ll me the legend of the inn."

"The legend?"

"Yes; about the Princess who was born here."

Gretchen laughed a merry laugh. The laugh said: "You are an amusing
person!"

"Ah, the American is always after legends when he has tired of
collecting antiquities. Was there a Princess born here? Perhaps. At
any rate it is not a legend; history nor peasantry make mention of it.
Will Herr be so kind as to carry the ladder to the mantel so I may wind
the clock?"

I do so. Even at this early stage I could see that Gretchen had the
faculty of making persons forget what they were seeking, and by the
mere sound of her voice. And it was I who wound the clock.

"Gretchen," said I, "time lags. Make a servant out of me this morning."

"Herr does the barmaid too much honor," with lowered eyes.

"I, am in the habit of doing anything I please."

"Ah, Herr is one of those millionaires I have read about!"

"Yes, I am very rich." I laughed, but Gretchen did not see the point.

"Come, then, with me, and you shall weed the knoblauch patch."

She was laughing at me, but I was not to be abashed.

"To the patch be it, then!" I cried. "An onion would smell as sweet
under any other name."

So Gretchen and I went into the onion patch, and I weeded and hoed and
hoed and weeded till my back ached and my hands were the color of the
soil. Nothing was done satisfactorily to Gretchen. It was, "There,
you have ruined the row back of you!" or "Pull the weeds more gently!"
and sometimes, "Ach! could your friends see you now!" I suppose that I
did not make a pretty picture. The perspiration would run down my
face. I would forget the condition of my hands and push back my hair,
which fell like a mop over my brow, whereat she would laugh. Once I
took her hand and helped her to jump over a row. I was surprised at
the strength of her grasp.

"What does Herr do for a living, he works so badly as a gardener?"

"I am a journalist," I answered, leaning on my hoe and breathing
heavily.

"Ach! one of those men who tell such dreadful stories about kings and
princes? Who cause men to go to war with each other? Who rouse the
ignorant to deeds of violence? One of those men who are more powerful
than a king, because they can undo him?" She drew away from me.

"Hold on!" I cried, dropping the hoe; "what do you know about it?"

"Enough," sadly. "I read the papers. I always look with fear upon one
of those men who can do so much good,