There was as much screaming and rejoicing as if every butter-cup in the grass had been changed into a gold florin.

But to-day--holy Florian--this is a rain!" "It will do the things up there good," exclaimed the baron.

"The tinder grows damp in such a torrent, or I'd take out my pistols and shoot the shabby liberty hat and motley tatters off the tree." "That was the dancing ground," said the man, pointing to a patch of trampled grass.
"The people are possessed, perfectly possessed," cried the baron, "dancing and rejoicing to-day, and tomorrow the wind will blow the felt-hat and flag from the tree, and instead of the black puppet they themselves will come to the gallows.

Steady roan, steady! The hail frightens the beasts.

Unbuckle the portmanteau, Gerrit, and give your young master a blanket." "Yes, my lord.