While Sir Otto’s time was thus spent amid the Finland mountains, the same winter had past cheerfully and tranquilly over the head of the good Sir Hugh von Trautwangen;--for the old minstrel, Walter, often lived many days together in the castle; and if,--unable to give up his wandering habits,--he sometimes went away, yet it was never very long ere he returned again to the hospitable board of the brave knight, to rejoice him with his marvellous legends and songs. But of all consolations with which Providence now blessed the old champion, one might say that the greatest were the delightful dreams which, in these winter months, always came to him in sleep, not only during the night-hours, but oftentimes, too, when by day-light he slumbered in his great arm-chair at the banquet-table. Thus it happened, that, instead of being angry with himself as heretofore, when he felt weariness and sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids, he was glad at their approach, in order that he might again be soothed by these visions;--then, for the most part, the scenery and feelings of his youth returned to him with a freshness and lustre, that one might well compare to the sight of a flourishing garden in spring-tide, where the weeds of melancholy and regret dare not grow, and only roses and other bright flowers spread forth their treasures in the sunlight. Among the flower-beds, too, was visible the young and blooming form of Sir Otto, who sportively played among them, and culled from thence garlands of the richest colouring.