Jig-Leg snorted angrily, but remained silent. In the dark, amidst the gloomy silence of the ravine, resounded the gentle crackling of twigs; the sound came floating along from the place where the red cluster of the embers of the fire sparkled on the ground like some monstrous and maliciously-mirthful eye. The moon arose. Her transparent radiance filled the ravine with a mist-like gloom; the shadows fell on every side, making the forest all the denser, and the silence therein more complete and more austere The white stems of the birches, silvered over by the moon, stood out like wax-candles against the darker ground of the oaks, elms, and brushwood. The chums walked along the bottom of the ravine in silence. It was hard going; sometimes their feet stumbled, sometimes they sank deep in the mire. Hopeful frequently panted, and a whistling, wheezing, rattling sound came from his breast, just as if a lot of large clocks that had not been cleaned for a long time were stowed away there. Jig-Leg went in front, the shadow of his lofty and erect figure fell upon Hopeful. "Look now!" said he, petulantly and sulkily; "where are we going? What are we after? Eh?" Hopeful groaned, and was silent. "The night is now shorter than a sparrow's beak, by daylight we shall come to the village, and how shall we do? It is just as if we were gentlemen at large taking a stroll." "I feel very bad, brother," said Hopeful quietly. "Very bad!" exclaimed Jig-Leg ironically; "there you are, of course! How so?" "I have great difficulty in breathing," replied the sick thief. "In breathing? Why have you a great difficulty in breathing?" "Because I am ill, I suppose." "You lie! It is because you are stupid." Jig-Leg stopped short, turned towards his comrade, and shaking his fingers beneath his nose, added: "Yes--you cannot breathe because of your stupidity. Do you understand?" Hopeful bowed his head low, and answered guiltily: "Certainly!" He would have said something more, but began to cough instead, leaning on to the trunk of a tree with trembling hands; and he coughed for a long time, trampling the ground without moving from the spot, shaking his head, and opening his mouth wide. Jig-Leg continued looking at his face, which stood out haggard, earthy and greenish in the light of the moon. "You'll awaken all the wood-sprites in the forest," he said at last, surlily. And when Hopeful had coughed himself out, and throwing back his head, groaned freely, he made a proposition to him in a dictatorial tone. "Rest a bit. Sit down." And they sat down on the damp earth in the shadow of the bushes. Jig-Leg made a cigarette, began smoking it, looked at its glow, and began to speak very deliberately. "If only we had a home somewhere or other to go to, we might possibly return home...." "That's true," said Hopeful, wagging his head. Jig-Leg looked askance at him, and continued: "But as we haven't got a home--we must go on." "Yes--we must," groaned Hopeful.