One huge,
old, lean, high-backed sow, with a large family, truly feminine in
her want of presence of mind, actually charged into the midst of the
bonfire itself, scattering it to the right and left with her snout,
and emitting so horrible a smell of singed bacon, that it might
almost be feared that some of her progeny were anticipating the
invention of Chinese roasting-pigs. However, their proprietor,
Jobst, counted them out all safe on the other side, and there only
resulted some sighs and lamentations among the seniors, such as Hatto
and Ursel, that it boded ill to have the Needfire trodden out by an
old sow.
All the castle live-stock were undergoing the same ceremony.
Eberhard concerned himself little about the vagaries of the sheep and
pigs, and only laughed a little as the great black goat, who had seen
several Midsummer nights, and stood on his guard, made a sudden short
run and butted down old Hatto, then skipped off like a chamois into
the darkness, unheeding, the old rogue, the whispers that connected
his unlucky hue with the doings of the Walpurgisnacht.
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