I stood there like a block, feeling as if I should drop with fright and go rolling into the valley in my turn. I went to and fro and up and down for a while; and, then as I could nowhere see the loaf, I slunk with hanging head into the Knierutschers' house. There was a fine big fire burning on the hearth. "What have you come for, Peterle?" asked Frau Knierutscher, kindly. "Our fire's gone out," I stammered, "we can't cook a thing and so my mother sent me to ask for a handful of embers and she will return them very soon." "You little silly, you! Who ever heard of returning a few embers?" cried she, as she took the tongs and raked some into an old pot. "Here, tell your mother to make up a good fire and cook you a nice stew. But take care, Peterle, don't you let the wind get at them, or it will blow the sparks up to the roof. There, go now, in God's name!" So gentle was she with me, who had so lightly played away her loaf! It weighs upon my conscience to this day. When, at last, I got back to the house with my pot of fire, I was greatly surprised to see blue smoke rising out of the chimney. "You're one to send to fetch death and not fire!" cried mother, as I entered. And she busied herself about the fire crackling in the hearth and did not so much as look at me. My coals were now hardly flickering and looked wretched beside that fire. I put the pot down sadly in a corner of the hearth and slunk away. I had been gone much too long; then, by good fortune, Cousin Jok had come home from the meadow, and he had a burning-glass, which he held over a piece of tinder in the sun until it caught. And so the sun which I had slandered had stolen a march upon me and provided fire for the porridge before I did. I was heartily ashamed of myself and, to this day, am unable to look the benefactor straight in the face. * * * * * I slunk into the paddock. There I saw Cousin Jok squatting in his long grey, red-embroidered fur, with his white head. And, when I drew nigh, I saw why he was squatting here like that. The snow-white kid lay in front of him, with its head and its feet outstretched and Cousin Jok was stripping off its hide. At that I burst into loud weeping. Cousin Jok stood up, took me by the hand, and said: "There it lies and looks at you!" And the kid really was staring into my face with its glassy eyes. And yet it was dead. "Peterle!" whispered my cousin, gravely. "Mother sent the Knierutscher woman a loaf of bread." "Yes," I sobbed, "and it ran away from me, right down over the edge."