audacious scoundrel!" roared the baron. "What the deuce do
you mean by such conduct, eh? confound you!"

At this moment the door opened, and in walked Mynheer Klootz, who had
heard nothing of the baron's change of intentions, and who, seeing
Wilhelm at the baron's feet, and hearing the latter speaking, as he
thought, in an angry tone, at once jumped to the conclusion that Wilhelm
was entreating for longer indulgence. He rushed at the unfortunate man
and collared him. "Not if _we_ know it," exclaimed he; "you'll have the
wolves for bedfellows to-night, I reckon. Come along, my fine fellow."
As he spoke he turned his back towards the baron, with the intention of
dragging his victim to the door.

The baron's little gray eyes twinkled, and his whole frame quivered with
suppressed emotion, which, after the lapse of a moment, vented itself in
a kick, and such a kick! Not one of your _Varsovianna_ flourishes, but a
kick that employed every muscle from hip to toe, and drove the worthy
steward up against the door like a ball from a catapult.

Misfortunes never come singly, and so Mynheer Klootz found with regard
to the kick, for it was followed, without loss of time, by several dozen
others, as like it as possible, from the baron's heavy boots.

Wounded lions proverbially come badly off, and Fritz and Carl, who had
suffered from many an act of petty tyranny on the part of the steward,
thought they could not do better than follow their master's example,
which they did to such good purpose, that when the unfortunate Klootz
did escape from the cottage at last, I don't believe he could have had
any _os sacrum_ left.

After having executed this little act of poetical justice, the baron and
his servants visited the other cottages, in all of which they were
received with dread and dismissed with blessings.

Having completed his tour of charity, the baron returned home to
breakfast, feeling more really contented than he had done for many a
long year. He found Bertha, who had not risen when he started, in a
considerable state of anxiety as to what he could possibly have been
doing. In answer to her inquiries, he told her, with a roughness he was
far from feeling, to "mind her own affairs."

The gentle eyes filled with tears at the harshness of the reply;
perceiving which, the baron was beyond measure distressed, and chucked
her under the chin in what was meant to be a very conciliatory manner.

"Eh! what, my pretty, tears? No, su