that one might almost say he did nothing else than eat, drink, and sleep. He waked up about five times a day, and every time he ate and drank ; but at night he always slept from the evening to the morning without ever waking. But as this was now his life, and his dim chamber reminded him of nothing that he had done or seen upon earth, the past faded almost wholly from his memory. Only of his father, Peter, he thought sometimes, and of the trusty Valentine, and of the kind old schoolmaster; but these thoughts seemed to him only as dreams. Yet he held firmly to the sacred and holy things and customs to which he had been used, so that ever before he ate he crossed himself, folded his hands, and prayed. But he only knew one prayer, which was not very long, and ran thus— Fear God, Dear child, God the Lord Sees and knows This prayer he continually repeated very devoutly. His sleeping hours by day, as well as by night when he lay in bed, were a continual dream; and certainly a very pleasant and cheerful dream, in which all the old tales and stories of Valentine blossomed again wonderfully, and produced a thousand other tales and stories, in which he ever bore a part, and did monstrous deeds, slew dragons and giants, burst open iron and adamantine gates, released princesses, and at length became king. Klaus led in this manner, without knowing what occurred, a very pleasant and cheerful life in his Pancake Hill. But there always appeared to him in his dreams some one who related or represented to him these stories. This was not Valentine, but his deceased grandmother, whom, in his early childhood, he had seen in his father's house. She seemed to stand at his head, or to kneel before him, to pray over him, and then to relate the stories. This in his later years he often described with deep emotion, and believed, when anything good occurred to him, that he had to thank the quiet prayers of this pious and blessed spirit, who had turned to good the error through which he had jumped down into the mountain. Five years thus passed as a day, and he had become a strong and able youth; though of this he was not aware, for he had no one with whom to compare himself, nor was there a looking-glass to inform him of it. The five years were completed, and Klaus had eaten down even to the border of the hill, and would again fall upon the earth. That his destiny might be fulfilled, he sank into a deep sleep, and dreamt a more remarkable dream than any he had yet had. The kind old woman, who continually sat by him, narrated stories, and looked like his grand mother, seemed to him very melancholy, and behaved as if she were taking leave of him; indeed she said she was. It seemed to him as if she very fervently, and with many tears, prayed over him, took him out of bed, and washed him as one would wash a little child, till he became as white as a swan; and as if she then dressed him in a white shirt, a handsome new coat, new shoes and stockings; and then vanished. She also seemed to feel very melancholy at heart. But this was in reality no dream, for in it he had been thoroughly washed, newly clothed from head to foot, and in the apparent dream fallen out of the hill. Of this he had not been aware, but had slept through all these wonderful occurrences. As Klaus Avenstaken is now to appear again in the world, I must tell how it had gone in his father's house during the five years he had lived in the Pancake Hill. Since his disappearance nothing uncommon had happened. They all, thank God, yet lived-the old folks, and his brothers and sisters; and his midnight journey to the Pancake Hill had been actually the only remarkable event that the family had experienced in so long a time. There had been a long mourning for him, particularly in the heart of his father, which however he did not suffer to be perceived, even by the honest old Valentine, whom for this event, in consequence of his stories, the mother often reproached. From him all joy had departed from that moment, and no tale ever again fell from his lips; and the old man, who formerly was so blithe and cheerful, became almost mute or morose. He would indeed have left the house and the service, but Peter had magnanimously prevented him, and said, that as Valentine had participated in our great calamity, he shall have his bit of bread with us even to his life's end." Of Klaus, beyond this, almost nothing more was said, or only in light whispers: most folks, and even his poor mother, thought the wicked spirits had carried him off, and that the boy would never be seen again in this life. Only Valentine and Peter sometimes spoke between themselves of the boy whom they had both so loved, and silently entertained the hope that he would yet again return. They both believed also in the tale which they had so readily narrated or listened to. And lo! their hope deceived them not, for Klaus actually arrived. I must now relate how this happened. 66 As wonders always occur in the most wonderful manner, so it happened that Klaus fell out of the Pancake Hill exactly at the spot where he had sunk into it. Now this could only be because the Pancake Hill had turned upside down, or that the world had turned with it. One of the two must have happened, and on that account it was a wonder; for a wonder is what a man well knows, but which no one can comprehend. In short, when Klaus awoke he lay no longer in his soft bed, but upon the green grass, and saw the well-known beech again, and the lofty hill on which he had so often driven his herd, and the whole forest and fields below him, and the villages and their churchtowers came upon him like old acquaintances. The five years he had passed in the Pancake Hill were to him like a dream, and it appeared to him no otherwise than as if he had only spent one night between the evening when his brothers and companions ran away from him, and this morning when the larks awakened him with their songs. It was, however, a beautiful spring-day when he had eaten through the hill and fell again into the world. Klaus did not lie long yawning on the grass, but arose, and ran quickly through the wood and over the fields to his father's house. There he found, when he entered the kitchen, his parents, his brothers and sisters, and Valentine, all standing around the table, just folding their hands in prayer, for they were about to breakfast. Thus he entered among them. But he had become so tall and handsome, nearly half a head taller than Peter, who was himself no little man, and had on such beautiful new clothes, that they all looked at him, and bowed, for they thought he was a stranger. He, however, fell upon the necks of his father and his mother, his brothers and sisters, and embraced and kissed them, and said, "I am Klaus, come back again from the Pancake Hill." He also embraced heartily the old Valentine, his very dear friend. They all recognised him again by many tokens, and were astonished and rejoiced that he had become so tall and comely. 66 But as soon as the first amazement was passed, all desired to know what had happened to him in the five years and three months he had been away, and all the villagers were called in to see Klaus Avenstaken, and their first words were ever, Now, dear Klaus, tell us what happened, and what took place in the Pancake Hill." But he hardly knew how to tell them much, for everything came out darkly, like dreams or ghost stories; so that some gazed at him with staring eyes, as if all was not right with him, or that he was possessed with evil spirits; others here and there whispered, "Klaus is lying: he ran away from his parents, and has now come back, and the sly rascal has invented the whole story to cover his fault." But the majority had faith in the adventure, and found great pleasure in the narration how his chamber was ornamented with roast meats, cakes, and fruit, and how the milk stream and the wine stream continually flowed; and they believed it the rather because they saw from his strong and beautiful limbs, his rosy cheeks, his sparkling eyes, that he had not starved during the time. His mother, however, was the first who impatiently inquired after the sacks of dollars, and whether he had brought any away. When he answered that Valentine must have been mistaken in this part of the story, for of gold or silver he had seen no sample in the Pancake Hill, she shook her head, and thought he might just as well have remained at home for the five years, and increased the gains of the family, and eaten at their table, for what the better was he for having eaten pheasants and snipes, and swallowed costly wines? Without money, she could not imagine that a man could become a king, as the simple Valentine had fabled; for Valentine at every opportunity was subject to her inuendoes. And now if I must tell the truth, matters went thus: the first day, the people of the village were out of their senses about Klaus, and almost stormed Peter's house; the first week, they wondered much ; the first month they talked much about him; and after a year the story was nearly forgotten by the most of them. Those who yet spoke of the story were the young girls, for they liked Klaus beyond measure; and where they dared speak, they said, almost unanimously, "Klaus Avenstaken is indeed the handsomest youth in the village." Klaus was now in his eighteenth year, and found himself again in the world, to do as well as he could. He set himself vigorously to his labour, for which he had bones and muscles, and assisted his father to plough and to sow, to break stones and to hew wood, to mow grass and to reap corn, and did all his work quietly and orderly, and as much as any other three. His father loved him dearly, and the old Valentine was proud of him. Even his mother was pleased with his handsome face and figure: what mother and woman could be otherwise? and often smiled when her neighbour gossips praised him on account of his beauty. But on the whole she was still unsatisfied, and thought him too quiet and simple, and not so clever and promising as her other children. And certainly Klaus did not talk much. He had indeed become even more silent than he had been as a boy. In the five years also which he had passed in the hill, he had learnt nothing, but, on the contrary, forgotten all he had brought from school, so that he knew nothing more than his single short prayer. Yet after all his mother could reproach him with nothing; he was obedient and humble, went diligently to church with other Christians, kept every Sunday and holiday decently and piously, and acquired the love of every one, and a good character. The only thing for which he was blamed, and justly, was, that he was often away from home in the evenings and nights. From this he could not refrain, particularly on Sundays and holidays; for as soon as the sun went down he would walk out into the fields and woods often visiting the hill where he had met with his adventure, sitting under the green beech, and dreaming over again the pleasant dreams of the Pancake Hill, and commonly returning home more silent and more abstracted than when he had gone out. If Margaret did not always scold him for this, yet she made Peter suffer for it whenever he praised Klaus. She would then murmur half aside, "Ah, what is your Klaus, indeed? what has his hill journey profited him? He has not become richer, and certainly not wiser; our bread and bacon might have made him as strong as he is, and he might have earned us some money. He has come back again the same bashful silent blockhead as when he left. Your Klaus remains Klaus." Such speeches Peter had often to listen to and swallow as he could. He could only fret, and dared not offer a word in reply, yet in his heart ne thought very differently; and he and Valentine never relinquished the belief that Klaus would yet become a right worthy man. Thus passed another year and a half; Klaus became yet stronger on his legs and in his shoulders; if possible even more handsome; and completed his twentieth year. Then Klaus began to ponder how he should extricate himself from his peasant life, and aspire to the high honour to which God had decreed him. He had gone with his father to the wood to fell timber, when they were attacked by four rangers of the earl to whom the estate belonged; but the wood where Peter and Klaus had been working was not the wood of the earl, but the common property of the village of Dimmelshusen. They disputed much and long with each other: at length the rangers attempted to bind the old man, and Klaus also. Then his anger was roused, and he cried with a loud voice, "Thorough," and laid about with his axe, till he had struck all four down, and no signs of life remained in them. He and his father, however, were not believed, but it was said that he had violently attacked the rangers, and killed them; and the earl sent several hundred men to Dimmelshusen with lances and staves to arrest Klaus and conduct him to prison. Klaus did not fly, nor resist them, but suffered himself to be taken quietly, for he said to himself, "One should obey and subject one's self to the magistracy, and God can yet bring justice and innocence to light." When he arrived at the town where the earl dwelt, they took him and fettered his hands and feet like a criminal, threw him into a dark dungeon, where neither sun nor moon could be seen, tried him, and condemned him to death as one who had broken the land's peace and committed a violent murder. The earl, who was exceedingly irritated at the death of his rangers, immediately ordered a new gallows to be erected before the gate of the town, fifty feet high, on which Klaus Avenstaken was to be hung; many thousands from all quarters assembled on the day of the execution, for the fame of Klaus had spread widely on account of his strength and beauty, and the people had also again recalled the tale of the Pancake Hill, which they related with many exaggerations. The youth and beauty of Klaus excited much sympathy among all the spectators, particularly among the females, and when he was led under the gallows, when the priest with the cross in his hand stood near him, and addressed him, and sang psalms, and the hangman prepared the ladder and the cord, a beautiful young woman, who had pressed through the crowd, cried so loud that |