"Thus to fair Leda flies the hapless wight.--
With boisterous mirth the dame beholds the bird.
'A right fine goose! Thou'lt make a goodly roast.'"

Howbeit Giacomo would not leave this verse without reply; and to this
day, if you look close into the picture, you may see a goose's head
deep in shade among the shrubs in the back part of it, but clearly to be
discerned.

Notwithstanding many such little quarrels we liked each other well, and
I may here note that when, in the following year, which was the year of
our Lord one thousand four hundred and twenty-six, a little son was
born to him, since grown to be a right famous painter, known as
Giambellini--which is to say Giovanni, or Hans, Bellini, I, Margery
Schopper, stood his sponsor at the font. Yea and I was ever a true
godsib to him, and that painter might indeed thank my kith and kin when
he was charged with a certain office in the Fondaco in Venice, which is
worth some hundreds of ducats yearly to him, to this day.

Thus were the portraits ended, and when I behold my own looking from
the wide frame with so mirthful and yet so longing a gaze, meseems that
Giacomo must have read the book of my soul and have known right well
how to present that he saw therein; at that time in truth I was a happy
young creature, and the aching and longing which would now and again
come over me, in part for him who was gone, and in part I wist not for
what, were but the shadow which must ever fall where there is light.
And verily I had good cause to be thankful and of good cheer; I was in
health as sound as a trout in the brook, and had good chances for making
the most of those humble gifts and powers wherewith I was blessed.

As to Herdegen, it was no small comfort to us to learn that my lord
Cardinal Bernhardi had taken that matter in hand, and had bidden all the
priests and friars in the Levant to make enquiry for tidings of him.

The good prelate was to be nine months journeying abroad, and whereas
five months were now spent we were rejoicing in hope of his homecoming;
but there was one in Nuremberg who looked for it even more eagerly than
we did, and that was my grand-uncle Im Iloff. The old knight had, as
I have said, done us thank-worthy service as our guardian; yet had he
never been dear to me, and I could not think of him but with silent
wrath. Howbeit he was now in so sad and cruel a plight that a heart of
stone must have melted to behold him. Thus pity led me to