out, and quickly disappeared into another hole among the
grass. A variegated beetle, in the early morning, ran across the
field-path, fearing the public road, and feeling perfectly safe only
among the thicket of the grain.

A hare ran out, and Devil sprang after him; Roland involuntarily felt
at his side to seize hold of his gun.

As if emerging from beneath the surface of an overwhelming flood of
impressions, Roland rose up. The sun had risen; he could not endure its
splendor, and with eyes fixed upon the ground he went on. But his step
lagged, for a voice spoke in him:--

"Turn back to father and mother!" But suddenly he cried aloud,--

"Eric!"

"Eric!" was repeated again in multiple echoes, and Roland walked on
now, as if called by the mountains themselves. It seemed to him, not as
if he walked, but as if he were lifted up and carried along. The night
without sleep, the wine, all that he had experienced, excited his
imagination, and it seemed as if he must now meet with something
which no one else had ever met with--something inexpressible,
incomprehensible, miraculous. He looked round, expecting to see it;
something must certainly come to him and say, "For thee have I waited;
art thou here at last?" And as he thus looked round, he noticed that
the dog had left him. The wood yonder was near, the dog had evidently
run after a hare or a wild rabbit. Roland whistled, he wished to call
aloud, "Devil! Devil!" but he did not utter the word. He called the old
name, "Griffin!" The dog bounded towards him, his tongue lolling from
his mouth; he was wet with the dew of the corn-field through which he
had run. Roland found it difficult to keep the dog off, for he seemed
perfectly happy to have his name again; he looked up intelligently,
panting quickly.

"Yes, your name is Griffin!" Roland cried to him. "Now down!" The dog
kept close to his feet.

As the road now led through the forest, Roland turned aside, and laid
himself down on the moss under a fir-tree; the birds sang over his
head, and the cuckoo called. The dog sat near him, and seemed almost
jealous that Roland did not vouchsafe him a single glance. Roland
parted his jaws, and took delight in the magnificent teeth; then he
said,--his own hunger might have made him think of it,--

"The next place we come to where there's a butcher, you shall have a
sausage."

The dog licked his chaps, jumped round and round as if he understood
the words, chased the crows which