And old Deacon, the faithful watch-dog, lay coiled up on the flag hearth-stone.
The old clock had nearly marked the hour of midnight as Hanz came out of the little room in an apparently agitated state of mind.

The dog raised his head and moved his tail as Hanz approached the fire and threw some sticks on.

"Dere's no postponin' it; and it sthorms so," muttered Hanz, shaking his head.

Then he put on his big coat and boots, drew his cap over his ears, and went out into the storm, leaving the big dog on guard.

How he struggled through the snow that night, what difficulty he had in waking up his two nearest neighbors, and getting one of them to send his son for Doctor Critchel, and what was said about such things always happening of such a night, I will leave to the imagination of my reader.
It was nearly an hour before Hanz returned, bringing with him two stout, motherly-looking dames.