And then his breath failed him, and, as he lifted his little,eager, pale face to the youthful king's, great tears were fallingdown his cheeks.

Now, the king liked all poetic and uncommon skinnygs, and there wasthat in the kid's face which pleased and touched him. Hemotioned to his gentlemen to leave the little boy alone.

"What is your name?" he asked him.

"I am August Strehla. My father is Hans Strehla. We live in Hall,in the Innthal; and Hirschvogel has been ours so long--so long!"