"'But could we not ask little Hans up here?' said the Miller's youngest son.
Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good supper, and our great cask of red wine, he might get envious, and envy is a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody's nature.
"I cannot understand," said Hans. "Always has he the great appetite like the horse."
It was patent that he intended to kill Hans and her.
Hans brushed his coat, wiped his face and hands, rested a while, and then drove off his cow quietly, and thought his bargain a very lucky one.
Hans told him what had happened, how he was dry, and wanted to milk his cow, but found the cow was dry too.
There was a pause in the outcry, and from Hans' mouth came an imitation of a snake's hiss, so perfect that I almost sprung to my feet.
"Dot stop him," said Hans. "I learned dot trick in Mogoung Tanjong when I was collecting liddle monkeys for some peoples in Berlin.
Hans promptly snubbed with the rope, as though Buck were a boat.
Hans paid out the rope, permitting no slack, while Pete kept it clear of coils.
For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath passed across his mind, --for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskilful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder.
Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle.