Dead
or alive, Franz knew not which it was; but very well he knew what it was
the child carried, for its big bushy red tail showed it to be a fox, and
it too was as motionless and lifeless as the child.
The goatherd had braved the dangers of the mountains all his lifetime,
and knew how to be cool and decided in the presence of danger. He had
his knife and drinking-cup beside him, and his horn slung over his
shoulder. In a moment he had made Nan stand still while he milked her,
and then he pried open the stiff lips of the lad, and forced the warm
liquid within. As he did so, the child revived and swallowed, for he had
not been long unconscious. Then putting him on Jan's back, and driving
Nan before him, Franz made his way home as best he could.
It was late when tired Franz, whose mother was in the door-way looking
anxiously for him, arrived. All the children were within, and the fire
was burning brightly. On the table the soup was steaming. An exclamation
of surprise arose from all as Jan and his burden marched in.
"Who is it?" "Where did he come from?" "Where did you find him?" "What
was he doing all alone in the storm?" burst from all their lips.
"So, so; slowly, please," answered the cool and courageous Franz. Then
he told them his adventure.
"A stranger lad, lost on the roadside," murmured the mother, as she took
the boy from Jan and carefully undressed him, the children meanwhile
attending to the nearly frozen fox.
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