"What is your name?" he asked him.
"I am August Strehla. My father is Hans Strehla. We live in Hall, in
the Innthal; and Hirschvogel has been ours so long--so long!"
His lips quivered with a broken sob.
"And have you truly travelled inside this stove all the way from
Tyrol?"
"Yes," said August; "no one thought to look inside till you did."
The king laughed; then another view of the matter occurred to him.
"Who bought the stove of your father?" he inquired.
"Traders of Munich," said August, who did not know that he ought not
to have spoken to the king as to a simple citizen, and whose little
brain was whirling and spinning dizzily round its one central idea.
"What sum did they pay your father, do you know?" asked the sovereign.
"Two hundred florins," said August, with a great sigh of shame. "It
was so much money, and he is so poor, and there are so many of us."
The king turned to his gentlemen-in-waiting. "Did these dealers of
Munich come with the stove?"
He was answered in the affirmative. He desired them to be sought for
and brought before him. As one of his chamberlains hastened on the
errand, the monarch looked at August with compassion.
"You are very pale, little fellow: when did you eat last?"
"I had some bread and sausage with me; yesterday afternoon I finished
it."
"You would like to eat now?"
"If I might have a little water I would be glad; my throat is very
dry."
The king had water and wine brought for him, and cake also; but
August, though he drank eagerly, could not swallow anything.
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