But the next instant a chill ran down his back, for a raven perched on
the black doll and pecked so fiercely at it with its hard beak, that
bird and image swayed to and fro like a pendulum.

"What does this nonsense mean?" asked the baron, turning to the servant,
a bold-looking fellow, who rode behind him.

"It's something like a tavern-sign," replied the latter.
"Yesterday, when the sun was shining, it looked funny enough--but
to-day--b-r-r-r-it's horrible."

The nobleman's eyes were not keen enough to read the inscription on the
placard. When Nicolas read it aloud to him, he muttered an oath, then
turned again to the servant, saying:

"And does this nonsense bring guests to the rascally host's tavern?"

"Yes, my lord, and 'pon my soul, it looked very comical yesterday, when
the ravens were not to be seen; a fellow couldn't look at it without
laughing. Half Leyden was there, and we went with the crowd. There
was such an uproar on the grass-plot yonder. Dudeldum--Hubutt,
Hubutt--Dudeldum--fiddles squeaking and bag-pipes droning as if they
never would stop. The crazy throng shouted amidst the din; the noise
still rings in my ears. There was no end to the games and dancing. The
lads tossed their brown, blue and red-stockinged legs in the air, just
as the fiddle played--the coat-tails flew and, holding a girl clasped
in the right arm and a mug of beer high over their heads till the foam
spattered, the throng of men whirled round and round. There was as much
screaming and rejoicing as if every butter-cup in the grass had been
changed into a gold florin. But to-day--holy Florian--this is a rain!"

"It will do the things up there good," exclaimed the baron. "The tinder
grows damp in such a torrent, or I'd take out my pistols and shoot the
shabby liberty hat and motley tatters off the tree."

"That was the dancing ground," said the man, pointing to a patch of
trampled grass.

"The people are possessed, perfectly possessed," cried the baron,
"dancing and rejoicing to-day, and tomorrow the wind will blow the
felt-hat and flag from the tree, and instead of the black puppet they
themselves will come to the gallows. Steady roan, steady! The hail
frightens the beasts. Unbuckle the portmanteau, Gerrit, and give your
young master a blanket."

"Yes, my lord. But wouldn't it be better for you to go in here until the
shower is over? Holy Florian!

"Just see that piece of ice in your horse's mane! It's as large as
a pigeon's e