godmother, Frau Schmidt, who lived in a red-roofed house not far from the old church of St. Michael's in Jena.

Bettina loved to go to Frau Schmidt's. First, there was Wilhelm, her godmother's son, who was so good to her, and cut her toys out of wood, and told her all kinds of fine stories. And then there were the soldiers. They were everywhere, standing in groups about the Market, marching in companies, or clattering on horses through the never quiet streets.

The way from Bettina's home to Jena led through a deep, still, green forest, and as she and her grandfather strolled along that October afternoon the little girl begged him for a story.

"Ja, ja, my Bettina," and the old man gave her a smile, "there is old Frederick Barbarossa."

Then, with a "Once upon a time," he told her how, in a cave in their own Thuringian Wood in the Kyffhäuser Mountain, an old emperor of Germany had slept for hundreds and hundreds of years, his head on his elbows, which rested on a great stone table in the middle of the cavern.

"And his beard, child, has grown down to the floor, and it is red as a flame, and his hair—it is red, too, quite blazing, child, they say—wraps about him like a veil. And before the cave and around it—you can see them yourself, little one, if you go there—are ravens, cawing and cawing and flying ever in circles."

"And when will the old Emperor wake up, dear grandfather?" Bettina had a sweet, high little voice which quivered with eagerness. The old man shook his head.

"No man knows, child," he answered, "but I have heard always that one day the ravens will flap their wings, caw aloud, and fly forever away from the mountain. And then," his blue eyes flashed, "the old Kaiser shall awake; he shall grasp his great sword in his hand and holding it fast shall come forth from his gloomy old cave to the sunlight."

"And then, dear grandfather, what then?"

"There shall great things be done, dear child." Again his eyes flashed. "Germany shall stretch herself like the old Redbeard. She, too, is asleep, and she shall take her sword in her hand and come forth, and we shall be one people, one great, great Fatherland." The old face grew dreamy, the voice, very slow.

"And will there always be fighting, dear grandfather?"

Hans shook his head.

"Nein, nein, the old Redbeard is to bring war which shall make peace."

Hans was silent for a moment and then, with a laugh, he lifted a very full, deep voice and sang an old German song of the same Kaiser Barbarossa, and when Bettina caught the tune, she sang, too, and the old forest rang with the music all the way to Jena.

When they entered the town the old man took Bettina almost to the church.

"Now, little one," he said, "run away to Tante Gretchen and tell her to keep you until I come after supper."

"Auf wiedersehen, dear grandfather," and off trotted the little girl and into her godmother's house with a "Good-day, dear Tante Gretchen!"

Wilhelm was at home, and he carved Bettina a little doll, and she enjoyed herself very much indeed, hearing all about the soldiers and all that they were doing in Jena, but she was only nine years old and tired with her walk, and so, when long after supper her grandfather opened the door, she was fast asleep in her chair, her tired little feet dangling.

Frau Schmidt greeted him crossly.

"Don't excuse yourself, Hans," she said. "You forgot the child, I know it. Perhaps you have been home and had to come back for her? Nein? Well, what was it then that kept you? You know, Hans, how anxious her mother will be, with the child out in the night time."

The old man hung his head. Certainly he had forgotten the child. He was always forgetting everything and everybody, and some day, as the women of his family were always telling him, he was certain to have a good lesson, a lesson, perhaps, which might teach him to remember.

"You are right, Gretchen," he said, "but, you see, my dear woman, when an old soldier of Frederick the Great meets again the Prussians, there is much news to hear, isn't there?" And he looked with smiling blue eyes into Frau Schmidt's kind, plump countenance.

"Well, well," she said, her frown vanishing, "but come now, it's a dreadful night and you must have a glass of beer before you start out into the darkness. Willy, uncork the bottle there."

Then she went to Bettina.

"Wake up, Liebchen," and she gave her a tiny shake.

"Is it Frederick Barbarossa?" And Bettina came forth from dreamland.

"Nein, nein, child, it's grandfather," and she wrapped the little girl in her shawl. "But wake up now. It is late, and time to go home to mother."

Then she turned to Hans, Bettina's little hand held fast in hers.

"Quick, friend, hurry," she said, "and be off now. The night is terrible and Annchen will be anxious, will she not?" And she nodded to Wilhelm to hold the light.

Draining his glass, Hans set it down on the table with a sigh of pleasure.

"Ja, ja," he said, as he drew closer his cloak.

"A moment," and Frau Schmidt stepped to the tall, green porcelain stove which served, before firetime, as her storehouse.

"Here," she said, and from one of its little recesses she brought forth a bundle done up with paper and string.

"Some sausages, please, for Anna," and she gave Hans the package, "and best greetings."

Then, in her quick, kind way, she hurried them to the door, bundling Bettina more closely as they went.

"Auf wiedersehen, good-night, good-night," and she held open the door. "The weather truly is dreadful. Here, Willy, here, my son, hold the candle higher. Ja, ja, that is better. Can you see, Hans? Good-night, Bettina. Best greetings to your dear mother, and good-night, good-night."

"Good-night, dear Tante, good-night, Willy," and Bettina stumbled sleepily off with her grandfather, Willy calling after her not to let the Erl King get her.

It was, indeed, a dreadful night. The candle which Wilhelm held high, standing long in the doorway, made but little impression on a fog which, wrapping the world in mystery, stung Bettina in the face, choked up her throat and gave her a queer feeling of having lost even the world itself.

She drew close to her grandfather and nestled against his side, her hand seeking his in the darkness.

"Ja, ja, little one," he said, "do not fear, child, grandfather knows every step of the way."

He might know the way, but he certainly did not know the puddles.

Splash!

Bettina's little wooden shoe went deep into the water.

Bump!

One foot was in a hole, a bush held fast her shawl.

It would be all right when they reached the forest and the path went straight between the fir trees, but here it was awful.

"Ach Himmel," groaned Hans, splashing and stumbling, "but your mother will scold, little one! But what could your poor grandfather do? I find it good that a man hear the war news and, talking with the soldiers, I forgot the hour."

"Never mind, dear grandfather," came the little voice out of the fog. "Mother will be in bed and we will slip in, oh, so lightly, just like a kitty, and she won't hear a sound."

Bettina took care of her grandfather like an old woman, her father always said, and so she tried to speak very bravely.

She might talk bravely; talking is easy enough even for little Bettinas; but to feel bravely is quite a different thing and, deep down in her heart, Bettina was frightened to coldness.

Willy had told her the story of the Erl King who gets children who are out on wild nights. He promises them toys and all sorts of playthings, and then when they listen he clasps them in his arms until they are frozen and dead. And this King has two daughters and they call out through the storm.

Would he get her, this Erl King?

Little Bettina shivered all over.

From over towards Jena she surely heard a tramp, and sometimes she seemed to see the waving of the Erl King's mantle in the fog.