In all countries and amongst all nations were spread the name and fame of Dietrich of Bern, for he was the favourite hero of many a wandering minstrel, and so it came to pass that numbers of brave warriors used to go and visit him, and take part in the amusements or serious occupations that engrossed the attention of their host during the time of their visit. Even in the far north his name was famous, not only in the castle of the noble, but in many a wayside inn and solitary grange. At the time of which we speak, a renowned horse-dealer called Studas lived in the heart of a great forest. He cared little for the singing and fiddling of the wandering minstrels, but his son Heime was different. He often declared that he knew he could wield lance and sword as well as the hero of Bern. His father was weary of his vainglorious talk, and one day, when the young fellow was boasting as usual that he was as good a man as Dietrich, if not better, his father exclaimed in a pet: “Well, if that be the case, go up to the hollow mountain, and kill the dragon that is doing all this mischief in the neighbourhood.” The lad looked up at him inquiringly. The father nodded, and Heime, casting a haughty look at him, turned and went out. “He will not do it,” muttered the old man, “but I think I have cooled his hot blood for him.” Things were going otherwise than honest Studas dreamed in his philosophy. His bold son armed himself, and mounting one of his father’s best horses, rode off to the mountain. The lind-worm sprang at him with open jaws, but the lad plunged his spear into his mouth with such force that the point came out behind his head. The monster lashed the ground long and furiously with his tail, but at length fell dead. Whereupon Heime cut off his head, and riding home, took it into the grange, and flung the trophy at his father’s feet. “St. Kilian!” cried Studas. “Boy, have you really killed the dragon? Well——” “Well,” answered the bold youth, “I shall now go and slay the hero of Bern. Give me the horse that carried me so bravely to-day. He will take me to Bern, and bring me home again without hurt.” The old man felt his head go round when he heard his son speak in such a way; but he granted the lad’s request, and Heime rode out into the unknown world. In the royal palace of Bern Queen Virginal was busy filling the goblets of the warriors, who feasted with her husband, and who agreed that great as were the blessings of peace, it was high time they should be up and doing something, lest their swords should rust in their scabbards. In the midst of this conversation the door opened, and a stranger entered in full armour. He was a tall broad-shouldered man, and apparently young. Hildebrand welcomed him, and invited him to take off his coat-of-mail, telling him that purple and silken garments were more suited to a royal feast than the panoply of war.