The train rolled on in its heavy, slow fashion, and the child slept
soundly, for a long while. When he did awake, it was quite dark
outside in the land; he could not see, and of course he was in
absolute darkness; and for a while he was solely frightened, and
trembled terribly, and sobbed in a quiet heart-broken fashion,
thinking of them all at home. Poor Dorothea! how anxious she would be!
How she would run over the town and walk up to grandfather's at Dorf
Ampas, and perhaps even send over to Jenbach, thinking he had taken
refuge with Uncle Joachim! His conscience smote him for the sorrow he
must be even then causing to his gentle sister; but it never occurred
to him to try and go back. If he once were to lose sight of
Hirschvogel how could he ever hope to find it again? how could he ever
know whither it had gone--north, south, east or west? The old
neighbour had said that the world was small; but August knew at least
that it must have a great many places in it; that he had seen himself
on the maps on his school-house walls. Almost any other little boy
would, I think, have been frightened out of his wits at the position
in which he found himself; but August was brave, and he had a firm
belief that God and Hirschvogel would take care of him. The
master-potter of Nuernberg was always present to his mind, a kindly,
benign, and gracious spirit, dwelling manifestly in that porcelain
tower whereof he had been the maker.
A droll fancy, you say? But every child with a soul in him has quite
as quaint fancies as this one was of August's.
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