entirely
bewitched this blessed night?" said Haespele. Adam and Martina however,
at that moment, were engaged in laying hold of the three angels. Adam
shouted to them in his powerful voice to stop, as they came near: the
angels, however, seemed to feel such desperate alarm at any of the
Roettmann family, that they fairly took to their heels.

"You will see that our Joseph is gone with the Christmas singers," said
Martina, in a hopeful tone.

Adam pursued the angels, and was lucky enough to catch hold of one by
the wing, but it came off in his hand; he followed them; and the flying
angels were not quick enough to escape a man like Adam. He clutched one
of the angels tight, and asked him about Joseph; then he brought him to
Martina, who was waiting above; but the boy was in such mortal terror,
that they could not get a word out of him; above all he refused to say
who his companions were, and when he was asked if he had not met a fine
tall boy, seven years old, in the wood, the angel first said yes, and
then no; it was impossible to make sense of what he said. In the midst
of this judicial examination, Haespele appeared: "He is there! he is
there!"

"Who is there?"

"Joseph," said Haespele, quite hoarse.

"Where? where? where?" cried Martina, rushing up to him. "Where is he?
for God's sake tell me! dead or living?"

"He is sitting in the mill below, drinking mulled wine."

"My child! my child!" cried Martina, in so shrill a tone that it
vibrated through the valley, and running down the hill, as fast ever
she could; Adam could scarcely keep up with her; she rushed up the
steps and dashed open the door, crying out, "Joseph! Joseph! where is
my Joseph?"

"You and your Joseph may go the devil," answered a voice: well did she
know it; it was the voice of the Roettmaennin. Neither fear, nor anxiety,
nor peril of death, nor intense happiness could have overcome Martina,
but this voice had such an overwhelming effect on her, that, with a
loud scream, she sank to the ground in a swoon; even Adam, who was
standing close behind her, was so terrified, that he let her fall,
without trying to support her. "Mother! mother!" said he: he could not
utter another syllable.

"Do not call her mother," said Tony; "go away, Adam; leave us; I will
raise Martina myself: but first give me that warm mulled wine, and
sprinkle some drops of snow water from your cloak on her face. So, so!
she breathes!"

"Capital!" said the old Roettman