Now they all three cried out and whimpered; and there was no end to their terror, and my little sister timidly promised me her share of to-morrow's Ascension cake, which was expected this year too, if I would only stop. But I went on: "Well, ah, yes, I forgot to begin by saying that the first two knees--with blood--belonged to our Jakoberle and the last four to his Zeitzerl ... as they went about in the wood to-day." Suddenly, they all burst out laughing. "Why, everybody has two knees with blood in them!" cried little sister; and the goats bleated their share of the jubilation. I had played my part right out. For three hundred and sixty-four nights long, I had shone as a wise and veracious story-teller; the three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth had unmasked me as a deceitful humbug. The promise of the second Ascension cake was withdrawn; little sister declared that her offer had been made in self-defence. And I had shattered the confidence of my public for good and all; and, thereafter, whenever it wanted to express its doubts of anything I related, it cried, with one voice: "Ah, that's only one of your old knees again!" VII How the White Kid Died There was yet another time when I just escaped the birch. My father had a snow-white kid, my Cousin Jok had a snow-white head. The kid loved chewing stalks and twigs; my cousin loved chewing a short pipe. We--I and my younger brother and sisters--were ever so fond of the kid and of Cousin Jok too. And so we lighted upon the idea of bringing the kid and our cousin together. One bright, sunny day in July, I took my brother and my two sisters out into the cabbage-patch and there put this question to them: "Which of you has a hat without a hole in it?" They examined their hats and caps, but the sun shone through all of them, making little flecks of light in the shadow on the ground. Only Jakoberle's hat was without a flaw; so I took it in my hand and said: "Cousin's called Jok and to-morrow is St. Jokopi's[7] Day. Now what shall we give him for a present on his name-day? Why not the white kid?" "The white kid belongs to father!" cried little sister Plonele, shocked at this arbitrary suggestion. "That's just why I am sending the hat round," said I. "You, Jakoberle, sold your rabbit to Sepp, the Knierutscher, yesterday; you, Plonele, have had three groschen as a tip from your god-father; you, Mirzerle, got a present from father two days ago. Look, I'll put in the five kreuzer which I've saved up; and we must manage to buy the kid from father between us. And then we'll give it to cousin to-morrow. Now here goes for the collection!" They looked into the hat for a moment and then began to feel in their pockets. Then Plonele said, "Mother's got my money!" And Mirzerle cried, in alarm, "I don't know wherever mine's got to!" And Jakoberle stared at the ground and muttered, "There must be a hole in my pocket!" And so my plan fell to pieces.