CHAPTER II.
While the boy flung the damp bundles of brushwood on the floor beside the hearth in the doctor's kitchen, a servant from the monastery was leading three horses under the rude shed in front of the smith Adam's work-shop The stately grey-haired monk, who had ridden the strong cream-colored steed, was already standing beside the embers of the fire, pressing his hands upon the warm chimney.
The forge stood open, but spite of knocking and shouting, neither the master of the place, nor any other living soul appeared.

Adam had gone out, but could not be far away, for the door leading from the shop into the sitting-room, was also unlocked.
The time was growing long to Father Benedict, so for occupation he tried to lift the heavy hammer.

It was a difficult task, though he was no weakling, yet it was not hard for Adam's arm to swing and guide the burden.

If only the man had understood how to govern his life as well as he managed his ponderous tool! He did not belong to Richtberg.

What would his father have said, had he lived to see his son dwell here?
The monk had known the old smith well, and he also knew many things about the son and his destiny, yet no more than rumor entrusts to one person concerning another's life.