These words ran from mouth to mouth, and every one pressed forward to know whether it was his child. But alarm soon gave way to indignation,--for Käthchen, pretty little roguish Käthchen Keller, was the pet of the village. All loved her, and were shocked and grieved to see the blooming flower so ruthlessly cut down. The child had never harmed a living thing. Every one had been gladdened by her bright smile and taken delight in her chubby innocent face. And that this dear, artless little creature should be sacrificed to the mad humour of an arrogant stranger! What business had this crazy woman in their quiet village, disturbing the repose of their holiday and destroying the poor peasants' most precious possessions? Maledictions were the answers to all these questions, that arose instantly in the minds of the villagers, already heated by wine, and their next thought was of revenge. "Curses upon the vile woman," began one aloud, "to drive so madly!" "Where were your eyes?" asked another. "Such a child is not a dog, to be driven over! Could you not turn aside?" "She thought a peasant's child was of no consequence," said a third. "Who ever saw four horses harnessed together!" exclaimed several. "There is no end to the insolent pranks of these city folk." "Thunder and lightning!" cried a sturdy, broad-shouldered peasant. "Stop talking, and let us have her before the magistrate." "Yes, yes! to the burgomaster's!" shouted the crowd. Johannes was in a most trying position. He still had the child in his arms, no one had taken her from him. He could not carry her away,--he dared not leave the defenceless woman to the insults of the mob. He tried to speak to the people, but in vain; they paid no attention to him. They had heard and seen the countess rattle past the church a few minutes before, and all their fury was concentrated upon her. Johannes made a sign to the countess, who stood up in her carriage, regarding the people with contempt, to drive on instantly; but she cried, "_Croyez-vous que je craigne la canaille? Je ne quitterai pas cette place sans que vous veniez avec moi!_" Then a voice shrieked, in the midst of the tumult, "Holy Mother! my child, my poor child!" and a woman rushed up, tore the little girl out of Johannes's arms, and covered her with tears and kisses. A handsome young peasant followed her, and gazed, wringing his hands, and stupefied with horror, at his senseless child. "God in heaven! what have we done, that we should be visited so heavily?" he murmured, and would have fallen, had not two of his friends supported him. "Her eyes should be torn out!" shrieked the mother, metamorphosed to a fury, while she pressed her child to her breast, as if to guard her darling from the danger to which she had fallen a victim. "To jail with her, abandoned, God-accursed wretch that she is!" And she kissed the child and bathed it in tears.