"You know the Kandel is one of the highest peaks in the Black Forest. You've seen it, Bertha."
"Yes, of course, but tell the story, Gretchen."
"Well, then, once upon a time there was a poor little boy who had no father or mother. He had to tend cattle on the side of the Kandel. At that time there was a deep lake at the summit of the mountain. But the lake had no outlet.
"The people who lived in the valley below often said, 'Dear me! how glad we should be if we could only have plenty of fresh water. But no stream flows near us. If we could only bring some of the water down from the lake!'
"They were afraid, however, to make a channel out of the lake. The water might rush down with such force as to destroy their village. They feared to disturb it.
"Now, it came to pass that the Evil One had it in his heart to destroy these people. He thought he could do it very easily if the rocky wall on the side of the lake could be broken down. There was only one way in which this could be done. An innocent boy must be found and got to do it.
"It was a long time before such an one could be found. But at last the Evil One came across an orphan boy who tended cattle on the mountainside. The poor little fellow was on his way home. He was feeling very sad, for he was thinking of his ragged clothes and his scant food.
"'Ah ha!' cried the Evil One to himself, 'here is the very boy.'
"He changed himself at once so he had the form and dress of a hunter, and stepped up to the lad with a pleasant smile.
"'Poor little fellow! What is the matter? And what can I do for you?' he said, in his most winning manner.
"The boy thought he had found a friend, and told his story.
"'Do not grieve any longer. There is plenty of gold and silver in these very mountains. I will show you how to become rich,' said the Evil One. 'Meet me here early to-morrow morning and bring a good strong team with you. I will help you get the gold.'
"The boy went home with a glad heart. You may be sure he did not oversleep the next morning. Before it was light, he had harnessed four oxen belonging to his master, and started for the summit of the mountain.
"The hunter, who was waiting for him, had already fastened a metal ring around the wall that held in the waters of the lake.
"'Fasten the oxen to that ring,' commanded the hunter, 'and the rock will split open.'
"Somehow or other, the boy did not feel pleased at what he was told to do. Yet he obeyed, and started the oxen. But as he did so, he cried, 'Do this in the name of God!'
"At that very instant the sky grew black as night, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed. And not only this, for at the same time the mountain shook and rumbled as though a mighty force were tearing it apart."
"What became of the poor boy?" asked Bertha.
"He fell senseless to the ground, while the oxen in their fright rushed headlong down the mountainside. But you needn't get excited, Bertha, no harm was done. The boy was saved as well as the village, because he had pulled in the name of God.
"The rock did not split entirely. It broke apart just enough to let out a tiny stream of water, which began to flow down the mountainside.
"When the boy came to his senses, the sky was clear and beautiful once more. The sun was shining brightly, and the hunter was nowhere to be seen. But the stream of water was running down the mountainside.
"A few minutes afterward, the boy's master came hurrying up the slope. He was frightened by the dreadful sounds he had heard. But when he saw the waterfall, he was filled with delight.
"'Every one in the village will rejoice,' he exclaimed, 'for now we shall never want for water.'
"Then the little boy took courage and told the story of his meeting the hunter and what he had done.
"'It is well you did it in the name of the Lord,' cried his master. 'If you had not, our village would have been destroyed, and every one of us would have been drowned.'"
"See! the children are going into the schoolhouse, Gretchen. We must not be late. Let's run," said Bertha.
The two little girls stopped talking, and hurried so fast that they entered the schoolhouse and were sitting in their seats in good order before the schoolmaster struck his bell.
CHAPTER III.
THE WICKED BISHOP
"The Rhine is the loveliest river in the world. I know it must be," said Bertha.
"Of course it is," answered her brother. "I've seen it, and I ought to know. And father thinks so, too. He says it is not only beautiful, but it is also bound into the whole history of our country. Think of the battles that have been fought on its shores, and the great generals who have crossed it!"
"Yes, and the castles, Hans! Think of the legends father and mother have told us about the beautiful princesses who have lived in the castles, and the brave knights who have fought for them! I shall be perfectly happy if I can ever sail down the Rhine and see the noted places on its shores."
"The schoolmaster has taught you all about the war with France, hasn't he, Bertha?"
"Of course. And it really seemed at one time as if France would make us Germans agree to have the Rhine divide the two countries. Just as if we would be willing to let the French own one shore of our beautiful river. I should say not!"
Bertha's cheeks grew rosier than usual at the thought of such a thing. She talked faster than German children usually do, for they are rather slow in their speech.
"We do not own all of the river, little sister, as it is. The baby Rhine sleeps in an icy cradle in the mountains of Switzerland. Then it makes its way through our country, but before it reaches the sea it flows through the low lands of Holland."
"I know all that, Hans. But we own the best of the Rhine, anyway. I am perfectly satisfied."
"I wish I knew all the legends about the river. There are enough of them to fill many books. Did you ever hear about the Rats' Tower opposite the town of Bingen, Bertha?"
"What a funny name for a tower! No. Is there a story about it, Hans?"
"Yes, one of the boys was telling it to me yesterday while we were getting wood in the forest. It is a good story, although my friend said he wasn't sure it is true."
"What is the story?"
"It is about a very wicked bishop who was a miser. It happened one time that the harvests were poor and grain was scarce. The cruel bishop bought all the grain he could get and locked it up. He intended to sell it for a high price, and in this way to become very rich.
"As the days went by, the food became scarcer and scarcer. The people began to sicken and die of hunger. They had but one thought: they must get something to eat for their children and themselves.
"They knew of the stores of grain held by the bishop. They went to him and begged for some of it, but he paid no attention to their prayers. Then they demanded that he open the doors of the storehouse and let them have the grain. It was of no use.
"At last, they gathered together, and said:
"'We will break down the door if you do not give it to us.'
"'Come to-morrow,' answered the bishop. 'Bring your friends with you. You shall have all the grain you desire.'
"The morrow came. Crowds gathered in front of the granary. The bishop unlocked the door, saying:
"'Go inside and help yourselves freely.'
"The people rushed in. Then what do you think the cruel bishop did? He ordered his servants to lock the door and set the place on fire!
"The air was soon filled with the screams of the burning people. But the bishop only laughed and danced. He said to his servants:
"'Do you hear the rats squeaking inside the granary?'
"The next day came. There were only ashes in place of the great storehouse. There seemed to be no life about the town, for the people were all dead.
"Suddenly there was a great scurrying, as a tremendous swarm of rats came rushing out of the ashes. On they came, more and more of them. They filled the streets, and even made their way into the palace.
"The wicked bishop was filled with fear. He fled from the place and hurried away over the fields. But the swarm of rats came rushing after him. He came to Bingen, where he hoped to be safe within its walls. Somehow or other, the rats made their way inside.
"There was now only one hope of safety. The bishop fled to a tower standing in the middle of the Rhine. But it was of no use! The rats swam the river and made their way up the sides of the tower. Their sharp teeth gnawed holes through the doors and windows. They entered in and came to the room where the bishop was hiding."
"Wicked fellow! They killed and ate him as he deserved, didn't they?" asked Bertha.
"There wasn't much left of him in a few minutes. But the tower still stands, and you can see it if you ever go to Bingen, although it is a crumbling old pile now."
"Rats' Tower is a good name for it. But I would rather hear about enchanted princesses and brave knights than wicked old bishops. Tell me another story, Hans."
"Oh, I can't. Listen! I hear some one coming. Who can it be?"
Hans jumped up and ran to the door, just in time to meet his Uncle Fritz, who lived in Strasburg.
The children loved him dearly. He was a young man about twenty-one years old. He came home to this little village in the Black Forest only about once a year. He had so much to tell and was so kind and cheerful, every one was glad to see him.
"Uncle Fritz! Uncle Fritz! We are so glad you've come," exclaimed Bertha, putting her arms around his neck. "And we are going to have something that you like for dinner."
"I can guess what it is. Sauerkraut and boiled pork. There is no other sauerkraut in Germany as good as that your mother makes, I do believe. I'm hungry enough to eat the whole dishful and not leave any for you children. Now what do you say to my coming? Don't you wish I had stayed in Strasburg?"
"Oh, no, no, Uncle Fritz. We would rather see you than anybody else," cried Hans. "And here comes mother. She will be just as glad as we are."
That evening, after Hans had shown his uncle around the village, and he had called on his old friends, he settled himself in the chimney-corner with the children about him.
"Talk to us about Strasburg, Uncle Fritz," begged Gretchen.
"Please tell us about the storks," said Bertha. "Are there great numbers of the birds in the city, and do they build their nests on the chimneys?"
"Yes, you can see plenty of storks flying overhead if you will come back with me," said Uncle Fritz, laughingly. "They seem to know the people love them. If a stork makes his home about any one's house, it is a sign of good fortune to the people who live there.
"'It will surely come,' they say to themselves, 'and the storks will bring it.' Do you wonder the people like the birds so much?"
"I read a story about a mother stork," said Bertha, thoughtfully. "She had a family of baby birds. They were not big enough to leave their nest, when a fire broke out in the chimney where it was built. Poor mother bird! She could have saved herself. But she would not leave her babies. So she stayed with them and they were all burned to death together."
"I know the story. That happened right in Strasburg," said her uncle.
"Please tell us about the beautiful cathedral with its tall tower," said Hans. "Sometime, uncle, I am going to Strasburg, if I have to walk there, and then I shall want to spend a