LITMIR.BIZ

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as far as Matyi? He is a strong fellow. See how far the ball has gone; he almost hit the window. See what you can do."

      Father Peter took the bat and struck the ball with such force into the air that it flew over the roof of the castle. All were carried away with admiration.

      "That's a rare monk!" said the young Lord. "I can learn to play 'Longa' and 'Meta' with him."

      "Does your Honor know Latin already?" asked Father Peter of the boy.

      "Latin! What's that got to do with this?"

      "Why, 'Longa' means long, and 'Meta' means a goal. So in playing we add to learning."

      "Really?"

      "We make a kite out of what is to be learned, and while we let the kite go, the learning remains."

      "So you understand kite-flying, do you? Have you ever seen a kite as large as mine? See how stout the cord is to hold by. Matyi can break this the first time trying. Show us, Matyi."

      "That's nothing," said Father Peter, and with that he put the cord together three times and broke it.

      "My, that's a strong monk! What's the Latin for kite?"

      "Draco."

      "And paper?"

      "Charta."

      "And the frame?"

      "Arcus."

      "I know all that. That's quite easy, Hirsko."

      "It's got to be easy," said the Fool, an ugly dwarf, with a monstrously large head and hideous countenance. "The gracious Lady has given orders that the instructor shall teach the young Lord everything within one year, in such a manner that the young Lord shall not have to study anything."

      "That is always the way, you know," said Father Peter. "Every young Lord keeps a small boy to be whipped, and when the young Lord does not know his lesson, the boy receives the punishment in his stead."

      "You shall be this boy," said the young Lord, laughingly, to the Fool.

      This system of pedagogics pleased the young Lord very much, and the monk by this means had won his favor in the highest measure. The Fool was the shrewdest of the company, for he saw that this new man would throw the old favorites out of the saddle, for he knew better how to manage the hounds than the master of hounds, was stronger than the haiduk, and a better joker than the Fool. He wanted to bring the monk to confusion. "What did you bring that great, stupid book with you for?" he asked, opening the folio, which bristled with a strange handwriting, terrible to him. "Is the young Lord to learn the book by heart."

      "No, my son; with this book I drive out devils."

      "Then you have come just at the right time. Go up to our gracious Lady; she has three thousand devils; you can test your art with her."

      All four burst out laughing.

      "Yes, do go, monk," teased the young Lord, "let us see whether you dare appear before my lady mother. She understands Latin when she tries. Do go, monk."

      And all four crowded around the spiritual director. One shoved him, another pulled him, and so they dragged him through the entrance hall, hall-ways, and saloons, in the direction from which came the loudest noise; but when suddenly a door opened and through this unexpectedly appeared the Lady herself, all four ran away, to crawl behind the stove, the table, or the highest chest, leaving Father Peter standing alone in the middle of the saloon before this fire-breathing dragon. The gracious lady had pushed open the door with the heel of her yellow riding boot, and when she saw the monk's figure standing in the dark background, she stamped violently with her foot.

      "The Devil could not have brought a monk here, more opportunely." With that she turned toward the threshold with her back to the monk, and began to scold her retinue in the adjoining room. "What are you staring at there! Off with you, and do as I order! The peasants are to arm themselves with scythes and pitchforks, and the halberdiers are to mount their horses. Haiduks, hunters, peasants, off with you to Mitosin! Set the red cock on their roof. If they have other game, they shall have fire for it. Fall upon them while they are drunk; throw them into the water to sober them; set fire to their towers on all four sides, even if the dead Florian himself should rise from his grave to beg for them. But if you catch the master alive, swing him up on the cross bar over the well. Now off with you! I'll go too; saddle my horse. Where's that miserable priest? What the devil does he want? Let him show his face."

      The Lady's face was flaming red with anger; even on her brow blazed the red spots; her nostrils quivered; her eyes flashed so that she could not see; her lips drawn into very ugly shape. Then too, her hair was disordered, her brown locks changing into red, gleamed on her temples in small bright red curls, and above them a high cap was fastened with four pins that gave the appearance of four horns. Her stately figure showed strength and passion, still further heightened by her costume. Her bodice, extending below the hips, was of brown and yellow stripes two fingers wide, a true tiger's skin, and instead of the stiff ruffle around the neck was a border of feathers. Below the hips hung a dagger from a Turkish girdle; and the skirt of heavy flowered brocade was festooned with strings of gold and silver coins that rattled as she walked; the skirt, made short in front, as she stamped her foot, showed the leg above the yellow riding boots, in bright red trousers. This was her appearance when she cried: "Now let that cringing priest come here!"

      Father Peter came near, and said gently: "May peace and blessing rest upon this house." At this voice, the lady let fall her dagger and raised her hands to her brow, either to shade her eyes for better sight, or to conceal her face. The monk came nearer to her, and said in friendly tones: "Anger ruins beauty. Cleopatra was never angry, and so remained always beautiful. Rage disfigures the countenance, draws lasting wrinkles, and leaves its imprint on the skin." In one instant the rage had vanished from the lady's face, the blazing red became white, her brow relaxed, and her lips resumed their lines of beauty. Her flashing eyes remained fixed, like those of a sleep-walker, on the countenance of the speaker. An instant had sufficed to effect this change; at the last words of the Father, the Lady even tried to smile. Now the monk came still nearer, so that he could say in a whisper: "What unseemly revenge have you planned, gracious Lady? Who will consent to quarrels and firebrands? You are only preparing a new enjoyment for the one who has wronged you. A sword wound does not hurt a man. If you really want to take vengeance on this man, have a quantity of game shot and send it to him as a present. In this way you will shame him."

      Like the sun beneath a heavy cloud, gleamed a smile on the face of the Lady. "True, true," she said, with a look of joy. "I will revenge myself that way. Steward, treasurer, forester; go at once into the forest; kill as much game as you can put in a wagon, and take it to Mitosin. Say to the lord of the castle, I send him my greetings, and since he is so desperately hungry for my game, I send him still more of it, that he may have enough."

      Every one was astonished at this sudden change, including those in hiding behind the furniture, who were now quite convinced that the monk knew how to drive out the Devil with the aid of the large book he carried under his arm.

      "Mother, don't give in to him," cried the young Lord, dashing out and seeking shelter beside his mother. Then happened to the young man what he had never experienced before; his dear mother gave him a box on the ear. Yes, the spoiled darling, the only son, the child of her heart, who never in his life before had heard the word, "Don't," received his first box on the ear.

      Stunned and amazed, he quite forgot he ought to cry. "Off with you. Treat him as your Father. Kiss his hand." And his mother's half-raised boot made the boy understand that she was quite ready to use her heel as a stimulus. But the monk intervened.

      "Gracious Lady, treat him as your child." With these words he leaned forward, and enveloped him in his robe and the child sought refuge in the arm of his protector, and began to cry bitterly. "Do not cry, my little one, have confidence in your mother; she loves you. A mother's chastisement brings blessing to the child. Now take the book, and carry it to the room designed for me."

      This commission so surprised the child that he forgot to cry. Curiosity overcame sorrow. He was

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