But the old gipsy mother sprang forward with a knife, crying, "Thy father, fool?—what care we for thy father? Let me at him, and I'll soon settle thy father with my knife."
When the unfortunate son heard and saw this, he seized a heavy stick that lay near him, and gave the gipsy such a blow on the crown, that she rolled, screaming, on the ground. Whereupon the whole band raised a wild yell, and rushed upon the burgomaster.