er.' Now, Mrs.
Behrens, pray don't be angry with Hawermann for calling your nephew a
'stupid dolt.'" "Certainly not," replied Mrs. Behrens, "for that's just
what he is." "Well, you see that all happened a week ago, but this
morning I went out early with my fishing-rod to try whether I couldn't
catch a few trout, when just as I was coming in this direction I caught
sight of your nephew, the gray-hound. He slipped cautiously into the
garden, and after remaining there for a few minutes, came out again.
Meanwhile I perceived that the young nobleman was watching him from
amongst the thorn-bushes by the side of the ditch; but what was my
astonishment when I saw that my good old friend Charles Hawermann was
following them on the hill-side. I brought up the rear, and so we all
went on in single file quite round the village, and I couldn't help
laughing when I thought that each of us only knew of the presence of the
game he was stalking, and was totally unaware that he himself was being
stalked in his turn. We're all to be at it again tomorrow I believe, for
Hawermann, who has followed them twice already, is determined to get to
the bottom of the mystery; so if either you or the parson has a fancy to
join us in the hunt, you can follow me." "Thanks very much," said Mrs.
Behrens, "but I've got my part to play already. Braesig, can you keep a
secret?" "Like a safe when the padlock is on," he answered. "No, no. Do
be serious. Can you be silent?" "I beg your pardon," he said gravely,
and clapped his hand on his mouth in token of shame at his ill-timed
jesting, though had any one else done it, he would have given him a
black eye for his pains. "Why well then, listen," said Mrs. Behrens, who
now proceeded to relate all that she knew of the affair. "Wheugh!"
whistled Braesig, "what a fool that nephew of yours is." Mrs. Behrens
then read him the letters she had found. "Hang it," cried Braesig, "where
did the young rascal get that grand way of expressing himself. Stupid as
he is in other matters, he can write much better than one would expect."
When she came to the bit about the dragon Braesig laughed heartily, and
said:

"That's you, Mrs. Behrens, that's you!" "I know," she answered sharply,
"but the ass in the third letter is intended for you, so neither of us
need laugh at the other. But now, Braesig, you see that it's quite
necessary that I should get hold of the little wretch, and box his ears
well for him." "You're quite right, and