56 Hans Brinker

“© T don’t know, child. Probably it is.”

“©Oh, no, mother!” said Hans, respectfully. ‘1 had that
in my geography lessons long ago. Athens is in Greece.”

«© Well,” resumed the mother, “ what matter? Greece may
belong to the king, for aught we know. Anyhow, this rich
merchant sent his sons to Athens. While they were on their
way, they stopped one night at a shabby inn, meaning to take
up their journey in the morning. Well, they had very fine
clothes, — velvet and silk, it may be, such as rich folks’ children
all over the world think nothing of wearing; and their belts,
likewise, were full of money. What did the wicked landlord
do, but contrive a plan to kill the children, and take their money
and all their beautiful clothes himself? So that sight, when
all the world was asleep, he got up and killed the three young
gentlemen.”

Gretel clasped her hands and shuddered; but Hans tried
to look as if killing and murder were every-day matters to
him.

«“ That was not the worst of it,” continued Dame Brinker,
knitting slowly, and trying to keep count of her stitches as she
talked: “that was not near the worst of it. The dreadful land-
lord went and cut up the young gentlemen’s bodies into little
pieces, and threw them into a great tub of brine, intending to
sell them for pickled pork.”

“Oh!” cried Gretel, horror-stricken, though she had often
heard the story before. Hans still continued unmoved, and
seemed to think that pickling was the best that could be done
under the circumstances.

“ Yes, he pickled them; and one might think that would
have been the last of the young gentlemen. But no. That
night St. Nicholas had a wonderful vision; and in it he saw