"August! do you not
know me?" she cried in an agony. "I am Dorothea. Wake up, dear--
wake up! It is morning, only so dark!"
August shuddered all over.
"The morning!" he echoed.
He slowly rose up on to his feet.
"I will go to grandfather," he said very low. "He is always good;
perhaps he could save it."
Loud blows with the heavy iron knocker of the house-door drowned
his words. A strange voice called aloud through the keyhole:--
"Let me in! Quick!--there is no time to lose! More snow like
this, and the roads will all be blocked. Let me in! Do you hear? I
am come to take the great stove."
August sprang erect, his fists doubled, his eyes blazing.
"You shall never touch it!" he screamed; "you shall never touch
it!"
"Who shall prevent us?" laughed a big man who was a Bavarian,
amused at the fierce little figure fronting him.
"I!" said August. "You shall never have it! you shall kill me
first!"
"Strehla," said the big man as August's father entered the room,
"you have got a little mad dog here; muzzle him."
One way and another they did muzzle him. He fought like a little
demon, and hit out right and left, and one of his blows gave the
Bavarian a black eye. But he was soon mastered by four grown men,
and his father flung him with no light hand out from the door of
the back entrance, and the buyers of the stately and beautiful
stove set to work to pack it heedfully and carry it away.
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