alas! everything was the same, even to the rough woodcut of Bluebeard
himself, in the act of sharpening his scimitar. There was no change,
except that the volume was rather the worse for damp. It was thrown
down with a murmur of disappointment, but seized immediately by the
little Fräulein, who flung herself upon it in a passion of tears and
embraces. Hers was the only faithful affection; the charm of the
Märchen-Frau was gone.

They were all out of humour with this, and naturally looked about for
some one to find fault with. Friedrich was at hand, and so they fell
upon him and reproached him for his want of sympathy with their
vexation. The boy awoke from a brown study, and began to defend
himself:--"He was very sorry," he said; "but he couldn't see the use
of making such a great fuss about a few old ballads, that after all
were nothing so very wonderful."

This was flat heresy, and he was indignantly desired to say where any
were to be got like them--where even _one_ might be found, when St.
Nicholas could not provide them? Friedrich was even less respectful to
the idea of St. Nicholas, and said something which, translated into
English, would look very like the word _humbug_. This was no answer to
the question "where were they to get a ballad?" and a fresh storm came
upon his head; whereupon being much goaded, and in a mixture of vanity
and vexation of spirit, he let out the fact that "he thought he could
write one almost as good himself."

This turned the current of affairs. The children had an instinctive
belief in Friedrich's talents, to which their elders had not attained.
The faith of childhood is great; and they saw no reason why he should
not be able to do as he said, and so forthwith began to pet and coax