A HERO CARRIES WATER IN THE SUN With all which adventuring and bepraisement back and forth, as those who know nineteen will readily be assured, I went home no little elated.

For had I not come without dishonor through a new and remarkable experience, and even defied the Mystery of the White Wolf, at perhaps more risk to myself than at the time I had imagined.

For, as I found afterwards, there were those among the company at the Swan that night of sterner mould and more serious make than Michael Texel.
But, at all events, home to the Red Tower I strode, whistling, and in a very cocksure humor.
The little Helene was going about her house duties silently and distantly when I came down from my turret room on the forenoon of the morrow.

She did not come forward to be kissed, as had been her wont every morning ever since I carried her, a little forlorn maid, up to mine own bed that chill winter's night.
"A good-morrow, Little Playmate!" I bade her, gayly.

For my heart was singing a good tune, well pleased with itself and willing to be at amity with every one else--counting indeed, as is the wont of brisk hearts, a gloomy face little less than a personal insult.
But the maid did not answer, neither indeed did she seem to have heard me.
"I bade you fair good-morning, Helene," said I, again, stopping in my walk across to my breakfast platter.
But still she was silent, casting sand upon the tiled floor and sweeping it up with great vigor, all her fair body swaying and yielding to the grace, of movement at every stroke.