his ear greatly and he warbled it over again in his strangely sweet
tones. Crescimir sung the song a number of times to him and also many
others, some of which with their merry music, breathing fresh from the
high Alps, caused his little hand to keep time with the hemlock branch
as he joined in the songs with his curious notes.

"Thou art a little elf!" exclaimed Crescimir as he kissed the rosy
face. "Thou bringest back all the old days and makest me feel as merry
as I used in far off Illyria. Bless thee little Christchild."

The mysterious guest laughed gaily pulling Crescimir's hair and drawing
his smooth fingers over the dark, weather beaten face of the man. Then
he played horse, riding on Crescimir's knee using the branch for a whip,
while Crescimir sang little verses which came to his mind, verses which
set to rolicking music he had sung in his old home on feast days at
dances in the tavern, accompanied by zither or hackbretl.


"My girl has ta'en her love away,
I'm easier now I guess,
Don't have to go so oft to church,
Nor half so oft confess--
Nor half so oft confess."


The wind blew harder but neither Crescimir nor his guest heeded it,
while the roaring of the arroyo and river and the steady pouring of the
rain on the roof did not mar their merry making in the least, and they
laughed and sung regardless of it all.