Truly it was a delightful old place, this castle of Amras, one of the few feudal castles left. There was an old courtyard paved with great stones, there were battlements and towers and relics of Roman invasions. The guide led them through the castle, room after room, filled with most interesting articles of every description pertaining to ancient times and wars, all of which intensely absorbed the boys' attention. "Oh, what an immense bowl!" cried Ferdinand. "And of glass. What is it for?" "That is the welcome bowl," replied the attendant. "We call it, nowadays, the loving cup. In every castle there were many like this; there was a gold one for ladies, a silver one for princes and a glass one for knights, which latter was the largest of all. When guests came to the castle, the welcome bowl was brought out, filled to the brim and handed to the guest, who was supposed to drink it off at a draught, if he was at all of a hazardous or knightly disposition. To his undoing, it sometimes happened he did not survive the ordeal; but that mattered not at all to him; he had displayed his bravery and that was worth life itself. After the bowl was drained, a great book was brought out, in which the guest was requested to write his name, no doubt as a test as to his real station, for no one but the highest and noblest were able to write or read in those times, and it often chanced even they were unable to do so." "Why, that is what they do in hotels!" said Ferdinand. "Yes," replied the guide, "and probably that is where the custom originated, for the manager of a hotel but preserves the ancient custom of registering the names of his guests." All too soon the visit came to an end; the party made its way to the near-by inn to spend the night. CHAPTER VI MORE LEGENDS THE inn-keeper, Herr Schmidt, was a big, raw-boned man with a red face and a jolly air. He was a genuine Wirthe or inn-keeper of the old-time; and after supper, as they all sat in the great sitz-saal together, he told them wonderful tales of the country round about, which so abounded in legends and folk-lore. As the position of Wirthe descends from father to son, for generations back, as long as there remains any sons to occupy that honored position, naturally, too, the legends are passed from one to the other, so that no one is quite so well able to recite these as our hearty friend Herr Schmidt. "If it were not so late," remarked Herr Hofer, while the men sat and smoked their long, curious pipes, "I should continue on to Volders, for it looks as if to-morrow might be stormy." "Oh, you need have no fear as to that," replied the host. "I noticed Frau Hütte did not have her night-cap on." Ferdinand looked at his little cousin with his face so puckered up with glee and merriment, that Leopold laughed outright. "Do tell Ferdinand about Frau Hütte, father!" said the child. "No, I think Herr Wirthe better able to do that. Bitte," and he saluted the inn-keeper in deference.