'Well, where is he, Presto? Where is your little master then?' How
alarming to wake in the boat among the reeds--quite alone--the master
vanished entirely! this is something indeed to be frightened at.
And now run about, hunting on all sides with timid little whinings, poor
Presto! How could you sleep so soundly as not to notice when your master
left the boat? Generally you are wont to wake if only he moves a little.
Here--you can see here where your master landed; but now you are on land
the track is very much confused. All your busy snuffing is in vain! What
a misfortune! The little master gone, quite lost! Seek, Presto, seek him
then!
'Look! There, against that low mound just before you--Is there not a
little dark figure lying? Look at it closely!'
For a moment the dog stood motionless, looking eagerly into the
distance. Then he suddenly stretched out his head and flew as fast as
his four slender legs could carry him to the dark object on the mound.
And when he found that it really was the little master he had so sorely
missed, all his powers were too feeble to express his joy and
thankfulness. He wagged his tail, his whole body wriggled with glee, he
leaped, barked, yelped, and laid his cold nose against his re-found
friend, licking and sniffing all over his face.
'Down, Presto! Go to your basket!' cried Johannes, but half awake. How
stupid of master! There was no basket to be seen, look where he might.
Slowly, slowly, light began to dawn on the little sleeper's mind.
Presto's sniffing!--he was used to that, every morning. Faint images
still floated before his soul, dream-pictures of elves and moonlight,
like morning mists over a landscape of sand-hills. He feared that the
cold breath of day would waft them away. 'Keep your eyes shut,' said he
to himself, 'or you will see the clock against the wall where it always
hangs!'
But there was something strange about his bed. He felt that he had no
bed-clothes over him. Gently and warily he opened his eyes, just a
little way.
Bright daylight. Blue sky. Clouds.