yesterday, and it was only by devilish ill-hap that the knave was not
with you when I took you! You ragged ruffians would never have given
over the tops in this marsh and moorland, to any but a rightful master,
and I know where the Sow is lurking--for the murderer of a messenger is
no more to be called a Boar. Now then, Sebald! In what hamlet hereabout
dwells there a cobbler?"

"There is crooked Peter at Neufess, and Hackspann at Reichelstorf," was
the answer.

"Good; that much we needed to know," said Starch. "And now, little one,"
and he gave the man another shaking, "Out with it. Did the Sow--or, that
there may be no mistake--did Eber of Wichsenstein ride away to Neufess
or to Reichelstorf? Who was to sew the tops to his shoes, Peter or
Hackspann?"

The terrified creature clasped his slender hands in sheer amazement, and
cried: "Was there ever such abounding wisdom born in the land since the
time of chaste Joseph, who interpreted Pharaoh's dreams? The man who
shall catch you asleep, my lord Captain, must rise earlier than
such miserable hunted wretches as we are. He rode to Neufess, albeit
Hackspann is the better cobbler. Reichelstorf lies hard by the highway
by which you came, my lord; and if Eber does but hear the echo of your
right glorious name, my lord Baron and potent Captain...."

"And what is my name--your lord Baron and potent Captain?" Starch
thundered out.

"Yours?" said the little man unabashed. "Yours? Merciful Heaven! Till
this minute I swear I could have told you; but in such straits a poor
little tailor such as I might forget his own father's honored name!"
At this Starch laughed out and clapped the little rogue in all kindness
behind the ears, and when his men-at-arms, whom he had commanded to make
ready, had mounted their horses, he cried to Uhlwurm: "I may leave the
rest to you, Master; you know where Barthel bestows the liquor!--Now,
Sebald, bind this rabble and keep them safe.--And make a pig-sty ready.
If I fail to bring the boar home this very night, may I be called Dick
Dule to the end of my days instead of Jorg Starch!"

And herewith he made his bow, sprang into his saddle, and rode away with
his men.

"A nimble fellow, after God's heart!" quoth Master Rummel to my Uncle
Conrad as they looked after him. And that he was in truth; albeit we
could scarce have looked for it, we learned on the morrow that he
might bear his good name to the grave, inasmuch as he had taken Eber
of Wichsen