as she knelt at the cross; and the dwarf,
Der Mohrchen, as they called him, tore off his turban to bind up the
wound; and what was his reward, maiden? tell me that! Are ye all so
shamed that ye dare not speak it?"

"We know it not, Hans; we never heard of the Ritter nor the Mohrchen
before."

"I 'll tell you, then. They burned him as a warlock in the Hohen Platz
next morning." With a wild burst of savage laughter he closed this
speech, which he spoke in good German; but immediately after his
thoughts seemed to turn to his old Tyrol haunts and the familiar
language of his native land, as he sang, in a low voice, the following
words:

"A Buchsel zu schiessen,
A Stossring zu schlagn,
A Dienal zu Liebn,
Muss a Rue hahn."

"What does he mean? Do tell me," said Lady Hester, whose interest in the
scene was more that of curiosity than compassion.

"It is a peasant dialect; but means, that a rifle to shoot with, a
weapon to wield, and a maiden to love, are all that a good Tyroler
needs in life," said Kate, while Nelly busied herself in arranging the
position of the wounded limb, little offices for which the poor dwarf
looked his gratitude silently.

"How wild his looks are!" said Lady Hester. "See how his eyes glance
along the walls, as if some objects were moving before them!" And so
in reality was it. Hanserl's looks were riveted upon the strange and
incongruous assemblage of toys which, either suspended from nails or
ranged on shelves, decorated the sides of the chamber. "Ay," said he
at last, with a melancholy smile, "thou 'lt have to put off all this
bravery soon, my pretty damsels, and don the black veil and the hood,
for thy master Hans is dying!"

"He is talking to the wax figures," whispered Kate.

"And ye too, my brave hussars, and ye Uhlaners with your floating
banners, must lower your lances as ye march in the funeral procession,
when Hanserl is dead! Take down the wine-bush from the door, hostess,
and kneel reverently, for the bell is ringing; and here comes the priest
in his alb, and with the pix before him. Hush! they are chanting his
requiem. Ah! yes. Hanserl is away to the far-off land,

Wo sind die Tage lang genug,
Wo sind die Nachte mild."

"Come away, we do but excite his mind to wanderings," said Ellen: "so
long as there is light to see these toys, his fancy endows them all with
life and feeling, and his poor brain is never at rest." The sound of
voices in the ou