"The thoughts come to me, not I to them. I mean the first men--the very first. That tall Hermegisel over there in Teriolis, who ran away from the Arian church at Verona, and can read and write, says that the Christian God made a man in a garden out of clay, and, while he slept, took one of his ribs and made a woman. That is ridiculous; for out of the longest rib that ever was, one could not make ever so small a girl."
"Well, I don't believe it either," the old man thoughtfully confessed. "It is difficult to imagine. And I remember that my father once said, as he was sitting by the hearth, that the first men grew upon trees. But old Hildebrand, who was his friend, although he was much older--and who stopped here on his way back from an expedition against the savage Bajuvars, and who was sitting near father, for it was early in the year, and very rough and cold--he said that it was all right about the trees; only that men did not grow on them, but that two heathen gods--Hermegisel called them demons--once found an ash and an alder lying on the sea-shore, and from them they framed a man and a woman. They still sing an old song about it. Hildebrand knew a few words of it, but my father could not remember it."
"I would rather believe that. But, at all events, there were very few people at the beginning?"
"To be sure."
"And at first there was only one family?"
"Certainly."
"And the old ones generally died before the young ones?"
"Of course."
"Then I tell thee what, grandfather. Either the race of men must have died out, or, as it still exists--and thou seest that is what I am coming to--brothers and sisters must often have married each other, until more families were formed."
"Adalgoth, the fairies are riding thee! Thou speakest nonsense!"