ed out in Spanish, 'What
is that you were saying?'

"'None of your business,' returned Striegler, also in Spanish.

"'What language was it?' asked the Spaniard again.

"'German,' answered Striegler. The boy seized the image of the saint
that hung from his neck, and fell to kissing it as if he would eat it
up. Finally he begged us to go with him to his house, where his father
was talking in that language and no one could understand him. On the
way he explained that his father was a blacksmith from Germany, who had
lived in the town for forty years, and had married here; that for weeks
he had been lying dangerously ill, and during the last few days had
talked in an unknown language, so that he could neither make himself
understood nor understand those about him. The whole family were in
the greatest distress. On entering the house we found an old man with
snow-white hair and long white beard, sitting upright in bed, and
calling out, 'Give me a bunch of rosemary!' then he would begin to
sing,--'And plant it on my grave.' The sight and the sounds chilled
every drop of blood in my veins; but Striegler is not easily daunted,
and, approaching the bed, said in German, 'How are you, countryman!' If
I live to be a hundred, I shall never forget the old man's face when he
heard those words. He stretched out his arms and then folded them on
his breast, as if to gather the sounds to his heart. Striegler talked
further with him. The old man was able to give sensible answers; a
little confused at times, but in the main intelligible. He was a
Hessian by birth, named Reuter, but had changed his name to Caballero.
For fifty years he had spoken nothing but Spanish, and now at the point
of death every Spanish word had forsaken him. I believe that, for the
rest of his life, he never understood another word of that language.
The whole family was made happy by having us as interpreters of the old
man's wants. Striegler took advantage of this incident to gain for
himself something of a position in the town and turn it to profitable
account, while I sat by the sick-bed. The best part of my life abroad
was that I spent with Striegler. I had plenty to eat and drink, and for
the sake of the old man was abundantly well treated. At the end of
three days we left him; but hardly had we gone a couple of leagues
before the son came riding after us to say we must go back, for his
father was crying for us. We went to him again. He was talking German;
bu