The Home in the Valley by Emilie F. Carlén


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Page 23

"The poor lad has a good heart," thought Magde, as she concluded her
labors in the yard; but she little imagined the true state of Carl's
heart.

Magde now entered the house to prepare breakfast. Her three children
crowded around her, loudly testifying their admiration of the partridges
and hares. She commenced dressing the game with that placidity of
countenance, and with that dexterity which proved she was well versed in
that most important branch of a housekeeper's duties--cookery.




CHAPTER VIII.

CONCERNING THE HUNTER IN THE WOODS, AND HIS HOMEWARD WALK.


We now return to our friend the sportsman, who soon awoke from his sound
slumber, quite refreshed. He yawned, stretched himself, and mechanically
extended his hand towards the spot where he had placed his game-bag.

Although his hand touched nothing but the grass and his gun, he
nevertheless was not troubled, for he thought that he had miscalculated
the distance. He searched still further; but to his surprise the
game-bag was still missing. He now raised himself up in a sitting
posture, and rubbing his eyes vigorously, he searched the ground
closely. But his eyes, usually so good, must have been dimmed by some
enchantment, for he could perceive neither the hares nor the partridges,
which he could not but think were there.

Determined, however, not to believe in such marvels, for honest Fabian
was a man of intelligence, he arose and peered through the bushes in the
grass; he looked in the air, and he closely scanned the tops of the
trees; but his efforts were fruitless. The game was not to be found.

"It is astonishing!" said he to himself. "I can not believe it! They
must be here! But where the devil are they then!"

The trees retained a stubborn silence, and their example was followed by
the earth, the air, and the water. Although the heat of the day was
rendered still more insufferable by Mr. Fabian's thick hunting suit, yet
his flesh chilled with fear when he discovered the actual loss of his
partridges and hares.

To return home without his game, was a misfortune, which under ordinary
circumstances he could have endured; but on this occasion he had reason
to expect a more than usually severe lecture from his wife whose command
he had stubbornly disobeyed by not awakening Gottlieb. While the
unfortunate sportsman was bewailing his fate he discovered the face of
his "butler," who was peering out from between the bushes with an
expression of mingled humility and mirthfulness.

"Where are my partridges, you rascal?" shouted Mr. Fabian, his face
glowing with anger.

"Do you think, Mr. H----, that I have taken them?"

"Such a jest would be but natural. What are you doing here? Have I not
paid you enough?"

"I never do anything without orders, and if you do not wish me to
remain, I will go instantly. I thought, however, that you would be
pleased if I should tell you what had become of your game."

"That is just what I wish to know! Has any one presumed to steal it?"

"Very likely."

"Who? Quick! Tell me!"

But the butler answered only with a long drawn. "Ah!"

"Can you substantiate what you are about to say?"

"I can swear to it, if it is necessary. I waited here only that I might
be able to explain everything to my employer, after he should awake."

"You are a fine fellow, now tell me what evil being has entered the
woods, and committed this depredation?"

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 26th Nov 2025, 11:05