in the village who do."

"He is a good sort of man at the bottom, but he has his oddities,"
affirmed the farmer.

"I hope he will respect my position," rejoined Anton; "it will be worse
for him if he does not."

"It would be better that I should speak to the forester first,"
suggested the tenant. "Will you allow me to drive thither with you? He
is on friendly terms with me."

"With all my heart; take the reins, and we will leave the servant to
manage the plow till we set you down again on our way-back. And now then
for this dangerous character."

The carriage turned into a road bordered with young firs, and leading
into the wood. The ground was again sandy, and the trees poor. They went
on over stories and stumps till at length the wood stopped altogether at
a plantation apparently about fifteen years old: here the tenant
fastened the reins round the trunk of a tree, and begged the gentlemen
to dismount. They walked on through a thicket of young trees, whose long
spikes brushed their clothes as they passed, and filled the air with a
strong resinous perfume. Beyond this the ground sank, green moss spread
a soft carpet round, and a group of giant pines reared their dark crowns
high in the air: there stood the forester's house, a low wooden building
surrounded by a strong wooden fence, and further guarded by a triple
hedge of young fir-trees. A little spring trickled under the fence, and
gurgled among a few large stones, overshadowed by giant ferns.

Altogether it was a picture that could not fail to please in this
district of sand and heath. No one was to be seen about, and there was
not a trace of a footstep on the moss: it was only the barking of a dog
from within that announced the dwelling to be inhabited. They went round
the hedge till they came to a narrow door, which was firmly bolted.

"His bull-finch sits above the window," said the tenant; "he is at
home."

"Call him, then," desired Anton.

"He knows already that we are here," replied the man, pointing to a row
of small openings in the hedge; "look at his peep-holes. He is watching
us; but this is always his way. I must give him a signal, or he will
never open." Accordingly, he put two fingers in his mouth, and whistled
three times, but there was no reply. "He is a cunning fellow," said the
tenant, perplexed, whistling again so shrilly that the dog's bark
changed into a howl, and the bull-finch began to flap his wings.

At last a rough voice sounded