The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag

is a dreadful story," said Gabriel, much troubled; "these dogs have been raised in no Christian household. And do you really intend to keep the ill-omened creatures?"

      "I shall make the attempt," said Mr. Hummel. "After all, a dog is a dog."

      "Be on your guard, Mr. Hummel, there is something mysterious in these beasts."

      "Nonsense!"

      "They are monsters," continued Gabriel, counting on his fingers; "first, they have not the names of earthly dogs; secondly, they were offered without money; thirdly, no man knows what food they eat."

      "As to their appetite, you will not have to wait long to discover what that is," replied the master of the house.

      Gabriel drew a bit of bread out of his pocket, and the dogs snapped at it. "In that regard they are of the right species," he said, a little tranquillized; "but what are they to be called in the house?"

      "Bräuhahn I shall call Fighthahn," replied Mr. Hummel; "and in my family no dogs shall be called Goslar. I cannot bear the beastly drink." He cast a hostile look at the neighboring house. "Other people have such stuff fetched every day across the street, but that is no reason why I should suffer such a word in my household. The black shall from this day forth be called Fighthahn and the red Spitehahn-that is settled.

      "But, Mr. Hummel, these names are clearly offensive," exclaimed Gabriel; "that will make the matter worse."

      "That is my affair," said Mr. Hummel, decidedly. "At night they shall remain in the yard; they must guard the house."

      "So long as they do but preserve their bodies," said Gabriel, warningly; "but this kind come and vanish as they please-not as we wish."

      "Yet they are not of the devil," rejoined Mr. Hummel, laughing.

      "Who speaks of the devil?" replied Gabriel, quickly. "There is no devil-that the Professor will never allow; but of dogs we have various kinds."

      So saying, Gabriel took the animals into the hall. Mr. Hummel called out into the room: "Good evening, Philippine. Here, I have brought you a present."

      Mrs. Hummel came to the door with a light, and looked astonished at the present, which whined at her feet. This humility disposed the lady to regard them with benevolence.

      "But they are frightful," she said, dubiously, as the red and the black sat down on each side of her, wagging their tails land looking up at her from under their shaggy eyebrows. "And why did you bring two?"

      "They are not intended for exhibition," returned Mr. Hummel in a pacifying tone; "they are country ware-one is a substitute for the other."

      After this presentation they were carried off to a shed. Gabriel once more tried their capacity of eating and drinking; they showed themselves thoroughly satisfactory in this respect, though as regards personal beauty they were not distinguished dogs; and Gabriel went to his room free from anxiety.

      When the clock struck ten, and the gate which separated the court-yard from the street was closed, Mr. Hummel went down himself to the dogs' shed to initiate these new watchers into their calling. He was much astonished, on opening the door, to find that they did not require any encouraging words from him-both rushed out between his legs into the yard. As if driven by an invisible whip, they dashed at a headlong pace round the house and factory-always together, and never silent. Hitherto they had been depressed and quiet; now, either as the result of the good food they had devoured or because their night watch had come, they became so noisy that even Mr. Hummel drew back in astonishment. Their hoarse short bark deafened the horn of the night watchman and the call of their master, who wished to recommend moderation. They chased wildly and incessantly around the court, and a continuous yelping accompanied their stormy career. The windows of the house were thrown open.

      "This will be a horrible night, Mr. Hummel," said Gabriel.

      "Henry," cried out his wife from her bedroom "this is insupportable."

      "It is their first outburst of joy," nothing more, said Mr. Hummel, consolingly, and withdrawing into the house.

      But this view of the matter turned out to be erroneous. Throughout the whole night the barking of the dogs sounded from the court-yard. In the houses of the neighborhood, shutters were thrown open, and loud words of reproach addressed to Mr. Hummel. The following morning he arose in a state of great uncertainty. Even his own sound sleep had been disturbed by the reproaches of his wife, who now sat at breakfast angry and depressed with headache. When he entered the court-yard, and gathered from his men the complaints they had heard from the neighbors, even he hesitated for a moment whether he should keep the dogs.

      Ill luck would have it that just at this moment Mr. Hahn's porter entered the court-yard, and with defiant mien announced that Mr. Hahn insisted upon Mr. Hummel putting a stop to this outrageous barking, or he should be obliged to seek redress before a justice of the peace.

      This attitude of his opponent at once decided the inward struggle of Mr. Hummel.

      "If I can bear the barking of my dogs, other people can do so too. The bells play on your side of the way and the dogs sing on mine, and if any one wishes to hear my views before a magistrate he shall hear enough to satisfy him."

      He returned to the house and with dignity approached his suffering wife.

      "Are two dogs to come between you and me, Henry?" asked the wife, with faltering voice.

      "Never," replied Mr. Hummel; "the domestic peace must be preserved. I am sorry that you have a headache, and to please you I would remove the beasts. But I have collided again with that coxcomb across the way. For the second time he threatens me with a suit and the magistrate. My honor is at stake, and I can no longer give in. Be a good wife, Philippine, and try to bear it a few nights longer. Put cotton in your ears, till the dogs have gotten accustomed to their work."

      "Henry," replied the wife, wearily, "I have never doubted your heart; but your character is rough, and the voices of the dogs are too horrible. Can you, in order to enforce your will, see your wife suffer, and become seriously ill, from sleeplessness? Will you, in order to maintain your position, sacrifice peace with the neighborhood?"

      "I do not want you to be ill, but I will not send away the dogs," replied Mr. Hummel, seizing his felt hat, and going to the factory with heavy step.

      If Mr. Hummel indulged in the hope that he had ended the domestic struggle as conqueror, he was greatly in error. There was still another power in his home, who opened the campaign in a different manner. When Mr. Hummel approached his desk in his little counting-house, he saw near the inkstand a nosegay of flowers. Attached to the pink ribbon hung a note which was sealed with a forget-me-not, and addressed-"To my dear Father."

      "That is my bright-eyed girl," he murmured, and opening the note read the following lines:

      "My dear pa, good morrow!

      The dogs cause great sorrow,

      They are not delightful;

      Their bark is just frightful;

      Their ardor and sanguinity

      Disturb the vicinity.

      For the sake of our neighborhood,

      Be noble, generous and good."

      Hummel laughed so heartily that the work in the factory stopped, and every one was amazed at his good humor. Then he marked the note with the date of its reception, put it in his pocket-book, and after examining the letters that had arrived, he betook himself into the garden. He saw his little daughter sprinkling the beds with her watering-pot, and his heart swelled with a father's pride. With what grace she turned and bent, and how her dark locks hung round the blooming face, and how actively she raised and swung the watering-pot; and, on perceiving him, when she put it down and held her finger threateningly at him, he was quite enchanted.

      "Verses again," he called out to her, "I have received Number Nine."

      "And you will be my good papa," cried Laura, hastening toward him and stroking his chin; "do send them away."

      "But, my child," said the father, composedly. "I have already spoken to your