The boy of Castle Schonburg was three years old, when he was allowed to
play on the battlements, sporting with a wooden sword and imagining
himself as great a warrior as his father had ever been. He was a brave
little fellow whom nothing could frighten but the stories his nurse
told him of the gnomes and goblins who infested the Rhine, and he
longed for the time when he would be a man and wear a real sword. One
day just before he had completed his fourth year, a man came slinking
out of the forest to the foot of the wall, for the watch was now slack
as the Outlaw had not been heard of for months, and then was far away
in the direction of Mayence. The nurse was holding a most absorbing
conversation with the man-at-arms, who should, instead, have been
pacing up and down the terrace while she should have been watching her
charge. The man outside gave a low whistle which attracted the
attention of the child and then beckoned him to come further along the
wall until he had passed the west tower.

"Well, little coward," said the man, "I did not think you would have
the courage to come so far away from the women."

"I am not a coward," answered the lad, stoutly, "and I do not care
about the women at all."

"Your father was a coward."

"He is not. He is the bravest man in the world."

"He did not dare to jump off the wall after the Baron."

"He will cut the Baron in pieces if he ever comes near our castle."