He
motioned to his gentlemen to leave the little boy alone.
"What is your name?" he asked him.
"I am August Strehla. My father is Hans Strehla. We live in Hall,
in the Innthal; and Hirschvogel has been ours so long--so long!"
His lips quivered with a broken sob.
"And have you truly traveled inside this stove all the way from
Tyrol?"
"Yes," said August; "no one thought to look inside till you did."
The king laughed; then another view of the matter occurred to him.
"Who bought the stove of your father?" he inquired.
"Traders of Munich," said August, who did not know that he ought
not to have spoken to the king as to a simple citizen, and whose
little brain was whirling and spinning dizzily round its one
central idea.
"What sum did they pay your father, do you know?" asked the
sovereign.
"Two hundred florins," said August, with a great sigh of shame.
"It was so much money, and he is so poor, and there are so many of
us."
The king turned to his gentlemen-in-waiting. "Did these dealers of
Munich come with the stove?"
He was answered in the affirmative. He desired them to be sought
for and brought before him. As one of his chamberlains hastened on
the errand, the monarch looked at August with compassion.
"You are very pale, little fellow; when did you eat last?"
"I had some bread and sausage with me; yesterday afternoon I
finished it.
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