he arrow he had been shaping flew into a corner,
and with a hasty "When it grows dusk, Marxle!" Ulrich dashed into the
woods, and soon joined his playmate Ruth.

The pair strolled slowly through the forest by the side of the stream,
enjoying the glorious morning, and gathering flowers to carry a bouquet
to the little girl's mother. Ruth culled the blossoms daintily with the
tips of her fingers; Ulrich wanted to help, and tore the slender stalks
in tufts from the roots by the handful. Meantime their tongues were
not idle. Ulrich boastfully told her that Pater Benedictus had seen his
picture of her father, recognized it instantly, and muttered something
over it. His mother's blood was strong in him; his imaginary world was a
very different one from that of the narrow-minded boys of the Richtberg.

His father had told him much, and the doctor still more, about the wide,
wide world-kings, artists and great heroes. From Hangemarx he learned,
that he possessed the same rights and dignity as all other men, and
Ruth's wonderful power of imagination peopled his fancy with the
strangest shapes and figures. She made royal crowns of wreaths,
transformed the little hut, the lad had built of boughs, behind the
doctor's house, into a glittering imperial palace, converted round
pebbles into ducats and golden zechins--bread and apples into princely
banquets; and when she had placed two stools before the wooden bench on
which she sat with Ulrich her fancy instantly transformed them into a
silver coronation coach with milk-white steeds. When she was a fairy,
Ulrich was obliged to be a magician; if she was the queen, he was king.

When, to give vent to his animal spirits, Ulrich played with the
Richtberg boys, he always led them, but allowed himself to be guided by
little Ruth. He knew that the doctor was a despised Jew, that she was
a Jewish child; but his father honored the Hebrew, and the foreign
atmosphere, the aristocratic, secluded repose that pervaded the solitary
scholar's house, exerted a strange influence over him.

When he entered it, a thrill ran through his frame; it seemed as if he
were penetrating into some forbidden sanctuary. He was the only one of
all his playfellows, who was permitted to cross this threshold, and he
felt it as a distinction, for, in spite of his youth, he realized that
the quiet doctor, who knew everything that existed in heaven and on
earth, and yet was as mild and gentle as a child, stood far, far
a