which, else, he must have died--frozen. He had still some of his
loaf, and a little--a very little--of his sausage. What he did
begin to suffer from was thirst; and this frightened him almost
more than anything else, for Dorothea had read aloud to them one
night a story of the tortures some wrecked men had endured because
they could not find any water but the salt sea. It was many hours
since he had last taken a drink from the wooden spout of their old
pump, which brought them the sparkling, ice-cold water of the
hills.

But, fortunately for him, the stove, having been marked and
registered as "fragile and valuable," was not treated quite like a
mere bale of goods, and the Rosenheim station-master, who knew its
consignees, resolved to send it on by a passenger train that would
leave there at daybreak. And when this train went out, in it,
among piles of luggage belonging to other travelers, to Vienna,
Prague, Buda-Pest, Salzburg, was August, still undiscovered, still
doubled up like a mole in the winter under the grass. Those words,
"fragile and valuable," had made the men lift Hirschvogel gently
and with care. He had begun to get used to his prison, and a
little used to the incessant pounding and jumbling and rattling
and shaking with which modern travel is always accompanied, though
modern invention does deem itself so mightily clever. All in the
dark he was, and he was terribly thirsty; but he kept feeling the
earthenware sides of the Nurnberg giant and saying, softly, "Take
care of me; oh, take care of me, dear Hirschvogel!"

He did not say, "Take me back;" for, now that he was fairly out in
the world, he wished to see a little of it. He began to think that
they must have been all over the world in all this time that the