he
beech tree which sheltered him.

He carved some letters upon it; cutting away the bark of the beech and
leaving the letters white. Some he cut deep into the wood in sharp
furrows like the letters on a seal. Then he tried cutting away the bark
and leaving the letters stand out _in relief_ as it is called, from
the tree, like the letters on the impression of a seal. This was the
prettiest way of all, and he began to carve the letters of his own name.
The word _Hans_ he could manage very well, for he knew well the
letters which formed it, and he got on very well with the rest of his
other name as far as _Gens_,--but here, alas! he was stopped, for
he did not know how to make an F. He had learned how his name was spelt,
but it had never occurred to him before to write it; but it did not
matter--he was going the very next day to the convent, and he would
learn how an F was made, and then too he could also make himself sure of
the C, which he had always a difficulty in distinguishing from G, as he
had never learnt the alphabet in proper order. The next day accordingly,
on visiting the convent, after delivering his flask of ink, he asked his
uncle to show him once more the different letters which he did not yet
know perfectly; and his uncle not only did this, but on a strip of old
parchment he kindly wrote down all the letters from A to Z, so that at
any time Hans could use it as a copy when he wanted to put letters
together so as to make words.

Hans was greatly delighted. It seemed to him now as if he had got
possession of a key which locked up a great deal of valuable knowledge,
for his alphabet would not only help him to write but to read also. He
could not rest that evening, even before he had taken the bowl of milk
and piece of black bread that his mother had left for his supper, till
he had climbed the hill to the great beech tree, and carved upon it the
other letters of his name. When finished, his name reached half round
the tree, and each letter was nicely formed and neatly cut. All the
lines were straight, and the little points were all sharp and clear.
Written in those (to us) old-fashioned letters it looked perhaps
something like this:--

[Illustration: hans gensfleisch]

Hans wished his mother could but see it!

"Do mother, I pray thee, come up the hill as far as the great beech
tree," said he one evening as he thought of his nice piece of writing;
"I want to show thee how strangely the elves have marked