The early darkness of a winter twilight had already set in, the wind was blowing boisterously, and the snow rapidly descending, when Herman the carpenter reached his cottage after a hard day's toil, there to receive the fond caresses of his children. His wife exchanged his wet clothes for such as were warm and dry, and little Catherine drew his arm-chair to the side of the fire, while the boys, anxious to do their part, brought his large pipe. 'Now, father,' said little Frank, when he saw a column of smoke issuing forth, 'you are happy and comfortable; what shall we do while mother gets supper ready? Tell us a tale.' 'Yes, tell us a story,' repeated the other children with delight. They were on the point of clustering round, when something passing caught little Catherine's eye. 'Oh,' said the child, 'here is such a poor man in the street, all covered with snow, and who does not seem to know where to go!' 'He is a compagnon' (journeyman), said Frank--'a whitesmith; I see his tools in his bag. Why does he stop in the street in such weather?' 'He plainly knows not his way,' Catherine replied. 'Shall I go and ask him what he wants?' 'Do so, my child; and give him this small coin, for perhaps he is poor, as I have been, and it will serve to pay for his bed, and something to warm him. Show him the Compagnon's Inn at the end of the street.' When the child had returned, the clamour was again raised for the story. 'What shall it be?' 'Daniel?' 'No.' 'Perhaps the Black Hunter?' 'Neither of these to-night, my children. I will tell you about the "Return of the Compagnon."' The children gladly drew round their father to hear his new story, which was as follows:--