It must have been far into the summer when
Rupert separated from his companions, and found himself at the base of
the mountains. Here he spent his last cent for a loaf of bread.
That night Rupert felt a fever burning within him, and in the morning he
was too weak to travel. He, therefore, lay in the hay which had served
him for a bed until the sun shone in upon him; then he again tried to
get out, but he trembled so that he crawled back into the loft and there
lay the whole day. Towards evening he was driven out by the owner of the
barn. Rupert staggered along until he came to another hayloft, which he
succeeded in reaching without being seen. All that night he tossed in
fever and suffered from the pains which racked his body. The next day a
farmer found him, and seeing his condition, brought him some food. Then
on he went again. His mind was now in a daze. Sometimes the mountains,
the houses, and the fences became so jumbled together that he could not
distinguish one from the other.
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