safe and honorable position.
The more Herr Sonnenkamp spoke of the recommendation of Herr von Pranken, so much the more attentive Fräulein Perini seemed to become, but she did not utter a single word; but when Herr Sonnenkamp asked her what had been her feelings when she was first introduced to the family at Nice, she answered, "I had the happiness to be introduced to you by my noble guardian, the Dean."
Roland was impatient and beckoned to Fräulein Perini to go with him: but Sonnenkamp requested her to remain with the mother, and in order to manifest some sympathy in his son's joy, he himself accompanied him.
Roland was the only one whom the dog allowed to come near her; and when Herr Sonnenkamp ventured it, she growled, and snapped at him with her teeth. He was very angry, but he restrained himself and went away.
Roland brought his cross-bow and shot at the doves and sparrows in the courtyard. Suddenly the boy left off. A horseman, with horse well in hand, galloped up to the gate.
CHAPTER II.
THE ARROW CAUGHT
"Shoot away, my boy, I'll catch the arrow!" the rider called from his horse, and the boy stood still, as if he had seen a miracle. Eric had heard much of Roland's beauty, but he was astonished at the charming grace of his figure. The boy's whole being seemed strained with amazement and excitement, like the bow which he held bent in his hand. The rider feasted his eyes on the picture. Roland's head was bare, his jockey-cap lay near him on a great dog resting at his feet, and just raising his head as if to ask whether he should start up and drive the stranger away.
"Shoot away! Fire!" cried the rider, in a commanding tone. "Have you no courage?"
The arrow whizzed from the bow, the rider bent sideways and caught it with a sure hand.
"Either you are a bad marksman, or you tried not to hit me!" he exclaimed.
Astounded and motionless, with his bow lowered, the boy gazed at him while he was approaching and dismounting, and then asked, —
"Can you be the hero Siegfried?"
"Ah! then you know about him," replied Eric, gaily. "No, my young friend." He offered his hand to Roland, who seized it.
"Hero Siegfried wore no uniform with a red collar. But now help me to dispose of my horse."
"It is like one of Count Wolfsgarten's horses."
"It is his."
"Ivan!" shouted the boy.
A groom appeared and led the horse to the stable. As Eric and Roland followed, they heard from behind a partition near by a whining, and a weak attempt at barking.
"You have some young St. Bernard dogs close by," said Eric.
"Yes; do you know them by their whimper?"
"I can't tell the particular breed in that way. I saw a St. Bernard dog out there in the court; but I know by the sound that these puppies are blind and not a week old."
The boy looked at Eric as if he were a magician; he opened a door, but begged him to go no nearer, because the mother was very savage, and was just then suckling all the five young ones. Eric did approach her, however, and she looked at him without growling, and again the boy gazed at the stranger in astonishment.
"You can certainly tell me why dogs are born blind," he began.
Eric smiled. A boy who asks questions is desirous of instruction and ready for it; it is only necessary to put things before him which will lead him to question.
"Not only dogs," replied Eric, "but cats, eagles, and hawks come into the world blind. It may be that those animals which need sharp eyes for their support and protection have a gradual development of the power of sight, so that they do not see the light, as the saying is, all at once. Man even, though he opens his eyes at his birth, has no real power of sight at first; he has to learn to see during his first year. Man, like the brute, learns to use his limbs in his earliest years, but one thing the brute wants, he can never acquire articulate speech."
A thrill passed over the boy as he listened to the stranger, whose words again had a tone of strangely magnetic power. In the excited state in which Eric had been for two days, and which reached its height at this moment, it seemed to him as if he were acting out a fairy tale, or one of those dreams in which one says to himself, in the wonder of the dream-life, "Wake up, you are certainly dreaming!" There was something which gave him a sense of being merely a spectator of his own life, though he knew that he was actually living it. He compelled himself to collect his thoughts, and said at last, —
"You are the son of Herr Sonnenkamp, are you not? and your name is Roland?"
"Roland Franklin Sonnenkamp; what is yours?"
"Eric Dournay."
The boy started; he thought he had heard the name within a few days, but was not quite sure.
"You are a Captain of Artillery, sir?" said he, pointing to the uniform.
"I have been. Then you know the different uniforms, my boy."
"Yes; but Herr von Pranken doesn't speak to me so familiarly."
"I think we had better both keep up the familiar manner that we began with," answered Eric, holding out his hand to the boy. Roland's hand was cold, all his blood had rushed to his head. The boy was surprised and taken captive in spite of himself.
"If you like," he began again, "you can have one of my puppies. Two I mean to keep; one I shall bring up for my sister Manna; Baron von Pranken is to have the fourth, and you may have the fifth."
His face beaming with satisfaction, Eric looked at the boy; this pleasure in giving showed that there was something good to build upon.
"Perhaps you know that in Homer the host does honor to a guest by bestowing some gift as a token of remembrance."
"I know nothing about Homer."
"Have none of your tutors told you anything of him?"
"All of them. They made a great talk about him, but it's stupid."
Eric led the conversation back, and asked, "Who helps you train the dogs?"
"One who knows all about it, the huntsman Klaus, whom they call the screamer; he will be pleased when I tell him that you knew how old the puppies were by their whimper."
Eric nodded. A boy like this might easily be guided to knowledge, if one could once get the lead.
Eric now asked Roland to conduct him to his father. As they were about to leave the stable, a snow-white pony with long mane turned his head quite round and neighed.
"That is my Puck," said Roland. He was evidently very happy in showing the stranger all his treasures, almost like a little child who displays a toy for the wonder of his playmate. Eric could not but praise the beautiful creature, which looked at him with great, wild, shy eyes.
He took the boy's hand, and they went together through the large botanical garden.
"Do you know about plants too?" asked Roland.
"No, I'm quite ignorant about them."
"So am I," said the boy, delighted; Eric's acknowledgment of an ignorance which coincided with his own seemed to bring them nearer to each other.
They passed over a plat where men were weeding and putting the ground in order. A little old man, with a shy but shrewd look, was at work; he took off his cap, and said good-morning. "Have you seen my father?" asked Roland. "He is over there," replied the little man, pointing toward the green-houses.
The long green-houses, constructed of pale-blue glass, came in sight. A door stood open, within which a fountain was to be seen, in whose gray marble basin lay blocks of stone with water plants growing in all their crevices. Some of the trees which needed protection from the winter were still here, and a few which did not thrive had thick wrappings on trunk and branches.
They heard a voice. "There he is in the cold-house," said Roland. Eric told him to turn back now, as he had something to say to his father alone.
The boy stood as if rooted to the spot.