each other, he
repeated the glad "fortune, good fortune." Suddenly, it flashed upon him
like a revelation, "Fortune," that might be the word!

Such exultant joy, such lark-like trilling, such inspiring promises of
happiness had never echoed in any word, as they now did from the
"fortune," the young lansquenet so gaily and exultantly uttered.

"Fortune, Fortune!" he exclaimed aloud, and the jester, who was lying
sleepless in his bed and could not help smiling at the lad's singing,
raised himself, saying:

"Do you like the word? Whoever understands how to seize it when it flits
by, will always float on top of everything, like fat on the soup. Rods
are cut from birches, willows, and knotted hazel-sticks-ho! ho! you know
that, already;--but, for him who has good fortune, larded cakes, rolls
and sausages grow. One bold turn of Fortune's wheel will bring him, who
has stood at the bottom, up to the top with the speed of lightning.
Brother Queer-fellow says: 'Up and down, like an avalanche.' But now turn
over and go to sleep. To-morrow will also be a Christmas-day, which will
perhaps bring you Fortune as a Christmas gift."

It seemed as if Ulrich had not called upon Fortune in vain, for as soon
as he closed his eyes, a pleasant dream bore him with gentle hands to the
forge on the market-place, and his mother stood beside the lighted
Christmas-tree, pointing to the new sky-blue suit she had made him, and
the apples, nuts, hobby-horse, and jumping jack, with a head as round as
a ball, huge ears, and tiny flat legs. He felt far too old for such
childish toys, and yet took a certain pleasure in them. Then the vision
changed, and he again saw his mother; but this time she was walking among
the angels in Paradise. A royal crown adorned her golden hair, and she
told him she was permitted to wear it there, because she had been so
reviled, and endured so much disgrace on earth.

When the artist returned from Count von Hochburg's the next morning, he
was not a little surprised to see Ulrich standing before the
recruiting-table bright and well.

The lad's cheeks were glowing with shame and anger, for the clerk of the
muster-rolls and paymaster had laughed in his face, when he expressed his
desire to become a Lansquenet.

The artist soon learned what was going on, and bade his protege accompany
him out of doors. Kindly, and without either mockery or reproof, he
represented to him that he was still far too young for military service,