ne morning, when it was fine and beautiful, the baron said, "Come
along, children; we'll go to the wood together, you and I. Master Ink's
nasty pupils shan't do you any harm." So he took them by the hands, and
they all three went together to the wood, which that day was fuller
than ever of bright sunshine, perfume, and song. When they had laid
themselves down amongst the tender grass, and the sweet-scented
flowers, the baron began as follows:--

"You dear children, I have for some time had a great longing to tell
you a thing, and I cannot delay doing so any longer. It is, that--once
on a time--I knew the beautiful Stranger Child that used to show you
such lovely things in the wood, just as well as you did yourselves.
When I was about your age, that child used to come to me too, and play
with me in the most wonderful way. How it was that it came to leave me,
I cannot quite remember; and I don't understand how I had so completely
forgotten all about it till you spoke to me about what had happened to
you, and then I didn't believe you, though I often had a sort of dim
consciousness that what you told me was the truth. But within the last
few days, I have been remembering and thinking about the delightful
days of my own boyhood, in a way that I have not been able to do for
many a long year. And then that beautiful magic-child came back to my
memory, bright and glorious, as you saw it yourselves; and the same
longing which filled your breasts came to mine too. But it is breaking
my heart! I feel, and I know quite well, that this is the last time
that I shall ever sit beneath these bonnie trees and bushes. I am going
to leave you very soon, and when I am dead and gone, you must cling
fast to that beautiful child."

Felix and Christlieb were beside themselves with grief and sorrow. They
wept and lamented, crying, "No, no, father; you are not going to die!
You have many a long year to be with us still, and to play with the
Stranger Child along with us."

But the next day, the baron lay sick in his bed. A tall, meagre man
came and felt his pulse, and said, "You'll soon be better!" But he was
not soon better. On the third day, the Baron von Brakel was no more.
Ah, how Frau von Brakel mourned! How the children wrung their hands and
cried, "Oh, father! our dear, dear father!"

Soon, when four peasants of Brakelheim had borne their master to his
grave, there came to the house some horrible fellows, almost like Tutor
Ink in appea