simple mind, was wondering what all this talk portended. Why had
his father come hither to St. Michaelsburg, lighting up the dim
silence of the monastery with the flash and ring of his polished
armor? Why had he talked about churning butter but now, when all
the world knew that the monks of St. Michaelsburg made wine.

It was Baron Conrad's deep voice that broke the little pause of
silence.

"If you have made a milkmaid of the boy," he burst out at last,
"I thank the dear heaven that there is yet time to undo your
work and to make a man of him."

The Abbot sighed. "The child is yours, Conrad," said he, "the
will of the blessed saints be done. Mayhap if he goes to dwell
at Drachenhausen he may make you the better instead of you
making him the worse."

Then light came to the darkness of little Otto's wonderment; he
saw what all this talk meant and why his father had come hither.
He was to leave the happy, sunny silence of the dear White
Cross, and to go out into that great world that he had so often
looked down upon from the high windy belfry on the steep
hillside.


VI.

How Otto Lived in the Dragon's House.