Bitter
sorrow filled his soul at the plight of his country that had fallen
so low. But the hope of the young years came to the rescue: all was
not lost yet. And in the morning came Sven, the gamekeeper, with a
load of straw, at the bottom of which he hid him. So no one would be
the wiser.
It was well he did it, for half-way to the next town some prowling
soldiers overtook them, and just to make sure that there was nothing
in the straw, prodded the load with their spears. Nothing stirred,
and they went on their way. But a spear had gashed Gustav's leg, and
presently blood began to drip in the snow. Sven had his wits about
him. He got down, and cut the fetlock of one of the beasts with his
jack-knife so that it bled and no one need ask questions. When they
got to Marnaes, Gustav was weak from the loss of blood, but a
friendly surgeon was found to bind up his wounds.
Farther and farther north he fled, keeping to the deep woods in the
day, until he reached Raettwik. Feeling safer there, he spoke to the
people coming from church one Sunday and implored them to shake off
the Danish yoke. But they only shook their heads. He was a stranger
among them, and they would talk it over with their neighbors. Not
yet were his wanderings over.
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