“Dear Ulrique Eugenie, can you not wait until I have changed my clothes?  I have travelled so far through the woods, that I can scarcely breathe, I am so weary.”

“Where is the game?”

“Whew!” ejaculated her husband, “I can stand these clothes no longer.”  Thus saying, he hastened into the house, and proceeded to his apartment.

But this respite was of short duration.  Mistress Ulrica Eugenie was familiar with the road to the chamber, and her rage reached its highest point, when she heard that the game which was intended for her dinner, had been stolen while her husband, overcome by his arduous exertions, had fallen asleep.

“O, if I only knew who did this, yes, if I only knew, I would have the rascal put in the stocks.  But you, you dormouse, yes you, you call yourself a man! you!  Don’t you wish to borrow my petticoat!  To sleep when engaged in the noble art of hunting!  To complain of fatigue!  Fie upon such men!  But can you not discover the thief?”

“No, my dear, I assure you.  I cannot, how could I know what happened while I was sleeping?”

“That is the reason why you never knew anything in your life,” replied the exasperated woman.  “But see there comes Gottlieb with a partridge in his hand.  He is a pattern. He never allows his game to be stolen,” and Mistress Ulrica composed her features, and assumed an expression of motherly benevolence, while she descended the stairs to receive her nephew.

“Thank you, good Gottlieb,” said she meeting him at the door, “thank you, your uncle has been unfortunate this morning; but come with me to the dairy, and you shall have the cream of an entire pan of milk.”

“The milk also, if you please, aunty, I feel myself able to devour every thing, pan and all.”

“Well, satisfy yourself.  By and by we will go to my bleachery and you may select a piece of linen.—­Do you understand?”

“Not a word.  It is all a mystery.  But I do know that there is not a nephew on the entire Scandinavian peninsula, who possesses an aunt with such an affectionate disposition.”

“Ah, you flatterer, it is well that you are my nephew or else Fabian might be jealous.”

“Well I am not sure but that he may yet have an occasion, for, I am not aware that nephews are forbidden to love their aunts.”

From that day forward Gottlieb was taken under the especial protection of his aunt, and as her favorite he was certain of a comfortable and pleasant life.  When she became acquainted with his manners, virtues and accomplishments, her esteem for him was, if possible, doubly increased.