On the morning of August 29th he returned home from an expedition,
carrying a cross-bow in his hand, while a pouch hung over his shoulder.
This time he did not go up-stairs, but sought Barbara in the kitchen.
The widow received him with a friendly nod; her grey eyes sparkled as
brightly as ever, but her round face had grown narrower and there was a
sorrowful quiver about the sunken mouth.

"What do you bring to-day?" she asked the Junker. Georg thrust his hand
into his game-bag and answered, smiling: "A fat snipe and four larks; you
know."

"Poor sparrows! But what sort of a creature can this be? Headless,
legless, and carefully plucked! Junker, Junker, that's suspicious."

"It will do for the pan, and the name is of no consequence."

"Yet, yet; true, nobody knows on what he fattens, but the Lord didn't
create every animal for the human stomach."

"That's just what I said. It's a short-billed snipe, a corvus, a real
corvus."

"Corvus! Nonsense, I'm afraid of the thing--the little feathers under
the wings. Good heavens! surely it isn't a raven?"

"It's a corvus, as I said. Put the bird in vinegar, roast it with
seasoning and it will taste like a real snipe. Wild ducks are not to be
found every day, as they were a short time ago, and sparrows are getting
as scarce as roses in winter. Every boy is standing about with a cross-