an to burn the yard gate?" asked Fink.

The forester made a face. "Not the yard gate; they have a deadly fear of
that, because you have artillery-wagons and a cannon in the yard."

"Artillery!" cried both friends, in amazement.

"Yes," nodded the forester; "through the chinks of the planks they have
seen blue carts, horses, and a gun-carriage."

"Karl's new potato-carts, the plow, and the water-butt!" cried Anton.

"No doubt," replied the forester. "On my way here I peeped into the inn
yard, and waited for some one that I knew. Then Rebecca ran by me with
a basket; I whistled, and called her out behind the stable. 'Are you
there, old Swede?' said the wild thing. 'Take care that your head be not
set on fire. I have no time to talk with you; I must attend to the
gentlemen; they want coffee.' 'Why not Champagne?' said I. 'No doubt the
gentlemen are very polite, you pretty creature,' said I; for one gets
over women with flowery speeches. 'You are an ugly fellow yourself,'
said the girl, laughing at me; 'get away with you!' 'They won't hurt
you, my little Rebecca,' said I, stroking her cheeks. 'What's that to
you, old sorcerer?' said the little toad; 'if I were to scream, the
whole roomful would come to my aid.' 'Don't be so contradictious, my
child,' said I; 'be a good girl, fill another bottle, and bring it out
here. One must do something for one's friends in bad times.' Then she
snatched the bottle out of my hand, telling me to wait, and ran off with
her basket. After a while she returned with the bottle quite full, for
she is a good creature at heart, and as she gave it me, she cried, 'If
you see the young gentlemen in the castle, tell them that the folks here
have a great dread of their artillery; they have been asking me whether
it was true that they had cannon. I told them I was quite sure that was
the name of a great thing I had often seen on the property.' Then I
slunk off again, and crept along the ditch, past fellows with scythes,
who are mounting guard behind our farm-yard. When I was about a hundred
yards from them, I tore away, and they swore after me. That's how things
stand."

"That notion of theirs about fire is uncomfortable," said Fink; "if they
understand the thing, they may smoke us out like badgers."

"The threshold is stone, and this thick door is high above the ground,"
said the forester.

"I am not afraid of the flames, but of the smoke and glare," replied
Fink; "if they light up our windows,