The Goose Girl | Page 3

"Beauty is a fickle goddess," remarked Ducwitz tritely, settling himself
firmly in the saddle. "In giving, she is as blind as a bat. I know a
duchess now--but never mind."
"Let us be going forward," interrupted the duke. There were more vital
matters under hand than the beauty of a strolling goose-girl.
So the troop proceeded with dust and small thunder, and shortly passed

the city gates, which in modern times were never closed. It traversed
the lumpy cobbles of the narrow streets, under hanging gables, past dim
little shops and markets, often unintentionally crowding pedestrians
into doorways or against the walls. One among those so
inconvenienced was a youth dressed as a vintner. He was tall, pliantly
built, blond as a Viking, possessing a singular beauty of the masculine
order. He was forced to flatten himself against the wall of a house, his
arms extended on either side, in a kind of temporary crucifixion. Even
then the stirrup of the American touched him slightly. But it was not
the touch of the stirrup that startled him; it was the dark, clean-cut face
of the rider. Once they were by, the youth darted into a doorway.
"He? What can he be doing here? No, it is utterly impossible; it is
merely a likeness."
He ventured forth presently, none of the perturbation, however, gone
from his face. He ran his hand across his chin; yes, he would let his
beard grow.
The duke and his escort turned into the broad and restful sweep of the
König Strasse, with its fashionable residences, shops, cafés and hotels.
At the end of the Strasse was the Ehrenstein Platz, the great square
round which ran the palaces and the royal and public gardens. On the
way many times the duke raised his hand in salutations; for, while not
exactly loved, he was liked for his rare clean living, his sound sense of
justice and his honest efforts to do what was right. Opera-singers came
and went, but none had ever penetrated into the private suites of the
palace. The halt was made in the courtyard, and all dismounted.
The American thanked the duke gratefully for the use of the horse.
"You are welcome to a mount at all times, Mr. Carmichael," replied the
duke pleasantly. "A man who rides as well as yourself may be trusted
anywhere with any kind of a horse."
The group looked admiringly at the object of this marked attention.
Here was one who had seen two years of constant and terrible warfare,
who had ridden horses under fire, and who bore on his body many

honorable scars. For the great civil strife in America had come to its
close but two years before, and Europe was still captive to her
amazement at the military prowess of the erstwhile inconsiderable
American.
As Carmichael saluted and turned to leave the courtyard, he threw a
swift, searching glance at one of the palace windows. Did the curtain
stir? He could not say. He continued on, crossing the Platz, toward the
Grand Hotel. He was a bachelor, so he might easily have had his
quarters at the consulate; but as usual with American consulates--even
to the present time--it was situated in an undesirable part of the town,
over a Bierhalle frequented by farmers and the middle class. Having a
moderately comfortable income of his own, he naturally preferred
living at the Grand Hotel.
Where had he seen that young vintner before?
* * * * *
Meanwhile, the goose-girl set resolutely about the task of remarshaling
her awkward squad. With a soft, clucking sound she moved hither and
thither. A feather or two drifted lazily about in the air. At last she
gathered them in, all but one foolish, blank-eyed gander, which, poising
on a large boulder, threatened to dive headforemost into the torrent. She
coaxed him gently, then severely, but without success. The old man in
patches came up.
"Let me get him for you, Kindchen," he volunteered.
The good-fellowship in his voice impressed her far more than the
humble state of his dress. But she smiled and shook her head.
"It is dangerous," she affirmed. "It will be wiser to wait. In a little while
he will come down of his own accord."
"Bah!" cried the old man. "It is nothing; I am a mountaineer."
In spite of his weariness, he proved himself to be a dexterous climber.

Foot by foot he crawled up the side of the huge stone. A slip, and his
life would not have been worth one of the floating feathers. The gander
saw him coming and stirred uneasily. Nearer and nearer came this
human spider. The gander flapped its wings, but hesitated to take the
leap. Instantly a brown hand shot up and caught the scaly yellow legs.
There was