ok on which to hang it, and
while so doing, perceived on the shelf a row of boards. Taking one down,
he found a sketch of an artistic design for the enclosure of a fountain,
done by the smith's hand, and directly opposite his bed a linden-wood
panel, on which a portrait was drawn with charcoal. This roused his
curiosity, and, throwing the light of the torch upon it, he started back,
for it was a rudely executed, but wonderfully life-like head of Costa,
the Jew. He remembered him perfectly, for he had met him more than once.

The monk shook his head angrily, but lifted the picture from the shelf
and examined more closely the doctor's delicately-cut nose, and the noble
arch of the brow. While so doing, he muttered unintelligible words, and
when at last, with little show of care, he restored the modest work of
art to its old place, Ulrich awoke, and, with a touch of pride,
exclaimed:

"I drew that myself, Father!"

"Indeed!" replied the monk. "I know of better models for a pious lad. You
must go to sleep now, and to-morrow get up early and help your father. Do
you understand?"

So saying, with no gentle hand he turned the boy's head towards the wall.
The mildness awakened by Adam's story had all vanished to the winds.

Adam allowed his son to practise idolatry with the Jew, and make pictures
of him. This was too much. He threw himself angrily on his couch, and
began to consider what was to be done in this difficult matter, but sleep
soon brought his reflections to an end.

Ulrich rose very early, and when Benedict saw him again in the light of
the young day, and once more looked at the Jew's portrait, drawn by the
handsome boy, a thought came to him as if inspired by the saints
themselves--the thought of persuading the smith to give his son to the
monastery.

CHAPTER IV.

This morning Pater Benedictus was a totally different person from the
man, who had sat over the wine the night before. Coldly and formally he
evaded the smith's questions, until the latter had sent his son away.

Ulrich, without making any objection, had helped his father shoe the
sorrel horse, and in a few minutes, by means of a little stroking over
the eyes and nose, slight caresses, and soothing words, rendered the
refractory stallion as docile as a lamb. No horse had ever resisted the
lad, from the time he was a little child, the smith said, though for what
reason he did not know. These words pleased the monk, for he was only too
fami