acre-wide red roofs dotted with dormer windows, tier upon tier. A little
to our right rose the towers of the Burg, and nearer still, standing
grim, the Torture Tower, which was, and is, perhaps, the most
interesting place in the city. For centuries the tradition of the Iron
Virgin of Nurnberg has been handed down as an instance of the horrors of
cruelty of which man is capable; we had long looked forward to seeing
it; and here at last was its home.

In one of our pauses we leaned over the wall of the moat and looked
down. The garden seemed quite fifty or sixty feet below us, and the sun
pouring into it with an intense, moveless heat like that of an oven.
Beyond rose the grey, grim wall seemingly of endless height, and losing
itself right and left in the angles of bastion and counterscarp. Trees
and bushes crowned the wall, and above again towered the lofty houses on
whose massive beauty Time has only set the hand of approval. The sun was
hot and we were lazy; time was our own, and we lingered, leaning on the
wall. Just below us was a pretty sight--a great black cat lying
stretched in the sun, whilst round her gambolled prettily a tiny black
kitten. The mother would wave her tail for the kitten to play with, or
would raise her feet and push away the little one as an encouragement to
further play. They were just at the foot of the wall, and Elias P.
Hutcheson, in order to help the play, stooped and took from the walk a
moderate sized pebble.

'See!' he said, 'I will drop it near the kitten, and they will both
wonder where it came from.'

'Oh, be careful,' said my wife; 'you might hit the dear little thing!'

'Not me, ma'am,' said Elias P. 'Why, I'm as tender as a Maine