urn the key, Gesta, and let the workshop stay just as my father left it.”

The old woman wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron.

“And so it’s sure, then, Master Fritz, that you’re going to leave here; what will the house seem like when you are gone?”

With this the faithful creature broke into a sob.

“But,” said the boy, soothingly, “I’ll come back every little while and see that you want for nothing. Because I’m going to live in a great house and have lots of money given to me doesn’t mean that I am going to forget you. I am my mother’s son, Gesta; you carried my mother in your arms when she was a little baby. She loved you, and so do I.”

“You’ve always been good to me, Master Fritz. Even when you were a very little boy you never gave me any trouble; and that makes it all the harder to see you go. Is it to-morrow, Master Fritz, that Count von Scholtz is going to send for you?”

“No, the count said he knew I would want to see my friends, and make some preparations, so it’s not till Thursday that I leave for GrÜnwald. But it isn’t so far away, you know, Gesta, that I can’t come back from time to time to see you and the dear old home. For even if they do say I’ll walk on velvet carpets, and have beautiful paintings and marble statuary to look at everywhere I turn my eyes, more books than I can read, and music whenever I wish, I’ll never love it as I love this home. They may change my name, too, but I’ll always be the son of Conrad Albrecht, the toymaker. The count may be ever so good to me, but he can never take my father’s place!”

Yet, even as he spoke, Fritz was conscious of a strange sensation. He had felt it only once before, and that was the evening he had remained outside the castle, after Katrina had gone in, and listened to the Ivy. Now there came to him the desire to hear that voice again, and, as twilight was just setting in, he would go alone, and beg the Ivy to tell him other stories of the castle. So after urging the watchful Gesta not to be uneasy if he should return a little late, Fritz started off in the direction of the Wartburg.

It was not very long before he reached the courtyard, where all was still, and, stealing within the shadow of the wall, Fritz seated himself upon the same bench on which he had sat that other evening when the voice had spoken to him of the “greatest treasure.”

One might suppose that the Ivy had been waiting for him, so soon did it begin to speak to Fritz in those same rich, majestic tones. And now it told him many things about the men and women who lived in the castle long ago—about the early landgraves; but more particularly did it dwell upon the good Herman and his time. Among other stories it told how Elizabeth had, by accident, found on her husband the crusader’s cross, and at sight of it had fainted, since it meant that he would leave her.

“But,” the Ivy said, “when Ludwig explained to her the purpose of the crusades, Elizabeth not only consented to his going, but went with him a part way on his journey. However, Ludwig never reached the Holy Land, but died of a fever just as he was to set sail from Italy.” This was the only allusion which the Ivy made to Saint Elizabeth; but it told Fritz of much that happened during the times in which she lived. It mentioned, for instance, how a knowledge of the arts and crafts had been brought by the crusaders from the East.

“There were no glass windows in the Wartburg,” the Ivy said, “until the time of the Landgrave Herman. He had glass panes put into the windows of the banquet-hall; but in the other windows the panes were all of mica; for glass, the art of making which was brought by the crusaders from the Orient, was very rare and costly.

“Now, while speaking of the East,” the Ivy went on to say, “I must tell you something about a certain great room in the Wartburg called the Armory. There you will find some rare specimens of old plate armour and suits of mail—these latter dating as far back as the crusades. One who gives it any thought can trace from these a gradual unfoldment in the history of armour. For instance, that of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was crude and very simple. The fifteenth century brought an increase in the use of plates; but it was in the sixteenth century, by a well-devised fitting together, that the highest development in armour was attained.”

Fritz found himself listening with keen interest to all that the Ivy told him; and, after a pause, it went on speaking of the armour and its history.

“Persons usually have a wrong conception of the armour worn in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,” the voice continued. “They picture the knight as going forth in a glittering mail shirt woven out of steel; while in reality his coat and hose, as well as his head-covering, were of leather with iron rings sewn on. Only in the East did they then understand the art of weaving the steel mail shirt out of rings. But as every separate ring had to be made by hand, such equipment was very costly; for wire drawing was not discovered until the fourteenth century.

“I wonder,” said the Ivy, after a moment’s silence, and so suddenly that Fritz was startled, “I wonder if you can tell me why the use of armour began to decline in the seventeenth century?”

“I am sorry to say that I haven’t the slightest idea,” was Fritz’s answer.

“It was because in that century firearms came into general use, gunpowder having been invented; so there was no longer any need for armour.”

But, interested as he was in hearing all of this, it was not what Fritz had come to the castle for that evening. He had come to put to the Ivy one single question which for weeks had been revolving in his mind.

“I am going away from here next Thursday,” as he spoke Fritz drew nearer to the Ivy, “and I want to ask one question before I go. It is that you will tell me what you meant when you said to me one evening that you possess the greatest of all treasures.”

Several moments passed before the Ivy answered; but at last it said:

“I know your desire is a sincere one, and I intend to grant it. But first promise me that you will search far and wide, until you, too, come into possession of this mighty treasure—the greatest in all the world.”

“I promise you,” said Fritz.

“Well, then,” and the Ivy spoke in tones more melodious than any Fritz had ever heard before, but so low that he alone could hear the name. The boy caught his breath with eagerness, and clenched his hands until the flesh showed the imprint of his nails.

“Yes,” he declared, his face all aglow with determination, “I’ll go to the very ends of the earth to find it!”

Then all at once Fritz seemed to see, as though it were a picture stretching out before him, that new life he was about to enter with its promise of riches, the opportunity to gratify all ambition—while the name of what the Ivy declared to be the greatest treasure kept ringing like music in his ears.