wife through
my body." Here the Baron stopped short; then of a sudden, shaking his
fist above his head, he cried out in his hoarse voice: "I swear by all
the saints in heaven, either the red cock shall crow over the roof of
Trutz-Drachen or else it shall crow over my house! The black dog shall
sit on Baron Frederick's shoulders or else he shall sit on mine!" Again
he stopped, and fixing his blazing eyes upon the old man, "Hearest thou
that, priest?" said he, and broke into a great boisterous laugh.

Abbot Otto sighed heavily, but he tried no further to persuade the other
into different thoughts.

"Thou art wounded," said he, at last, in a gentle voice; "at least stay
here with us until thou art healed."

"Nay," said the Baron, roughly, "I will tarry no longer than to hear
thee promise to care for my child."

"I promise," said the Abbot; "but lay aside thy armor, and rest."

"Nay," said the Baron, "I go back again to-day."

At this the Abbot cried out in amazement: "Sure thou, wounded man, would
not take that long journey without a due stay for resting! Think! Night
will be upon thee before thou canst reach home again, and the forests
are beset with wolves."

The Baron laughed. "Those are not the wolves I fear," said he. "Urge me
no further, I must return to-night; yet if thou hast a mind to do me a
kindness thou canst give me some food to eat and a flask of your golden
Michaelsburg; beyond these, I ask no further favor of any man, be he
priest or layman."

"What comfort I can give thee thou shalt have," said the Abbot, in his
patient voice, and so left the room to give the needful orders, bearing
the babe with him.

V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg.

So the poor, little, motherless waif lived among the old monks at the
White Cross on the hill, thriving and growing apace until he had reached
eleven or twelve years of age; a slender, fair-haired little fellow,
with a strange, quiet serious manner.

"Poor little child!" Old Brother Benedict would sometimes say to the
others, "poor little child! The troubles in which he was born must have
broken his wits like a glass cup. What think ye he said to me to-day?
'Dear Brother Benedict,' said he, 'dost thou shave the hair off of the
top of thy head so that the dear God may see thy thoughts the better?'
Think of that now!" and the good old man shook with silent laughter.

When such talk came to the good Father Abbot's ears, he smiled quietly
to himself. "