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thought of, all those long hours on the rock,
with that fierce buil below us. I really believe
I didn’t think of anything but keeping tight
hold of Karl; nor did we talk very much either.
Karl didn’t even mention cannon a single
time.
A gentie breeze stirred the tree-tops and the
shadows had grown darker under the close
branches when the eows finally began to stir
themselves. Slowly, verv slowly, they trailed
off between the trees, the buli being the last
to go. As if for a farewell, he dug his horns
into the earth and sent bits of moss flying up
to us. At last, at last, he, too, had gone.
When the eows started homeward it must
have been five or six o’clock, and we had been
in the forest the whole day long. Oh, how
hungry, how awfully hungry I was! And
Karl was as pale as a little white flower.
Never—even if I live to he ninety years old—
never shall I forget that summer day on the
big moss-grown rock with Kaspar’s buil down
below.
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