from the streets
below,--the rolling of wheels, the clanging of church-bells, and
bursts of that military music which is so seldom silent in the
streets of Munich. An hour perhaps passed by; sounds of steps on
the stairs kept him in perpetual apprehension. In the intensity
of his anxiety, he forgot that he was hungry and many miles away
from cheerful, Old World little Hall, lying by the clear gray
river-water, with the ramparts of the mountains all around.

Presently the door opened again sharply. He could hear the two
dealers' voices murmuring unctuous words, in which, "honor,"
"gratitude," and many fine long noble titles played the chief
parts. The voice of another person, more clear and refined than
theirs, answered them curtly, and then, close by the Nuernberg
stove and the boy's ear, ejaculated a single "_Wunderschoen!_"
August almost lost his terror for himself in his thrill of pride
at his beloved Hirschvogel being thus admired in the great city.
He thought the master-potter must be glad too.

"_Wunderschoen!_" ejaculated the stranger a second time, and then
examined the stove in all its parts, read all its mottoes, gazed
long on all its devices.

"It must have been made for the Emperor Maximilian," he said at
last; and the poor little boy, meanwhile, within, was "hugged up
into nothing," as you children say, dreading that every moment he
would open the stove. And open it truly he did, and examined the
brass-work of the door; but inside it was so dark that crouching
August passed unnoticed, screwed up into a ball like a hedgehog
as he was. The gentleman shut to the door at length, without
having seen anything strange inside it; and then he talked long
and low with the tradesmen, and, as his accent was different
from that which August was used to, the child could distinguish
little that he said, except the name of the king and the word
"gulden" again and again. After awhile he went away, one of the
dealers accompanying him, one of them lingering behind to bar up
the shutters. Then this one also withdrew again, double-locking
the door.

The poor little hedgehog uncurled itself and dared to breathe
aloud.

What time was it?

Late in the day, he thought, for to accompany the stranger they
had lighted a lamp; he had heard the scratch of the match, and
through the brass fret-work had seen the lines of light.

He would have to pass the night here, that was certain. He and
Hirschvogel were locked in, but at l