Uncle Philip laughed:  “I am glad you are so just to me, Mrs. Apollonie.  Even when you scolded the Falcon properly for tramping down your plants, you knew that it was not in maliciousness he did it but in self-defence.  I am afraid it is time to go now” and with these words he heartily shook his old acquaintance by the hand.  The two little ones, who had never left his side, were ready immediately to strike out once more.

They soon reached the hill and the castle, which was bathed in the soft evening light, lay openly before them.  A hushed silence reigned about the gray building and the old pine trees under the tower, whose branches lay trailing on the ground.  For years no human hand had touched them.  Where the blooming garden had been wild bushes and weeds covered the ground.

The mother and uncle, settling down on a tree-trunk, looked in silence towards the castle, while the children were hunting for strawberries on the sunny incline.

“How terribly deserted and lonely it all looks,” Uncle Philip said after a while.  “Let us go back.  When the sun is gone, it will get more dreary still.”

“Don’t you notice anything, Philip?” asked his sister, taken up with her own thoughts.  “Can you see that all the shutters are closed except those on the tower balcony?  Don’t you remember who used to live there?”

“Certainly I do.  Mad Bruno used to live there,” the brother answered.  “As his rooms alone seem to be kept in order, he might come back?”

“Why, he’ll never come back,” Uncle Philip exclaimed.  “You know that we heard ages ago that he is an entirely broken man and that he lay deadly sick in Malaga.  Mr. Tillman, who went to Spain, must certainly know about it.  Restless Baron Bruno has probably found his last resting-place long ago.  Why should you look for him here?”

“I only think that in that case a new owner of the place would have turned up by now,” was his sister’s opinion.  “Two young members of the family, the children of Salo and Eleanor, are still alive.  I wonder where these children are.  They would be the sole owners after their uncle’s death.”

“They have long ago been disinherited,” the brother exclaimed.  “I do not know where they are, but I have an idea on that subject.  I shall tell you about it to-night when we are alone.  Here you are so absent-minded.  You throw worried looks in all directions as if you were afraid that this perfectly solid meadow were a dangerous pond into which your little brood might fall and lose their lives.”

The children had scattered in all directions.  Bruno had gone far to one side and was deeply immersed in a little book he had taken with him.  Mea had discovered the most beautiful forget-me-nots she had ever seen in all her life, which grew in large masses beside the gurgling mountain stream.  Beside herself with transport, she flew from place to place where the small blue flowers sparkled, for she wanted to pick them all.