him that afternoon by a friend who lived away in the country. He went
up to his room and soon returned with a roll of papers which seemed to
consist of detached neatly written pages.

So they all sat down to the table, Elisabeth beside Reinhard. "We
shall read them at random," said the latter, "I have not yet looked
through them myself."

Elisabeth unrolled the manuscript. "Here's some music," she said, "you
must sing it, Reinhard."

To begin with he read some Tyrolese ditties [Footnote: Dialectal for
Schnitterhuepfen, i.e. 'reapers' dances,' sung especially
in the Tyrol and in Bavaria.] and as he read on he would now and then
hum one or other of the lively melodies. A general feeling of
cheeriness pervaded the little party.

"And who, pray, made all these pretty songs?" asked Elisabeth.

"Oh," said Eric, "you can tell that by listening to the rubbishy
things--tailors' apprentices and barbers and such-like merry folk."

Reinhard said: "They are not made; they grow, they drop from the
clouds, they float over the land like gossamer, [Footnote: These fine
cobwebs, produced by field-spiders, have always in the popular mind
been connected with the gods. After the advent of Christianity they
were connected with the Virgin Mary. The shroud in which she was
wrapped after her death was believed to have been woven of the very
finest thread, which during her ascent to Heaven frayed away from her
body.] hither and thither, and are sung in a thousand places at the