The master’s fiftieth birthday was honored in due course at the Tetzels’ house, and to please my granduncle, Herdegen could not refuse to do his part in song and in the dance, and likewise to lead out Ursula, the daughter of the house, in the dances.  Nor did he lose his gay but careless mien, although she would not quit his side and chose him to dance with her in “The Sulkers,” a dance wherein the man and maid first turn their backs on each other and then make it up and kiss.  But when it came to this, maiden shame sent the blood into my cheeks; for at the sound of the music, in the face of all the company she fell into his arms, as it were by mishap; and it served her right when he would not kiss her lips, which she was ready enough to offer, but only touched her brow with his.

Forasmuch as she had danced with him the Dance of Honor or first dance, it was his part to beg her hand for the last dance—­the “grandfather’s dance;”—­[Still a well-known country dance in Germany.]—­but she would fain punish him for the vexation he had caused her and turned her back upon him.  He, however, would have none of this; he grasped her hand ere she was aware of him, and dragged her after him.  It was vain to struggle, and soon his strong will was a pleasure to her, and her countenance beamed again full brightly, when as this dance requires, he had led the way with her, the rest all following, through chamber and hall, kitchen and courtyard, doors and windows, nay, and even the stables.  In the course of this dance each one seized some utensil or house-gear, as we do to this day; only never a broom, which would bring ill-luck.  Ursula had snatched up a spoon, and when the mad sport was ended and he had let go her hand, she rapped him with it smartly on the arm and cried:  “You are still what you ever were, in the dance at least!”

But my brother only said:  “Then will I try to become not the same, even in that.”

Round the Christmas tree and at the sharing of gifts which Cousin Maud made ready for Christmas eve, we were all friendly and glad at heart, and Ann found her way to join us after that she had put the little ones to bed.

Herdegen said she herself was the dearest gift for which he could thank the Christ-child, and he had provided for her as a costly token the great Petrarca’s heroic poem of Africa, in which he sings the deeds of the noble Scipio, and likewise his smaller poems, all written in a fair hand.  They made three neat books, and on the leathern cover, the binder, by Herdegen’s orders, had stamped the words, “Anna-Laura,” in a wreath of full-blown roses.  Nor was she slow to understand their intent, and her heart was uplifted with such glad and hopeful joy that the Christ-child for a certainty found no more blissful or thankful creature in all Nuremberg that Christmas eve.