would open the stove. And open it truly he did, and examined the
brass-work of the door; but inside it was so dark that crouching
August passed unnoticed, screwed up into a ball like a hedgehog as
he was. The gentleman shut to the door at length, without having
seen anything strange inside it; and then he talked long and low
with the tradesmen, and, as his accent was different from that
which August was used to, the child could distinguish little that
he said, except the name of the king and the word "gulden" again
and again. After a while he went away, one of the dealers
accompanying him, one of them lingering behind to bar up the
shutters. Then this one also withdrew again, double-locking the
door.

The poor little hedgehog uncurled itself and dared to breathe
aloud.

What time was it?

Late in the day, he thought, for to accompany the stranger they
had lighted a lamp; he had heard the scratch of the match, and
through the brass fretwork had seen the lines of light.

He would have to pass the night here, that was certain. He and
Hirschvogel were locked in, but at least they were together. If
only he could have had something to eat! He thought with a pang of
how at this hour at home they ate the sweet soup, sometimes with
apples in it from Aunt Maila's farm orchard, and sang together,
and listened to Dorothea's reading of little tales, and basked in
the glow and delight that had beamed on them from the great
Nurnberg fire-king.