Fortunately, the stove was always set
upright on its four gilded feet, an injunction to that effect
having been affixed to its written label, and on its gilded feet
it stood now in the small dark curiosity shop of one Hans Rhilfer.
"I shall not unpack it till Anton comes," he heard a man's voice
say; and then he heard a key grate in a lock, and by the unbroken
stillness that ensued he concluded he was alone, and ventured to
peep through the straw and hay. What he saw was a small square
room filled with pots and pans, pictures, carvings, old blue jugs,
old steel armor, shields, daggers, Chinese idols, Vienna china,
Turkish rugs, and all the art lumber and fabricated rubbish of a
bric-a-brac dealer's. It seemed a wonderful place to him; but, oh!
was there one drop of water in it all? That was his single
thought; for his tongue was parching, and his throat felt on fire,
and his chest began to be dry and choked as with dust.
There was not a drop of water, but there was a lattice window
grated, and beyond the window was a wide stone ledge covered with
snow. August cast one look at the locked door, darted out of his
hiding-place, ran and opened the window, crammed the snow into his
mouth again and again, and then flew back into the stove, drew the
hay and straw over the place he entered by, tied the cords, and
shut the brass door down on himself.
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