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 the slope in involuntary bounds, just in the same way as the chair, only that Peter fortunately did not fall to pieces as that had done. Only the telegram came to grief, and that was torn into fragments and flew away.

"How extraordinarily timid these mountain dwellers are!” thought Herr Sesemann to himself, for he quite believed that it was the sight of a stranger that had made such an impression on this unsophisticated child of the mountains.

After watching Peter’s violent descent towards the valley for a few minutes he continued his journey. Peter, meanwhile, with all his efforts, could not stop himself, but went rolling on, and still tumbling head over heels at intervals in a most remarkable manner.

But this was not the most terrible part of his sufferings at the moment, for far worse was the fear and horror that possessed him, feeling sure, as he did now, that the policeman had really come over for him from Frankfurt. He had no doubt at all that the stranger who had asked him the way was the very man himself. Just as he had rolled to the edge of that last high slope above Dörfli he was caught in a bush, and at last able to keep himself from falling any farther. He lay still for a second or two to recover himself, and to think over matters.

“Well done! another of you come bumping along like this!” said a voice close to Peter, “and which of you to-morrow is the wind going to send rolling down like a badly sewn sack of potatoes?” It was the baker, who stood there laughing. He had been strolling out to refresh himself after his hot day’s work, and had watched with amusement as he saw Peter come rolling over and over in much the same way as the chair.