“Carl is my good boy,” replied Magde, who during the conversation had been engaged in spreading out a number of skeins of knitting yarn that had been placed out to bleach upon the grass plot.

“Listen,” said Carl, approaching nigher to Magde, “would Magde shed a tear upon my grave if God should call me from earth?”

There reposed in these words a tone of mingled fear and humility, and Magde, much moved by the peculiar expression of Carl’s countenance, replied: 

“Certainly, Carl, I would shed many, many tears, for I believe there are none who love you as I do.”

“I am grateful, Magde,” said Carl, violently scraping the ground with the sole of his hob-nailed shoe, an action which could scarcely be called a bow—­“your words shall be remembered.  I am Magde’s servant, and shall be so as long as I live.”

With these words, he turned on his heel, and trotted towards his place of destination.

“The poor lad has a good heart,” thought Magde, as she concluded her labors in the yard; but she little imagined the true state of Carl’s heart.

Magde now entered the house to prepare breakfast.  Her three children crowded around her, loudly testifying their admiration of the partridges and hares.  She commenced dressing the game with that placidity of countenance, and with that dexterity which proved she was well versed in that most important branch of a housekeeper’s duties—­cookery.

CHAPTER VIII.

CONCERNING THE HUNTER IN THE WOODS, AND HIS HOMEWARD WALK.

We now return to our friend the sportsman, who soon awoke from his sound slumber, quite refreshed.  He yawned, stretched himself, and mechanically extended his hand towards the spot where he had placed his game-bag.

Although his hand touched nothing but the grass and his gun, he nevertheless was not troubled, for he thought that he had miscalculated the distance.  He searched still further; but to his surprise the game-bag was still missing.  He now raised himself up in a sitting posture, and rubbing his eyes vigorously, he searched the ground closely.  But his eyes, usually so good, must have been dimmed by some enchantment, for he could perceive neither the hares nor the partridges, which he could not but think were there.

Determined, however, not to believe in such marvels, for honest Fabian was a man of intelligence, he arose and peered through the bushes in the grass; he looked in the air, and he closely scanned the tops of the trees; but his efforts were fruitless.  The game was not to be found.

“It is astonishing!” said he to himself.  “I can not believe it!  They must be here!  But where the devil are they then!”

The trees retained a stubborn silence, and their example was followed by the earth, the air, and the water.  Although the heat of the day was rendered still more insufferable by Mr. Fabian’s thick hunting suit, yet his flesh chilled with fear when he discovered the actual loss of his partridges and hares.