post-chaises are always of a stout build; I shall be sure
to trust myself in one.' But now, Mr. Anton, I see that my father never
can pay us a visit."

"Why not?"

"It is possible that he may reach Rosmin; but, as soon as he sees these
horses and this road, he will instantly turn back. 'Shall I trust
myself,' he'll say, 'in a district where sand runs between one's legs
like water, and where mice are put into harness? The ground is not firm
enough for me.'"

"The horses are not the worst things here," said Anton, absently. "Look!
these go fast enough."

"Yes," replied Karl, "but they don't go like regular horses; they
entangle their legs like two cats playing in a parsley-bed. And what
things they have for shoes--regular webbed hoofs, I declare, which no
blacksmith can ever fit."

"If we could only get on!" returned Anton; "the wind blows cold, and I
am shivering in spite of my fur."

"You have slept but little the last few nights, sir," said Karl. "The
wind blows here as if over a threshing-floor. The earth is not round
hereabouts as elsewhere, but flat as a cake. This is a complete desert;
we have been driving for more than an hour, and there is not a village
to be seen."

"A desert indeed," sighed Anton; "let us hope it may improve." They
relapsed into profound silence. At length the driver stopped near a
pool, unharnessed the horses, and led them to the water's edge, without
noticing the travelers.

"What the deuce does this mean?" cried Karl, jumping down from the
carriage.

"I am going to feed," replied the servant, sulkily, in a foreign accent.

"I am anxious to know how that will be done," said Karl. "There is not
the shadow of a bag of provender."

The horses, however, soon proved that they could live without corn; they
stretched down their shaggy heads, and began to pull the grass and weeds
at the edge of the pool, sometimes taking a draught of the dirty water.
Meanwhile the servant drew a bundle from under his seat, settled himself
under the lee of an alder-bush, and, taking his knife, cut his bread and
cheese without even glancing at the travelers.

"I say, Ignatius or Jacob," cried Karl, sharply, "how long will this
breakfast of yours last?"

"An hour," replied the man, munching away.

"And how far is it from here to the estate?"

"Six miles, or maybe more."

"You can make nothing of him," said Anton; "we must put up with the
customs of the country;" and, leaving the carriage, they wen