s at home, and a carriage soon conveyed us over the only road to
the institute. I was not punished. Barop only laid his hand on my head,
and said, "I am glad you are back again, Bear."

Another trip to Blankenburg entailed results far more serious--nay,
almost cost me my life.

I was then fifteen, and one Sunday afternoon I went with Barop's
permission to visit the Hamburgers, but on condition that I should return
by nine o'clock at latest.

Time, however, slipped by in pleasant conversation until a later hour,
and as thunder-clouds were rising my host tried to keep me overnight. But
I thought this would not be allowable, and, armed with an umbrella, I set
off along the road, with which I was perfectly familiar.

But the storm soon burst, and it grew so dark that, except when the
lightning flashed, I could not see my hand before my face. Yet on I went,
though wondering that the path along which I groped my way led upward,
until the lightning showed me that, by mistake, I had taken the road to
Greifenstein. I turned back, and while feeling my way through the gloom
the earth seemed to vanish under my feet, and I plunged headlong into a
viewless gulf--not through empty space, however, but a wet, tangled mass
which beat against my face, until at last there was a jerk which shook me
from head to foot.

I no longer fell, but I heard above me the sound of something tearing,
and the thought darted through my mind that I was hanging by my trousers.
Groping around, I found vine-leaves, branches, and lattice-work, to which
I clung, and tearing away with my foot the cloth which had caught on the
end of a lath, I again brought my head where it should be, and discovered
that I was hanging on a vine-clad wall. A flash of lightning showed me
the ground not very far below and, by the help of the espalier and the
vines I at last stood in a garden.

Almost by a miracle I escaped with a few scratches; but when I afterwards
went to look at the scene of this disaster cold chills ran down my back,
for half the distance whence I plunged into the garden would have been
enough to break my neck.

Our games were similar to those which lads of the same age play now, but
there were some additional ones that could only take place in a wooded
mountain valley like Keilhau; such, for instance, were our Indian games,
which engrossed us at the time when we were pleased with Cooper's
"Leather-Stocking," but I need not describe them.

When I was on