me excitement; "yes, really."

"Is he coming in, then?" cried the Kirsten girls.

And with that he came in, making so low a bow at the door that his long
hair fell over his forehead. He stood there modestly--rather poorly
dressed, thin, and not specially well cared for. When he raised his
head again, he showed a pale, irregular face, looking on the company
with sharp gray eyes. His mouth was large and sensible, partly covered
by a somewhat bristling, colorless moustache.

He took his place at the table pleasantly enough. He was not a society
man, but he seemed to have taken the resolution not to be put out of
countenance. His whole person seemed to be permeated by a uniform will.
He did not make the impression of having suffered too severely from the
weather; he had simply emerged from the storm, like a pike from the
water, in gray, unobtrusive apparel. In contrast to him the others all
looked over-dressed, hung about with foreign stuffs and incongruous
patches--all except the three queens, whose youth and beauty penetrated
their clothes with a powerful and living harmony.

He took a seat by Beate. There was a general silence.

"Mr. Engraver," said the Raven-mother, "please help yourself."

"Mr. Engraver?" said the stranger with a peculiar intonation. "Why not,
for example, Mr. Walker, Mr. Eater, Mr. Drinker, or Mr. Sleeper? Or ...
no, that's enough!" He put the question with great calmness.

"Well ..." said the Raven-mother.

"Yes, of course," said the stranger, "but how do you know that I spend
more time, or spend it more pleasantly in scratching on copper than in
sleeping or feeding--pardon, eating?"

"Well," said the Raven-mother, "it's customary to call a man according
to his most respectable occupation."

"Respectable? I find it, for example, quite respectable to lie
on one's stomach on a hot summer day in the field, in front of a
mouse-hole and observe the daily occupations of the little gray
mistress of the domain. That way one comes nearer to the soul of the
world than by engraving what any fool has chosen to smear on canvas. Ah
yes ... our respectable professions!"

"Well, but ..." said the Raven-mother, considerably disconcerted,
looking around at the other faces. She saw a merry twinkle in the eyes
of old Frau Kummerfelden. The Kirsten girls looked very roguish,
because they had got launched on a good laugh and had not yet been able
to give it free course. Their young comrades gazed with interest