ad 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
hangings came a sharp, shrill screaming as were of many gaudy parrots.

In front of this waggon two men rode, unlike in stature and mien, and a
loutish fellow led the horses. Now, we all knew this wain right well.
Heretofore, in the life-time of old Lorenz Waldstromer, the father of my
Uncle Conrad, it had been wont to come hither once or twice a year, and
was ever made welcome; if it should happen to come in the month of August
it was at that season filled with noble falcons, to be placed on Board
ships at Venice, inasmuch as the Sultan of Egypt and his Emirs were so
fain to buy them that they would give as much as a hundred and fifty
sequins for he finest and best.

Old Jordan Kubbeling of Brunswick, the father of he man who had now come
hither, was wont to send the birds to Alexandria by the hand of dealers,
to sell them for him there; but his son Seyfried, who was to this day
called Young Kubbeling, albeit he was nigh on sixty, would carry his
feathere