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Updated: May 28, 2025
Phylax hesitated no longer; he moved back a step, and leaped through the window into the room. The window was closed behind him immediately, and the four-footed custodian of the prisoner was now a prisoner himself. The yard was empty now. Schroepfel slept soundly in his bed-chamber up-stairs, and Phylax was revelling in epicurean joys in the larder.
"God be praised!" murmured the old man. "That is the last sheaf, Anna will soon be with me." At last, the happy moment had come. The old shepherd folded his hands, and a silent prayer arose from his heart for his absent sons. He then rose from his lowly seat, and whistled to his faithful Phylax to follow.
Nothing stirred in it, but this wonderful scent of a roast sausage still impregnated the air, and seemed to grow even stronger and more tempting; for Phylax pricked up his ears, raised his nose, snuffing eagerly to inhale the scent, and rose from the ground. He glanced again round the yard, and then advanced a few steps toward the window yonder on the side of the house.
This window was open, and the keen nose of the dog told him that the appetizing scent had come from it. All at once, however, Phylax stood still, as if remembering his master's orders, and looked again toward the prisoner's window. At this moment a low voice called him: "Phylax! come here, Phylax!" The dog hesitated no longer; he had recognized the voice of his friend and playmate, Eliza Wallner.
The dog Phylax had soon put him on the trail, and before any of the gentlemen could reach the groaning person Dietel's triumphant shout rang from behind the oleander: "Now we've caught the pilferer, and we'll make an example of her!"
"My superannuated Conrad," replied the doctor; "the stupid knave found himself in a village yesterday and took it into his head to engage in the conversion of a Camisard, who in the true rebel fashion began to deal out blows, my decrepid enthusiast would let neither his king, nor his Lord God be outraged and on that account is so bedecked, that our Phylax at home will scarcely recognise him again."
The old shepherd, sitting not far off upon a little wooden stool, with his long, silver hair falling about him, was engaged in weaving a graceful basket of some meadow roots; at every bark of his Phylax he looked up and smiled his approval at his faithful steward; occasionally he gazed across the meadow at the reapers and busy maidens, then there came upon his venerable old countenance an expression of great interest.
Phylax howled and trembled with joy and delight at being released; but Schroepfel seized his ear and pointed his other hand at the prisoner's window, which was brightly illuminated by the moon. "Watch that window well, Phylax," he said, "watch it well; and if you see anything suspicious, call me at once. I shall not sleep so fast as not to hear your basking. Watch it well, Phylax."
The dog Phylax had soon put him on the trail, and before any of the gentlemen could reach the groaning person Dietel's triumphant shout rang from behind the oleander: "Now we've caught the pilferer, and we'll make an example of her!"
It was a most bitter necessity, and no one felt it more deeply than the old shepherd Buschman, the father of Charles Henry. He sat, as we first saw him, on the slope of the field where his flock was grazing, guarded and kept in order by the faithful Phylax. His eye was not clear and bright as then, but troubled and sorrowful, and his countenance bore an expression of the deepest grief.
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