"And now," said Anderl, after having good-naturedly settled him on the rustic couch, and put the food within his reach, "I'll fetch you some water; and then I must leave you, or my mother will fancy I've come to harm." "I hope the owner of the hut will not return, though," said the Bavarian wistfully. "You couldn't get me a musket, could you? I dare say mine is down among the grass." "Why, now, how can you expect it?" said the boy. "Here have I had mercy on you, our enemy; and you want me to give you the means of shooting one of my friends!" "But I'm so defenceless," suggested the Bavarian. "Your safety lies in that," said Anderl. "If any of our men should come and be unexpectedly saluted by you with a shot, of course he would be tempted to return your fire pretty effectually; but if he finds you lying helpless as I did, he will have compassion; because the Sandwirth told us this very morning, that none but a coward would harm a fallen foe." "Come, that's one comfort," said the young soldier. "Must you go?" "Aye, that I must, but I'll come and look after you in a day or two, if I can." "Oh! I may be dead before that." "Why, your leg has left off bleeding already, and you have plenty to eat! What have you to do but to lie still and get well? I don't think you are very brave!" This unexpected rebuke made the colour mount in the young Bavarian's face; and Anderl, after looking at him for a moment, turned away; and taking a beechen bowl from a nail in the wall, sallied forth to the spring and filled it to the brim with water. "There, now," said he, smiling, as he placed it beside the soldier, "do you feel all over red-hot coals?" "No; what do you mean?" "Why, Father Joachim says, 'If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; for in so doing, thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.'" "Why, _I_ am not your enemy, you little boy! What harm have we ever done one another?" "I've done _you_ none, certainly; but you have been killing my friends; and would gladly have killed my father!" "Who is your father?" "I must not tell you that. However, I may tell you that he is--oh, such a brave man! and so good! Every one loves him." "Hofer, I suppose?" "No, not Hofer; but I must not tell you any more, so now good bye. I don't think any one will come near you--unless it should be the hill-sprite." "Who is the hill-sprite?" "Well, I can't justly say; but he haunts the hill-top; and when the herdsmen have gone down into the valley for winter, he takes possession of one of their deserted châlets,--to be more snug and comfortable, I suppose, while nobody else wants it; and, sometimes, when a herdsman has gone back again for something he has forgotten, he has found the hill-sprite already settling himself in the châlet, and arranging his ghostly pans and pails." "Hum! And are you going to leave me to the mercy of this hill-sprite?"