aught more happy and pleasant than his talks with the old Dame can scarce
be conceived of.

Never had the well-beloved home in the Forest been more like to a pigeon
cote. Every day brought us new guests, many of them from the city;
still, none had any tidings yet of the Venice ships or of our Kunz, who
should come home with them. And at this my heart quaked for fear, in
despite of the hunting-sports, and of many a right merry supper; and Aunt
Jacoba was no better. The weeks flew past, the red and yellow leaves
began to fall, the scarlet berries of the mountain ash were shrivelled,
and the white rime fell of nights on the meadows and moor-land.

One day I had ridden forth with my Uncle Conrad, hawking, and when we
came home in the dusk I could add a few birds to the gentlemen's booty.
All the guests at that time present were standing in the courtyard
talking, many a one lamenting or boasting of the spite or favor of Saint
Hubert that day, when the hounds, who were smelling about the game,
suddenly uplifted their voices, and the gate-keeper's horn blew a merry
blast, as though to announce some right welcome guest.

The housekeeper's face was seen at Aunt Jacoba's window, and so soon
as tidings were brought of who it as that came, the dog-keeper's whips
hastily silenced the hounds and drove them into the kennel. The serving-
men carried off the game, and when the courtyard was presently cleared,
behold, a strange procession came in.

First a long wain covered in by a tilt so high I trove that meseemed many
a town gate might be over low to let it pass; and it was drawn by four
right small little horses, with dark matted coats and bright, wilful
eyes. A few hounds of choice breed ran behind it. From within the