and great forests through which he was being carried. He was hard
at work getting through the straw and hay and twisted ropes; and
get through them at last he did, and found the door of the stove,
which he knew so well, and which was quite large enough for a
child of his age to slip through, and it was this which he had
counted upon doing. Slip through he did, as he had often done at
home for fun, and curled himself up there to see if he could
anyhow remain during many hours. He found that he could; air came
in through the brass fretwork of the stove; and with admirable
caution in such a little fellow he leaned out, drew the hay and
straw together, and rearranged the ropes, so that no one could
ever have dreamed a little mouse had been at them. Then he curled
himself up again, this time more like a dormouse than anything
else; and, being safe inside his dear Hirschvogel and intensely
cold, he went fast asleep, as if he were in his own bed at home
with Albrecht and Christof on either side of him. The train
lumbered on, stopping often and long, as the habit of goods trains
is, sweeping the snow away with its cow-switcher, and rumbling
through the deep heart of the mountains, with its lamps aglow like
the eyes of a dog in a night of frost.

The train rolled on in its heavy, slow fashion, and the child
slept soundly for a long while. When he did awake, it was quite
dark outside in the land; he could not see, and of course he was
in absolute darkness; and for a while he was sorely frightened,
and trembled terribly, and sobbed in a quiet, heartbroken fashion,
thinking of them all at home. Poor Dorothea! how anxious she would
be! How she would run over the town and walk up to grandfather's
at Dorf Ampas, and perhaps even send over to Jenbach, thinking he
had taken refuge with Uncle Joachim! His conscience smote him for