THE rifles were soon in full action again. In the course of a few days not a single town in the Tyrol remained in the occupation of the French but Kufstein.

Then came a reverse. The Austrians under Chastelar were defeated at Worgl. This was on the 13th of May; and six days afterwards the Bavarians burned Schwatz; while the flames of seventeen other towns and villages made the heavens appear a vast sea of fire.

In a certain mountain-pass several men were vigorously felling down enormous larch-trees, evidently for purposes of warfare, under the direction of Father Joachim, who was zealously instructing them where to place the trees with most effect; how to intermix them with huge masses of rock, filling up the interstices with earth and brushwood; and how to secure the whole mass from toppling over till the right moment, by means of cords and chains. In the midst of this exciting work a little boy came trotting up to the good Capuchin.

"Father bade me find you," said he, panting, and looking up at him with his clear, soft, black eyes, "and tell you and the men you are wanted."

"What! to fight?"

"Father says the enemy are to be found at Berg Isel. He and Hofer and Teimer will all meet there, and they want you all to join them."

"We will come!"

And away ran little Speckbacher, sitting down and sliding down the mountain-side wherever it was not too rough, and getting on with amazing celerity. Many of the men laughed, and followed his example.

The child led the way, and an hour's fast walking brought them within earshot of the rifles, the continual report of which showed that the engagement had begun. It was a severe and fatal one; but the loss was almost entirely on the side of the enemy, who were triumphantly defeated.

Little Anderl again hovered about, to see the issue of the fight. He was now a regular and accredited messenger among the Tyrolese, and was allowed by his mother to go forth and bring her tidings of his father, on condition of his keeping as much out of danger as he could reasonably be expected to do.

On the present occasion, he had climbed a tree at some distance, and out of the direction of the firing, from whence he got a good general idea of the success of the engagement, without being close enough to see the dreadful features of its details. He now slid down from his perch, but, instead of pursuing his father, paused when he had run a little way; and after watching the retiring foemen till they disappeared, prepared to run home and tell his mother. A squall of wind and rain had come on, and a flock of sheep rushed wildly past him.

Just then, he heard a groan close by him; and, looking round, saw a Bavarian soldier who had been shot down among the long coarse grass and underwood. The poor young fellow did not look above twenty; he had a boyish, simple face; his leg was bleeding fast, and he had turned very white.

"Even such a little boy as I am could kill that Bavarian," thought Anderl; "but I could not have the heart to do it, even if the Sandwirth had not said we must never hit a man when he is down.—Are you in much pain?" said he, approaching him with pity.

"I'm bleeding to death, I think," said the Bavarian; "will you help me, you little chap? or are you going to hurt me?"

"Oh, no! Shall I tie up your leg with your handkerchief? Mother would do it better, but I won't hurt you, if I can help it."

"Thanks, thanks! Oh, get me some water!"

Anderl knew where there was a spring, and he ran and brought some in his hat.

"It is raining very hard," said he, "and there is shelter not far off: do you think you can crawl to it?"

"Well, I'll try—it's so forlorn to be left to die here. You're not taking me to people that will knock me on the head?" added he quickly.

"Oh, no! Not to any people at all, only to a shepherd's deserted hut scooped out of the rock. Edge yourself along this way, on your elbow and the side that isn't bleeding. I know it will hurt you, but you mustn't mind that."

Following the advice and guidance of the humane little boy, the young Bavarian, with a good deal of wincing, and some additional effusion of blood, wormed himself along to the rude little cavity which Anderl had dignified by the name of a hut. It contained, however, a rough bed of fir branches, a stool and table of rude construction, and a little hidden store of rye-cakes and cheese.

"And now," said Anderl, after having good-naturedly settled him on the rustic couch, and put the food within his reach, "I'll fetch you some water; and then I must leave you, or my mother will fancy I've come to harm."

"I hope the owner of the hut will not return, though," said the Bavarian wistfully. "You couldn't get me a musket, could you? I dare say mine is down among the grass."

"Why, now, how can you expect it?" said the boy. "Here have I had mercy on you, our enemy; and you want me to give you the means of shooting one of my friends!"

"But I'm so defenceless," suggested the Bavarian.

"Your safety lies in that," said Anderl. "If any of our men should come and be unexpectedly saluted by you with a shot, of course he would be tempted to return your fire pretty effectually; but if he finds you lying helpless as I did, he will have compassion; because the Sandwirth told us this very morning, that none but a coward would harm a fallen foe."

"Come, that's one comfort," said the young soldier. "Must you go?"

"Aye, that I must, but I'll come and look after you in a day or two, if I can."

"Oh! I may be dead before that."

"Why, your leg has left off bleeding already, and you have plenty to eat! What have you to do but to lie still and get well? I don't think you are very brave!"

This unexpected rebuke made the colour mount in the young Bavarian's face; and Anderl, after looking at him for a moment, turned away; and taking a beechen bowl from a nail in the wall, sallied forth to the spring and filled it to the brim with water. "There, now," said he, smiling, as he placed it beside the soldier, "do you feel all over red-hot coals?"

"No; what do you mean?"

"Why, Father Joachim says, 'If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; for in so doing, thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.'"

"Why, I am not your enemy, you little boy! What harm have we ever done one another?"

"I've done you none, certainly; but you have been killing my friends; and would gladly have killed my father!"

"Who is your father?"

"I must not tell you that. However, I may tell you that he is—oh, such a brave man! and so good! Every one loves him."

"Hofer, I suppose?"

"No, not Hofer; but I must not tell you any more, so now good bye. I don't think any one will come near you—unless it should be the hill-sprite."

"Who is the hill-sprite?"

"Well, I can't justly say; but he haunts the hill-top; and when the herdsmen have gone down into the valley for winter, he takes possession of one of their deserted chÂlets,—to be more snug and comfortable, I suppose, while nobody else wants it; and, sometimes, when a herdsman has gone back again for something he has forgotten, he has found the hill-sprite already settling himself in the chÂlet, and arranging his ghostly pans and pails."

"Hum! And are you going to leave me to the mercy of this hill-sprite?"

"Oh, he won't hurt you. You got here first; and if he looks in and sees you, he'll go away. Shall you be frightened?"

"That depends. If he wears a green jacket and red sash, and carries a rifle over his shoulder, very likely I shall be."

"Not if he does not point it at you. Besides, it wouldn't go off."

"I shan't understand his language."

"Why, you understand mine. But he doesn't talk at all, only makes a dismal noise, and keeps smiting his hands. I advise you to say your prayers, and then you won't think of him any more."

Away went Anderl, with a very unfavourable impression of Bavarian courage. Meanwhile, the wounded soldier felt very lonely without his little companion; and weak from the loss of blood. A good deal of what courage he had, had certainly ebbed away with it; for he was presently sadly scared by a sudden, rushing, unaccountable sound of many small feet, which he thought must be those of a legion of hill-sprites rather than of one.

It only proceeded, however, from the flock of sheep, who, having remained under the hill while the spring storm lasted, were now returning to the sweet short grass higher up.

A couple of days afterwards, Anderl, who had often thought of the Bavarian, made up a little packet of cakes and cheese, and set off on a walk of several miles to see after him.

"The gate was there, but not the lad!"

Anderl looked about, but could find nothing of him. The food was eaten, and he was gone.

It was best for all parties that he should have made off. After a night's good sleep, he had awoke sufficiently refreshed to make a hearty breakfast of what would have fed a temperate Tyrolese for two or three days; and then, examining his wound, he found himself able to bind it up sufficiently well to admit of his moving slowly, with a good deal of limping.

He was very desirous of going down the ravine, to hunt for his musket, but hardly felt equal to it; and the sound of men's voices among the trees decided him on keeping on his present level, and making off as fast as he could.

Fear enabled him to do this better than he would otherwise have thought possible; and he made considerable progress along the mountain-side, till he began to be uncertain of his bearings, and to fear that he might be penetrating into the enemy's country instead of getting out of it. Besides, he was by this time very tired and very hungry; and it was therefore with considerable though not unmixed satisfaction that he descried a lone hut. Though lonely, it might not be unoccupied; therefore, he approached it with extreme caution.

On close investigation, however, there appeared no signs of life. Made bold by hunger, he raised the latch; went in and found the hut empty—empty of inhabitants, that is, but not of stock; for it appeared to be a kind of little shop or store, containing medicines for man, horse, and cow; cheap crockery and cutlery; sieves, tubs, and pails; household and agricultural implements; and a few rolls of green cloth, canvas, and calico; such goods as the peasantry were likely to want during the long winter months, without finding it convenient to go to a town for them. Every article was ticketed with the price; there was a till for the money, and a book wherein to enter what had been purchased. These good, honest people could rely upon not being defrauded by one another!

It struck the Bavarian; though not so much as it would strike us. He opened the till; there was a little heap of kreutzers in it,—and shut it up again. He looked into the ledger, and read such entries as these—

and so forth.

The Bavarian began to look about for something to eat. He found unroasted coffee in the berry, tar, turpentine, oil, black and yellow paint, and cobbler's wax; none of which articles, separately or conjointly, promised a very desirable repast, even if there were a fire lighted by which to cook them. At length he came to a small canister of sugar-plums and poured its contents into his pocket, that his mouth might not be altogether unemployed, if he could find nothing better to fill it.

Just then he heard a loud exclamation of surprise; and, with a guilty start, he turned about and met the great, round, wondering eyes of a stout, thickset girl, who looked as if she were not quite sure of his not being the hill-sprite.

His start, and the uniform he wore, seemed to undeceive her; for she accosted him with an ejaculation tantamount to

"Well, I'm sure!—"

"Pretty maiden, does this shop belong to you?" said the Bavarian.

"No more than it does to you!" said she, planting herself boldly in the door-way. "How durst you come here?"

"I am a wounded man—don't you see?" (pointing to his bandage) "and a stranger. Women always have pity on the unfortunate."

"How do I know you're unfortunate? You are a thief! you were eating Hans Steffan's sugar-plums!"

"Because I was starving."

"Were you?" relenting a little.

"I can't think what I shall do."

"What do you want to do?"

"To get out of the Tyrol as quick as I can."

"You may do that in a few hours, if you look sharp."

"But I am wounded, and cannot walk fast."

"Humph—poor fellow! And you are hungry?"

"As a hunter."

"Humph!—Well,—here's some bread and cheese I was carrying to my father; you can have it, and I will fetch him some more. And now I advise you to be off as fast as you can—I will pay for the sugar-plums. That is, supposing you have no money."

"Not a kreutzer."

"Well; here are a couple of kreutzers for you. Now, off."

"Which way?"

"Right towards that old tower on the distant hill. When you reach it you will get a distant view of Innsbruck, which of course you will keep clear of, as we have re-taken it!"

"Have you!"

"That have we. Now depart."

"Gracious maiden, permit me—" He saluted her on the cheek.

She watched him down the hill, and then turned on her heel, with an ejaculatory "Humph!—what manners!"