ogs. Ah, you are such an illogical, unreasoning race! And
paltry--oh, unspeakably!"

Then he dropped all seriousness and just overstrained himself making fun
of us, and deriding our pride in our warlike deeds, our great heroes,
our imperishable fames, our mighty kings, our ancient aristocracies, our
venerable history--and laughed and laughed till it was enough to make a
person sick to hear him; and finally he sobered a little and said, "But,
after all, it is not all ridiculous; there is a sort of pathos about it
when one remembers how few are your days, how childish your pomps, and
what shadows you are!"

Presently all things vanished suddenly from my sight, and I knew what
it meant. The next moment we were walking along in our village; and down
toward the river I saw the twinkling lights of the Golden Stag. Then in
the dark I heard a joyful cry:

"He's come again!"

It was Seppi Wohlmeyer. He had felt his blood leap and his spirits rise
in a way that could mean only one thing, and he knew Satan was near,
although it was too dark to see him. He came to us, and we walked along
together, and Seppi poured out his gladness like water. It was as if he
were a lover and had found his sweetheart who had been lost. Seppi was
a smart and animated boy, and had enthusiasm and expression, and was
a contrast to Nikolaus and me. He was full of the last new mystery,
now--the disappearance of Hans Oppert, the village loafer. People
were beginning to be curious about it, he said. He did not say
anxious--curious was the right word, and strong enough. No one had seen
Hans for a couple of days.

"Not since he did that brutal thing, you know," he said.

"What brutal thing?" It was Satan that asked.

"Well, he is always clubbing his dog, which is a good dog, and his only
friend, and is faithful, and loves him, and does no one any harm;
and two days ago he was at it again, just for nothing--just for
pleasure--and the dog was howling and begging, and Theodor and I begged,
too, but he threatened us, and struck the dog again with all his might
and knocked one of his eyes out, and he said to us, 'There, I hope
you are satisfied now; that's what you have got for him by your damned
meddling'--and he laughed, the heartless brute." Seppi's voice trembled
with pity and anger. I guessed what Satan would say, and he said it.

"There is that misused word again--that shabby slander. Brutes do not
act like that, but only men."

"Well, it was inhu