atrina had followed her mother into the great, vaultlike hall on the ground floor of the castle. Then they crossed a narrow passage, where a door stood open, and out of which came the odour of baking gingerbread that had tickled Fritz’s nostrils.

Down here in one corner of the castle, on the side where the morning sun shone brightly, three rooms had been set apart as the dwelling-place of Rudolf Hofer, caretaker of the castle, his wife, and their only child. To them the home was very dear, and these three rooms had for Rudolf many a sweet and sacred memory. It was there that his parents and grandparents, in fact, many generations of his ancestors, had dwelt; for, as far back as he could trace it, Rudolf found that a Hofer had kept the castle keys.

It was to his good wife Frieda, with her refined taste, as well as thrift, that Rudolf gave full credit for the present cheerfulness of what might have been a very cold, forbidding habitation. But, instead of dull lifelessness, every window-ledge was gay with potted plants, which gave out their treasured blossoms to the sunshine. While it was to Frieda’s, and even Katrina’s little hands, that the bright rows of tin and copper vessels, arranged along the kitchen walls, owed their glint and sparkle, when the firelight shone upon them.

From her mother, Dame Frieda had inherited the domestic virtues of her class, and now, in her own turn, she desired to cultivate in Katrina, child though she was, a love for the household arts; for, as she would say:

“Thou’lt be a wife thyself, one day, my mÄdchen, and it behoves thee to be a good one.”

So Katrina had her regular daily tasks. In the morning she gave attention to her flowers and fed her flock of pigeons housed in the old South Tower. They would come down into the courtyard, when Katrina appeared with her pan of grain for their breakfast; while some were even so trustful of their little mistress as to perch upon her shoulders, and eat the grain from her hand. Then, those tasks finished, Katrina would go into her own room, with its pretty but simple furnishings, its dainty white drapery, and set things in order there. Other duties followed this; sometimes it was to help her mother in the kitchen, or else she would take her knitting and sit out in the sunshine of the castle court.

As soon as they came into the kitchen after leaving Fritz, Katrina’s mother began to busy herself with her baking.

“Rudolf will be pleased with the gingerbread,” she murmured, as she opened the oven door whence came the savoury odours; “he is very fond of it, and it has been a long while since he has eaten any. Now,” continued Frieda aloud, as she turned and looked over her shoulder, “thou, Katrina, canst set the table. The father will be coming soon; he has had a busy day, and I know he will be very tired.”

“Yes, little mother, there were many visitors to-day. I was at the gates when most of them came in. One of the ladies who stopped and spoke to me said something about my living in the same castle where the good Saint Elizabeth had lived. Did a saint ever live here, mÜtterchen?”

“Yes,” Frau Hofer answered, “we might say in truth that two saints have lived here at the Wartburg; for surely Martin Luther also was a saint!”

“Oh, did he, did Martin Luther live here?” Katrina cried. “I thought he lived in the Widow Cotta’s house at Eisenach.”

“Yes, he lived in both places for awhile. It was as a little schoolboy that he spent some time in Frau Cotta’s home. Here at the Wartburg, as a man, he dwelt in concealment for about a year, under the protection of the Elector Frederick. He was supposed to be a prisoner,” Frieda added, “but he had the freedom of a guest. In his disguise as ‘Squire George’ he would roam about the country, sometimes gathering strawberries on the hill, sometimes visiting the neighbouring monasteries, but he never went far unattended.”

“But why was he a prisoner, little mother? Thou hast just said the Elector was his friend.”

“It was necessary to conceal him from his enemies,” the mother answered. “But wait, my child, until thou art a little older and canst understand; then I will explain the cause of his being made a prisoner. Here at the Wartburg,” she added, after a moment’s pause, “he did a great work for mankind. It was in his room over there in the Knight’s House, that Luther made his translation of the Bible.”

Katrina’s eyes were wide with interest, but before she could ask other questions about Luther or Saint Elizabeth, the door opened, and her father came into the room. He kissed his wife and took Katrina in his strong arms, where, from a tiny child, she had loved to nestle.

“I’ll not let thee hold me long, father, only just a minute. Thou must surely be very tired; thou hast shown so many through the castle. Dost thou remember the lady who stopped and spoke to me about Saint Elizabeth? Such a beautiful light seemed to be shining from her face.”

“Yes, I remember her very well,” Rudolf answered. “She and the friends with her were Americans. I was told that she is the head of some noble order in her country; but what it is, I couldn’t understand.”

Katrina, in the meantime, had finished setting the table, which, though simple with its service of quaint blue china, was made attractive by a vase filled with crimson roses. She had gathered them that afternoon from a bush growing near the castle gates. So now, after Frieda had placed the dainty meal upon the table, they all stood for a moment, their heads bowed, while Rudolf asked a blessing on the food.