y reached terms of complete friendliness, having
already forgotten their uncomfortable earlier meeting.

"I am dreadfully sorry to find that your little house in the woods is
nothing but a hunting lodge," Betty confided. "For you see I have been
telling my sister and Miss O'Neill that this place was a kind of
enchanted forest where 'Hansel and Gretel' must once upon a time have
lost their way."

However, Carl von Reuter shook his head protestingly. "Why not think of
it instead as Siegfried's forest before he went forth in search of
Brunhilde."

"Won't you tell us the story of Siegfried?" Polly asked. "I have never
heard the opera and it has been such a long time since I read it."

Carl laughed. "I am a soldier, not a poet," he explained, "and the
legend is too long and too complicated for me to repeat all of it to
you. Besides, you are sure to recall it as soon as I begin. Siegfried,
you remember, was the son of Siegmund and Sieglinde and the youth who
knew no fear. He is brought up in a forest by a wicked dwarf named
Mime, who desires that Siegfried wrest the magic treasure of the
Nibelung from the giant Fafnir who guards it in the gaping cave of the
Niedhole. With the sword of his father Siegfried goes forth and destroys
the giant and then appears wearing the glittering tarn helmet, the
invincible armor and the magic ring. From the blood of the dead Fafnir,
with which Siegfried touches his lips, he is enabled to understand the
voices of birds. And when one of these sings to him of a maiden
surrounded by flames who can be won only by the man who knows no fear,
Siegfried sets out in search of Brunhilde. On a grassy mound he
discovers a sleeping figure clad in armor and surrounded by flames.
Removing the shield and helmet, he sees a flood of red-gold hair
rippling around the form of a sleeping woman."

The story teller stopped and Esther inquired:

"You know the story of Siegfried so well, I wonder if you sing?"

"Not very well," the young man replied. And then, as though to disprove
his own words and without further urging, he began singing in a fine,
clear tenor, glancing now and then toward Betty Ashton, the beautiful
song of Siegfried's that awakens the sleeping Brunhilde:

"No man it is!
Hallowed rapture
Thrills through my heart;
Fiery anguish
Enfolds my eyes.
My senses wander
And waver.
Whom shall I summon
Hither to help me?
Mother, mother!
Be mindful of m