"Many a better man than you has been so before now," muttered the
little Master; "but they did not like being told of it any more than
you do."

"To prove that you are mistaken," said Sintram, "I will remain here
with you till the moon stands high in the heavens. But you must tell
me one of your stories the while."

The little man, much pleased, nodded his head; and as they paced
together up and down a retired elm-walk, he began discoursing as
follows:--

"Many hundred years ago a young knight, called Paris of Troy, lived
in that sunny land of the south where are found the sweetest songs,
the brightest flowers, and the most beautiful ladies. You know a
song that tells of that fair land, do you not, young sir? 'Sing
heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers.'" Sintram bowed his head
in assent, and sighed deeply. "Now," resumed the little Master, "it
happened that Paris led that kind of life which is not uncommon in
those countries, and of which their poets often sing--he would pass
whole months together in the garb of a peasant, piping in the woods
and mountains and pasturing his flocks. Here one day three beautiful
sorceresses appeared to him, disputing about a golden apple; and from
him they sought to know which of them was the most beautiful, since
to her the golden fruit was to be awarded. The first knew how to
give thrones, and sceptres, and crowns; the second could give wisdom
and knowledge; and the third could prepare philtres and love-charms
which could not fail of securing the affections of the fairest of
women. Each one in turn proffered her choicest gifts to the young