"Walther, thou wilt stand by me. Give me
the reins, sir, or hold them longer at your peril!"

As he spoke, he endeavored to seize the reins, while Walther stood up in
the sleigh and grasped the whip.

All at once the stranger let fall the reins, and as they trailed on the
ground, he snatched the whip from Walther's hand, gave a sudden leap
into the air, and vaulted on the back of the near horse, where he sat at
ease, and drove postillion, without their being able to help themselves.

"Alas, we have no arms!" groaned the Burgomaster; "we may as well be
resigned to our fate. Kiss me, my children; you may never kiss your old
papa again!"

On this, the whole quartette fell to weeping, blowing their noses most
earnestly from time to time, when, just as their grief was at its
height, and they were fairly sobbing in each other's arms, a sound of
music broke upon their ears! The next moment lights gleamed through the
trees, the sleigh took a sharp turn, passed through an open gate, and
drew up before the very door of--Ole's! For, in reality, both roads led
to the inn, although one was much more intricate and less frequented
than the other.

The Von Geirsteins were for a moment too much astounded to speak. Then
the mysterious driver, swinging himself lightly off his horse, and
doffing his fur cap, showing them a face not only handsome, but
perfectly familiar to them, exclaimed:

"You see, my dear friends, that it was neither a bandit nor His Satanic
Majesty who drove you by the nearest road to a robber's castle or the
lower regions, but your very good neighbor, Fritz Von Eisenfeldt, who
has had at once the pleasure and amusement of taking you safe and sound
to Ole's, after all!"

As the wind uttered these last words, it whisked up the chimney and
disappeared. The literary man sat upright in his chair with a sudden
start, and opened his eyes wide.

"Good heavens!" he cried, "have I been dreaming, or has the wind really
related the tale?" He could not at all tell this, but he remembered
every word of the story, and wrote it on--yes! this very piece of
paper, where you now read it!

SECOND EVENING.

THE following evening the literary man could not but think of the advice
of the wind. He went to the window, and looked out on the street, to see
if there might not be a story there.

The houses opposite were as handsome as on this side of the way, and
exactly like them; the gas lamps burned brilliantly, and everything