He knows the hidden mountain mine Where wondrous jewels lie; The caves in which their glorious shine Dazzles his feasting eye; He heaps up the red gold Till his treasures untold Would the souls of a multitude buy! All the wealth of the earth Is his dower from birth. Who can strength with him measure? Who baffle his pleasure? What kings with his riches can vie? When winds rush whistling through the wood, The kobold's merry heart bounds; For well he knows the bugle good That calls up horse and hounds. The Wild Huntsman rides past On the wings of the blast, And the forest with tumult resounds; The blithe wood-elves are there, With the sprites of the air; And as faster and faster They follow their master, He joins in their turbulent rounds! The baron would have sung further in his wild praises of the life of the race of forest sprites with whom his verse dealt, but he was interrupted by the Lady Adelaide, who crossed herself fervently, exclaiming: "Now beshrew me, Sir Baron, but it is ill to speak of the Wild Huntsman on a night like this when he may be abroad. Heaven send he be not near enough to the castle to have heard your song!" The singer stared at her an instant in silent amazement, and then broke into a peal of golden-throated laughter, which was hardly as respectful as was the due of a person of the age and quality of the old dame. "By my sword," he cried, "it is, then, really true that thou art afraid of the Wild Huntsman! I give thee my word that he is far too much engaged in his pleasure to bother his head about what may be said of him." It was the turn of the company to stare at the speaker, who seemed to realize that his words might seem strange to them, for instantly he hastened to apologize, and laying aside the lute endeavored to give a new turn to the conversation by a reference to the talk which had taken place at table. But the priest, with a gentle smile, brought him back to the song. "It is a heathenish ditty, Sir Baron," he said, "with which thou hast favored us, if thou wilt allow me to say so. The treasures of the little men of the hills are doubtless mighty, if half that is said of them be true; but when they boast that their gold can buy the souls of men, they claim too much." The guest regarded the speaker with a new look of interest and respect; but as he made no reply, Father Christopher continued: "It is said that often the little men, and the Devil who is in league with them, have tried to entice men to barter their souls for gold; but even if they succeed, it is the Evil One to whom the soul goes, and the kobolds are no richer."