"Ha, ha! all convenient for the ghosts," said the jester, "but there must be a number of sad Turks amongst them to make such a noise with their atabals as they did to-night. There, you reach me down a lamp, while I lay the sticks. Trust a fool for making a fire, if he do not make it too large: then he may burn his own fingers, and the house too. We will put out half the sconces, and so, we shall have candle-light till the morning, when the sun and the tapers may wink at each other, like merry maids upon a May-day." The fire was soon lighted, and the suggestion regarding the sconces carried into execution; after which, Ferdinand and the jester drew two stools into the wide chimney, and the latter bringing the large flagon of wine and two cups from the cross table, set the beaker down upon the hearth, saying, "We will drink and keep our spirits up." "Nay," answered Ferdinand, "I want no wine for that purpose. I will take one cup, for I have had none to-night, and I have worked hard during the day, but if I took more, I should sleep and not watch." "Ay, young brains are soon addled, like a pigeon's egg," answered the jester. "And so you are Ferdinand of Altenburg?" Ferdinand nodded his head, answering, with a smile, "No other." "You are a bold man," said his companion, "to give me such an answer." "How so?" demanded Ferdinand, "I must surely know who I am myself." "If you know yourself, you are the first man that ever did," replied the jester. "Your father was a proper man." "Indeed! did you know him?" exclaimed Ferdinand. "Oh, dear no, not at all," said the Herr von Narren, "but my uncle Frederick told us so at supper. I knew your grand-father and your great-grandfather, and I was distantly related to his great-grandfather; for as Adam was the first of my ancestors, and all his race sprang from Eve, there was some connection between us, either by blood or matrimony--Do you remember your father?" "No," answered Ferdinand, "I was but a mere boy when he died." "Ay, then you were not long acquainted," said the jester. "I remember mine quite well, and how he used to tickle me with his beard--that's longer ago than you recollect, or than you could if you would, for to ask you for a long memory in your short life, would be like putting a gallon of wine into a pint stoup--But I'll tell you a story, cousin." "What is it about?" asked Ferdinand, drinking some of the wine out of the cup he held in his hand. "Is it a story of fate, or about the Saracens, or of knightly deeds here in our own land?"