In the Yule-Log Glow, Book II | Page 9

on over his head.
In a word, the baron's mind was evidently preoccupied; his whole air
was that of a man who felt a strong impulse to do something or other,
but could not quite make up his mind to it.
At last, however, the good impulse conquered, and this wicked old
baron, in the stillness of the calm, bright Christmas morning, went
down upon his knees and prayed.
Stiff were his knees and slow his tongue, for neither had done such

work for many a long day past; but I have read in the Book of the joy
of angels over a repenting sinner.
There needs not much eloquence to pray the publican's prayer, and who
shall say but there was gladness in heaven that Christmas morning?
The baron's appearance down-stairs at such an early hour occasioned
quite a commotion. Nor were the domestics reassured when the baron
ordered a bullock to be killed and jointed instantly, and all the available
provisions in the larder, including sausage, to be packed up in baskets,
with a good store of his own peculiar wine.
One ancient retainer was heard to declare, with much pathos, that he
feared master had gone insane.
However, insane or not, they knew the baron must be obeyed, and in an
exceedingly short space of time he sallied forth, accompanied by three
servants carrying the baskets, and wondering what in the name of
fortune their master would do next.
He stopped at the cottage of Wilhelm, which he had visited with the
goblin on the previous night. The labors of the fairies did not seem to
have produced much lasting benefit, for the appearance of everything
around was as wretched as could be.
The poor family thought that the baron had come himself to turn them
out of house and home; and the children huddled up timidly to their
mother for protection, while the father attempted some words of
entreaty for mercy.
The pale, pinched features of the group, and their looks of dread and
wretchedness, were too much for the baron.
"Eh! what! what do you mean, confound you? Turn you out? Of course
not: I've brought you some breakfast. Here! Fritz--Carl; where are the
knaves? Now, then, unpack, and don't be a week about it. Can't you see
the people are hungry, ye villains? Here, lend me the corkscrew."

This last being a tool the baron was tolerably accustomed to, he had
better success than with those of the fairy carpenters; and it was not
long before the poor tenants were seated before a roaring fire, and
doing justice, with the appetite of starvation, to a substantial breakfast.
The baron felt a queer sensation in his throat at the sight of the poor
people's enjoyment, and had passed the back of his hand twice across
his eyes when he thought no one was looking; but his emotion fairly
rose to boiling when the poor father, Wilhelm, with tears in his eyes,
and about a quarter of a pound of beef in his mouth, sprang up from the
table and flung himself at the baron's knees, invoking blessings on him
for his goodness.
"Get up, you audacious scoundrel!" roared the baron. "What the deuce
do you mean by such conduct, eh? confound you!"
At this moment the door opened, and in walked Mynheer Klootz, who
had heard nothing of the baron's change of intentions, and who, seeing
Wilhelm at the baron's feet, and hearing the latter speaking, as he
thought, in an angry tone, at once jumped to the conclusion that
Wilhelm was entreating for longer indulgence. He rushed at the
unfortunate man and collared him. "Not if we know it," exclaimed he;
"you'll have the wolves for bedfellows to-night, I reckon. Come along,
my fine fellow." As he spoke he turned his back towards the baron,
with the intention of dragging his victim to the door.
The baron's little gray eyes twinkled, and his whole frame quivered
with suppressed emotion, which, after the lapse of a moment, vented
itself in a kick, and such a kick! Not one of your Varsovianna
flourishes, but a kick that employed every muscle from hip to toe, and
drove the worthy steward up against the door like a ball from a
catapult.
Misfortunes never come singly, and so Mynheer Klootz found with
regard to the kick, for it was followed, without loss of time, by several
dozen others, as like it as possible, from the baron's heavy boots.
Wounded lions proverbially come badly off, and Fritz and Carl, who

had suffered from many an act of petty tyranny on the part of the
steward, thought they could not do better than follow their master's
example, which they did to such good purpose, that when the
unfortunate Klootz did escape from the cottage