THE SONG OF THE LARK
the bed, Paulina." The dresser had lost its casters years ago, but he managed to drag it in front of the door. "He is in the garden. He makes nothing. He will get sick again, may-be."
Fritz went back to bed and his wife pulled the quilt over him and made him lie down. They heard stumbling in the garden again, then a smash of glass.
"Ach, das Mistbeet!" gasped Paulina, hearing her hot-bed shivered. "The poor soul, Fritz, he will cut himself. Ach! what is that?" They both sat up in bed. "Wieder! Ach, What is he doing?"
The noise came steadily, a sound of chopping. Paulina tore off her night-cap. "Die Bäume, die Bäume! He is cutting our trees, Fritz!" Before her husband could prevent her, she had sprung from the bed and rushed to the window. "Der Taubenschlag! Gerechter Himmel, he is chopping the dove-house down!"
Fritz reached her side before she had got her breath again, and poked his head out beside hers. There, in the faint starlight, they saw a bulky man, barefoot, half dressed, chopping away at the white post that formed the pedestal of the dove-house. The startled pigeons were croaking and flying about his head, even beating their wings in his face, so that he struck at them furiously with the axe. In a few seconds there was a crash, and Wunsch had actually felled the dove-house.
"Oh, if only it is not the trees next!" prayed Paulina. "The dove-house you can make new again, but not die Bäume."
They watched breathlessly. In the garden below Wunsch stood in the attitude of a woodman, contemplating the fallen cote. Suddenly he threw the axe over his shoulder and went out of the front gate toward the town.
"The poor soul, he will meet his death!" Mrs. Kohler wailed. She ran back to her feather bed and hid her face in the pillow.
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