Ulrich rose very early, and when Benedict saw him again in the light of the young day, and once more looked at the Jew’s portrait, drawn by the handsome boy, a thought came to him as if inspired by the saints themselves—­the thought of persuading the smith to give his son to the monastery.

CHAPTER IV.

This morning Pater Benedictus was a totally different person from the man, who had sat over the wine the night before.  Coldly and formally he evaded the smith’s questions, until the latter had sent his son away.

Ulrich, without making any objection, had helped his father shoe the sorrel horse, and in a few minutes, by means of a little stroking over the eyes and nose, slight caresses, and soothing words, rendered the refractory stallion as docile as a lamb.  No horse had ever resisted the lad, from the time he was a little child, the smith said, though for what reason he did not know.  These words pleased the monk, for he was only too familiar with two fillies, that were perfect fiends for refractoriness, and the fair-haired boy could show his gratitude for the schooling he received, by making himself useful in the stable.

Ulrich must go to the monastery, so Benedictus curtly declared with the utmost positiveness, after the smith had finished his work.  At midsummer a place would be vacant in the school, and this should be reserved for the boy.  A great favor!  What a prospect—­to be reared there with aristocratic companions, and instructed in the art of painting.  Whether he should become a priest, or follow some worldly pursuit, could be determined later.  In a few years the boy could choose without restraint.

This plan would settle everything in the best possible way.  The Jew need not be injured, and the smith’s imperiled son would be saved.  The monk would hear no objections.  Either the accusation against the doctor should be laid before the chapter, or Ulrich must go to the school.

In four weeks, on St. John’s Day, so Benedictus declared, the smith and his son might announce their names to the porter.  Adam must have saved many florins, and there would be time enough to get the lad shoes and clothes, that he might hold his own in dress with the other scholars.

During this whole transaction the smith felt like a wild animal in the hunter’s toils, and could say neither “yes” nor “no.”  The monk did not insist upon a promise, but, as he rode away, flattered himself that he had snatched a soul from the claws of Satan, and gained a prize for the monastery-school and his stable—­a reflection that made him very cheerful.