'King Log, King Stork.

But you'll live longer than I, and you will see the fruits of it.' 'Father,' whispered Ottilia, pulling at the speaker's coat, 'surely the gentleman is ill.' 'I beg your pardon,' cried the farmer, rewaking to hospitable thoughts; 'can I offer you anything ?' 'I thank you.

I am very weary,' answered Otto.

'I have presumed upon my strength.

If you would show me to a bed, I should be grateful.' 'Ottilia, a candle!' said the old man.