Karl used to feed his goats in the ruins of an old castle, high up
above the stream. Day after day one of his herd used to disappear,
coming back in the evening to join the homeward procession, very
fat and well-liking. So Karl set himself to watch, and saw that the
goat slipped in at a hole in the masonry. He enlarged the hole, and
presently was able to creep into a dark passage. He made his way
along, and soon heard a sound like a falling hailstorm. He groped
his way thither, and found the goat, in the dim light, feeding on
grains of corn which came splashing down from above. He looked and
listened, and, from the sounds of stamping and neighing overhead,
he became aware that the grain was failing through the chinks of a
paved floor from a stable inside the hill. I forget at this moment
what happened next--the story is rich in inconsequent details--but
Karl shortly heard a sound like thunder, which he discerned at last
to be persons laughing and shouting and running in the vaulted
passages. He stole on, and found, in an open, grassy place, great
merry men playing at bowls. He was welcomed and set down in a
chair, though he could not even lift one of the bowls when invited
to join in the game. A dwarf brought him wine in a cup, which he
drank, and presently he fell asleep.

When he woke, all was silent and still; he made his way back; the
goats were gone, and it was the early morning, all misty and dewy
among the ruins, when he squeezed out of the hole.

He felt strangely haggard and tired, and reached the village only
to find that seventy years had elapsed, and that he was an old and
forgotten man, with no place for him. He had lost his home, and
though there were one or two old grandfathers, spent and dying, who
remembered the day when he was lost, and the search made for him,