“At last, they gathered together, and said: 

“‘We will break down the door if you do not give it to us.’

“‘Come to-morrow,’ answered the bishop.  ’Bring your friends with you.  You shall have all the grain you desire.’

“The morrow came.  Crowds gathered in front of the granary.  The bishop unlocked the door, saying: 

“‘Go inside and help yourselves freely.’

“The people rushed in.  Then what do you think the cruel bishop did?  He ordered his servants to lock the door and set the place on fire!

“The air was soon filled with the screams of the burning people.  But the bishop only laughed and danced.  He said to his servants: 

“‘Do you hear the rats squeaking inside the granary?’

“The next day came.  There were only ashes in place of the great storehouse.  There seemed to be no life about the town, for the people were all dead.

“Suddenly there was a great scurrying, as a tremendous swarm of rats came rushing out of the ashes.  On they came, more and more of them.  They filled the streets, and even made their way into the palace.

“The wicked bishop was filled with fear.  He fled from the place and hurried away over the fields.  But, the swarm of rats came rushing after him.  He came to Bingen, where he hoped to be safe within its walls.  Somehow or other, the rats made their way inside.

“There was now only one hope of safety.  The bishop fled to a tower standing in the middle of the Rhine.  But it was of no use!  The rats swam the river and made their way up the sides of the tower.  Their sharp teeth gnawed holes through the doors and windows.  They entered in and came to the room where the bishop was hiding.”

“Wicked fellow!  They killed and ate him as he deserved, didn’t they?” asked Bertha.

“There wasn’t much left of him in a few minutes.  But the tower still stands, and you can see it if you ever go to Bingen, although it is a crumbling old pile now.”

“Rats’ Tower is a good name for it.  But I would rather hear about enchanted princesses and brave knights than wicked old bishops.  Tell me another story, Hans.”

“Oh, I can’t.  Listen!  I hear some one coming.  Who can it be?”

Hans jumped up and ran to the door, just in time to meet his Uncle Fritz, who lived in Strasburg.

The children loved him dearly.  He was a young man about twenty-one years old.  He came home to this little village in the Black Forest only about once a year.  He had so much to tell and was so kind and cheerful, every one was glad to see him.

“Uncle Fritz!  Uncle Fritz!  We are so glad you’ve come,” exclaimed Bertha, putting her arms around his neck.  “And we are going to have something that you like for dinner.”

“I can guess what it is.  Sauerkraut and boiled pork.  There is no other sauerkraut in Germany as good as that your mother makes, I do believe.  I’m hungry enough to eat the whole dishful and not leave any for you children.  Now what do you say to my coming?  Don’t you wish I had stayed in Strasburg?”