is well," said Fink, looking straight before him; "now bind the
handkerchief round it; I hope that in ten minutes you will be able to
stand. Wrap yourself up well in the large plaid; it will keep you warm;
else my comrade will catch a fever, and that would be paying too dear
for the chase after the stolen calf. Have you arranged the bandage?"

"Yes," said Lenore.

"Then allow me to wrap you up." It was in vain that she protested; Fink
wound the large shawl round and round her, and tied it behind in a firm
knot. "Now you may sit in the wood like the gray manikin."

"Leave me a little breathing space," implored Lenore.

"There, then," said Fink; "now you will be comfortable."

Indeed, Lenore soon began to feel a genial warmth, and sat silent in her
shady nook, distressed at the singular position in which she found
herself. Meanwhile Fink had again taken up his post against the
tree-trunk, and chivalrously kept aloof. After a time Lenore called out
of her hiding-place, "Are you there still, comrade mine?"

"Do you take me for a traitor who forsakes his tent-companion?" returned
Fink.

"It is quite dry here," continued Lenore, "only that a drop falls now
and then upon my nose; but you, poor you, will be wet through out there.
What fearful rain!"

"Does this rain terrify you?" inquired Fink, shrugging his shoulders.
"It is but a weak infant, this. If it can break off a twig from a tree,
it thinks it has done wonders. Commend me to the rain of warmer
climates. Drops like apples--nay, not drops at all, streams as thick as
my arm! The water rushes down from the clouds like a cataract. No
standing, for the ground swims away beneath one's feet: no taking
shelter under a tree, for the wind breaks the thickest trunks like
straw. One runs to his house, which is not farther off, perhaps, than
from here to that good for nothing stump that hurt your foot, and the
house has vanished, leaving in its place a hole, a stream, and a heap of
well-washed stones. Perhaps, too, the earth may begin to shake a little,
and to raise waves like those of the sea in a storm. That is a rain
which is worth seeing. Clothes that have been wet through by it never
recover; what was once a great-coat is, after a whole week's drying,
nothing more than a black and shapeless mass--in aspect and texture like
to a morel. If one chances to be wearing such a coat, it sticks on fast
enough indeed, but it never can be got off except by the help of a
penknife,