This odd little episode, between the boar-hound and the churk falcons,
had interrupted the conversation of the two brothers on the subject
which Caspar had introduced. Nor was it resumed immediately, on the
termination of the affair: for the look with which Fritz regarded the
departure of the bird, that had so adroitly bilked him out of his bit of
venison, was so supremely ludicrous, as to elicit long loud peals of
laughter from the spectators.
Fritz's "countenance" betrayed the presence of rare emotions. Profound
surprise and chagrin--strongly blended with a feeling of concentrated
rage--were visible not only in his eyes, but his attitude, and, for some
time, he stood with head erect and muzzle high in air, his glances
speaking unutterable vows of vengeance, as they followed the flight of
the falcons.
Never in all his life--not even when the trunk of the elephant was
trumpeting at his tail--had Fritz so sensibly felt the want of wings.
Never had he so regretted the deficiency in his structure that left him
without those useful appendages; and had he been gifted with the "wand
of a fairy," the use to which he would at that moment have applied it
would have been to furnish himself with a pair, not of "beautiful
wings"--for that was a secondary consideration--but of strong and long
ones, such as would have enabled him to overhaul those churk falcons,
and punish them for their unheard-of audacity.
For more than a minute Fritz preserved the attitude to which we have
alluded: the demeanour of a dog that had been regularly duped and "sold"
by a brace of beings, for whose strength and capacity he had exhibited
supreme contempt; and it was this mingling of surprise and rage that
imparted to him that serio-comic appearance that had set them all
a-laughing. Nor was his countenance less ludicrous under the expression
with which, on turning round, he regarded his trio of human companions.
He saw that they were making merry at his expense; and his look of
half-reproach half-appeal had no other effect than to redouble their
mirth. Glancing from one to the other, he appeared to seek sympathy
from each in turn--from Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo.
It was an idle appeal. All three had equally surrendered themselves to
hilarity--unsympathetic, as it was uncontrollable. Fritz had not a
friend on the ground.
Full ten minutes must have elapsed before any of them could check his
loud cachinnations; but long before that time, the butt of their
ridicule had betaken himself out of sight--having moved away from the
spot, where he had been robbed of his supper, and retired, with an
offended and sneaking air, to the more friendly concealment of the
hovel.
It was some time before our adventurers could recover their serious
mood; but the subject of their mirth being now out of their sight, went
gradually also out of their minds.
It might be wondered that, circumstanced as they were, they had thus
given way to a fit of jollity. But, indeed, there was nothing wonderful
about it. On the contrary, it was perfectly natural--perfectly true to
the instincts of the human soul--to be thus stirred: joy and sorrow
following each other in periodic succession--as certainly as day follows
night, or fair weather succeeds to the storm.
Though we know not the why and the wherefore of this, we can easily
believe that a wise Providence has ordered it so. A poet who has sung
sweetly says, that:--
"Spring would be but gloomy weather,
If we had nothing else but Spring;"
and our own experience proclaims the truth conveyed in the distich.
He who has lived in the tropical lands of ever-spring--where the leaves
never fall, and the flowers never fade--can well confirm the fact: that
even spring itself may in time become tiresome! We long for the
winter--its frost and snow, and cold bitter winds. Though ever so
enamoured of the gay green forest, we like at intervals to behold it in
its russet garb, with the sky in its coat of grey, sombre but
picturesque. Strange as it may appear, it is true: the moral, like the
natural atmosphere, stands in need of the storm.