CHAPTER FORTY.
FRITZ AND THE FALCONS.
With feelings of sad and bitter disappointment did our adventurers turn their backs upon these ladders--that had once more deluded them--and make their way towards the hut.
As upon the former occasion, they walked with slow steps and downcast mien.

Fritz, by his slouching gait and drooped tail, showed that he shared the general despondency.
They had arrived nearly at the hut, before any of the three thought of speaking; when the sight of that rude homestead, to which they had so often fancied themselves on the eve of bidding farewell--and to which as often had they been compelled to return--suggested a theme to Karl: causing him to break silence as they advanced towards the doorway.
"Our true friend," said he, pointing to the hovel, "a friend, when all else fails us.

Rough it is--like many a friend that is nevertheless worthy.

I begin to like its honest look, and feel regard for it as one should for a home." Caspar said nothing in reply.

He only sighed.