“I don’t know how many he sells, but I do know that he has been there for a long time and does a flourishing business.”

“Oh, listen to the music in this store!” exclaimed Paul, “singing, and no singer to be seen.”

“I thought it would surprise you.  That is a phonograph.  Now listen, do you know the air?”

“Yes, it is from ‘Der Freischutz,’ and oh, how beautifully it is done!  How can it be possible for it to sing so correctly?” and the triplets listened with delight.  They would have lingered much longer but Uncle Braun reminded them that time was passing, and there was much more to see.

“Do you know anything of the poet Goethe?” he asked as they passed along.

“Oh, yes!” they all exclaimed eagerly.

“Would you like to see the house in which he was born?  I am sure you would, so we will go directly to it.  The old house has been restored and is just as it was when he lived there.  He was born in 1749.  How old would he be if living?”

It did not take the triplets an instant to state exactly the number of years, then their old friend asked which of Goethe’s poems they liked most.

“I like the ‘Singer,’” said Paul, “and I like the ‘Erlking,’ but when my father read it aloud to us last winter my little sister crept under the sofa.  She was afraid.”

By this time they had reached the old house, and it was a delight to the triplets to see the rooms in which he had played when a boy like them.  They looked from the windows from which he had gazed at the fields beyond, and did not wonder that every intelligent stranger who came to Frankfort paid a visit to the old house, where the greatest poet that Germany has ever known—­John Wolfgang von Goethe—­lived and wrote.

“Where would you like to go next?” asked Uncle Braun.

“To the bridge over the Main,” they answered promptly, for they believed that they would never grow weary of watching the cool, rippling water making its way to the Rhine and from thence to the sea.  So to the bridge they went and leaned upon the parapet and gazed upon the scene as they had done the evening before.

“Did you ever hear how Frankfort got its name?” asked their guide.

“No, we never heard.”

“It is said that at that point,” he continued, designating it with his cane, “the river was at one time so shallow, owing to a ridge of rocks under its bed, that it could be forded by persons on foot.  One time when Charlemagne—­or Charles the Great—­was battling against the Saxons, he was compelled to retreat before them, and they were in hot pursuit.  The French forces were weak, while the Saxons were strong, but if he and his army could cross the Main, all would be safe.  A heavy fog rested upon the river and they could not find the safe fording.  The French ran up and down the shore, hoping to see someone who could tell them the location of the ford, but found no one.