Of several villages it could be asserted with certainty that they did not belong to the “Blue Smocks,” while no strong suspicion could be attached to a single one, since the most suspected of all, the village of B., had to be acquitted.  An accident had brought this about—­a wedding, at which almost every resident of this village had notoriously passed the night, while during this very time the “Blue Smocks” had carried out one of their most successful expeditions.

The damage to the forest, in the meanwhile, was so enormous that preventive measures were made more stringent than ever before; the forest was patrolled day and night; head-servants and domestics were provided with firearms and sent to help the forest officers.  Nevertheless, their success was but slight, for the guards had often scarcely left one end of the forest when the “Blue Smocks” were already entering the other.  This lasted more than a whole year; guards and “Blue Smocks,” “Blue Smocks” and guards, like sun and moon, ever alternating in the possession of the land and never meeting each other.

It was July, 1756, at three o’clock in the morning; the moon shone brightly in the sky, but its light had begun to grow dim; and in the East there was beginning to appear a narrow, yellow streak which bordered the horizon and closed the entrance to the narrow dale as with a hand of gold.  Frederick was lying in the grass in his accustomed position, whittling a willow stick, the knotty end of which he was trying to form roughly into the shape of an animal.  He seemed to be very tired, yawned, rested his head against a weather-beaten stump and cast glances, more sleepy than the horizon, over the entrance of the glen which was almost overgrown with shrubbery and underbrush.  Now and then his eyes manifested life and assumed their characteristic glassy glitter, but immediately afterwards be half shut them again, and yawned, and stretched, as only lazy shepherds may.  His dog lay some distance away near the cows which, unconcerned by forest laws, feasted indiscriminately on tender saplings and the grass, and snuffed the fresh morning air.

Out of the forest there sounded from time to time a muffled, crashing noise; it lasted but a few seconds, accompanied by a long echo on the mountain sides, and was repeated about every five or eight minutes.  Frederick paid no attention to it; only at times, when the noise was exceptionally loud or long continued, he lifted his head and glanced slowly down the several paths which led to the valley.

Day was already dawning; the birds were beginning to twitter softly and the dew was rising noticeably from the ground.  Frederick had slid down the trunk and was staring, with his arms crossed back of his head, into the rosy morning light softly stealing in.  Suddenly he started, a light flashed across his face, and he listened a few moments with his body bent forward like a hunting dog which scents something in the air.  Then he quickly put two fingers in his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle.  “Fido, you cursed beast!” He threw a stone and hit the unsuspecting dog which, frightened out of his sleep, first snarled and then, limping on three feet and howling, went in search of consolation to the very place from which the hurt had come.