ke music even
sweeter than theirs. The wolf led him eagerly, bounding with joy; for he
shared in all the hopes of Herve's life. And all the creatures knew that
he would become a great poet. And so indeed it was.

For Herve soon learned all that Gourvoyed could teach, and in his turn
he became a master. Many pupils came to the hut in the forest which the
hermit gave up to him, and begged Herve to make them singer-poets like
himself. But he could not do that. He could teach them to sing and to
play the harp; but no one could sing as well as he sang, or play as well
as he played. And no one can ever be taught to make poetry unless he has
it in his soul, as Herve had. For that is a royal gift, and it came to
Herve from Hyvarnion and Rivanone, the King and Queen of music and of
song. It was Herve's kingdom, and it was given him to take away the
bitterness from his name, to make it remembered as sweet, sweet, sweet.

And now on his wanderings from town to town Herve was received like a
prince. He sat at great lords' tables, and sang in ladies' bowers. He
had golden goblets as his gifts, and shining gems to wear if he chose.
But he was so generous that he gave them all away. Never was there heard
music so sweet as his; never were there songs so beautiful as he sang to
the rippling of his father's golden harp. For Herve was even a greater
minstrel than Hyvarnion or Rivanone had been.

In his wanderings all about the country Herve came to many strange
places and met with many strange adventures. Once he spent the night at
the castle of a great lord who made Herve sit on his right hand at table
and honored him above all his guests. When the banquet was over, at the
Count's request a page brought to Herve his golden harp, and they all
shouted for "A song! a song!" Every one pushed back his stool to
listen, and Herve took the harp and ran his finger over the golden
strings with a sound like drops of rain upon the flowers.

Now outside the castle, beyond the moat, was a pond. And in the pond
lived a whole colony of great green bullfrogs, whose voices were gruffer
and grummer than the lowest twanging note on Herve's harp. And as soon
as Herve began to sing these rude frogs began to bellow and growl as if
trying to drown his music. Perhaps they were jealous; for Herve's voice
was sweeter than a silver bell. But all they could sing was "Ker-_chog_!
Ker-r-kity-chog, Ker-_chog_!" which is neither very musical nor very
original, being