THE BASKET OF FLOWERS

[Illustration: "An officer came to Mary's cell. "_See page 36. _]

THE BASKET OF FLOWERS

By

CHRISTOPH VON SCHMID

With Illustrations By

WATSON CHARLTON and W. E. EVANS. 

Published byJOHN F. SHAW & CO. , LTD. , 3, Pilgrim Street, London. 

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

In putting forward a new edition of _The Basket of Flowers_ no apologyis needed. This charming story is now something of a children'sclassic, and the only merits that the publisher can claim for thepresent edition are variety in the manner of the illustration and theoutward design of the book. To these may be added, perhaps, the furtherclaim that in the present English version, which is copyright, some ofthe more glaring faults that mar the original translation are avoided. For the rest, it is hoped that the charm of the original has beenmaintained. 

CONTENTS

CHAP. Page

 I. THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER 1 II. THE BASKET OF FLOWERS 12 III. THE MISSING RING 21 IV. MARY IN PRISON 30 V. THE TRIAL 36 VI. A PAINFUL MEETING 42 VII. SENTENCED 49 VIII. FINDING NEW FRIENDS 58 IX. A NEW HOME 65 X. A FATHER'S LAST WORDS 72 XI. MARY'S GREAT LOSS 82 XII. CHANGES AT PINE FARM 90 XIII. AGAIN A WANDERER 97 XIV. A STRANGE MEETING 104 XV. THE YOUNG COUNTESS'S STORY 108 XVI. HOW THE RING WAS FOUND 115 XVII. REPARATION 123XVIII. PINE FARM REVISITED 127 XIX. RETRIBUTION 134 XX. FORGIVING AN ENEMY 140 XXI. CONCLUSION 145

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

AN OFFICER CAME TO MARY'S CELL _Frontispiece_

 _Facing p. _

MARY SHYLY OFFERED HER PRESENT 16

"OH, MY FATHER, BE SURE THAT I HAVE NOT THE RING" 32

SHE RAISED HERSELF HASTILY, FORGETTING HER CHAINS 48

SHE THREW THE BASKET AT MARY'S FEET 64

LOOKING UP SHE SAW THE BEAUTIFUL FACE ANDFIGURE OF A WOMAN 96

MARY WAS AFFECTED TO THE HEART WHEN SHEHEARD JULIETTE'S STORY 144

THE BASKET OF FLOWERS

CHAPTER I. 

THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER. 

The simple story which is told in this little book treats of thingswhich happened a long time ago in a foreign country, where the mannersand customs are widely different from our own. It is necessary toexplain this at the beginning, because the reader will meet withincidents in the narrative which would otherwise seem strange andinconsistent. Two lessons which the story teaches, however, may belearned in all countries. The first is that the human heart has fromthe beginning been full of sin, producing, for the most part, evilfruit, which results in misery; and in the second place, that there isonly one remedy for this state of the soul, the remedy of God's HolySpirit, which, wherever it enters, produces the fruits of righteousnessand perfect peace. It is because we believe that the study of theseopposing principles as exhibited in the experience of others may beprofitable to young readers, that the story of the Basket of Flowers isnow presented. 

James Rode, who, with his daughter Mary, forms the subject of our tale, lived over one hundred years ago in the village of Eichbourg, inGermany. When he was very young his parents sent him to be trained as agardener in the beautiful grounds of the Count of Eichbourg. James wasa bright, intelligent lad, fond of work, and of an amiable disposition, and he soon made himself a favourite with the people among whom heassociated. His happy genial disposition and his readiness to obligeendeared him to all with whom he came in contact. The secret of James'character lay deeper than mere disposition. He had early given hisheart to the Lord Jesus Christ, and the amiable qualities which he nowdisplayed were the fruits of the Holy Spirit which had been implantedin him. But it was not only among his companions that James was wellliked. He was a favourite with the Count's children, and so modest andunassuming was his behaviour that he was sometimes allowed to be in theCastle with them, and to share in the lessons which they got. 

Being of an intelligent turn of mind, James profited by all theadvantages which his position gave him, and, after his engagement wascompleted, the Count offered him a well-paid position in his largehousehold at Vienna. It was a temptation for James, who had theambition common to young men, and, but for one thing, he would havegladly accepted his master's offer. The Count was a kind man, but hewas not a Christian, and God was not honoured in his household. Jamesknew that if he took the place in his house, he might be asked to dothings which as a Christian he believed to be wrong; and so he decidedto refuse the offer, tempting as it was, and to remain in the humbleposition in which he had been born. The Count was not offended withJames for his decision; and to show his respect for him he gave him aneasy lease of a little property, consisting of a cottage, awell-stocked orchard, and a kitchen garden. 

By and by James married a young woman, whose principles, like his own, were deeply religious, and together they lived in comfort and harmonymany years. Then children came to brighten their life, but one afteranother was taken away, and at last only Mary remained, whose historythis story is mainly occupied in telling. 

When James Rode was a little over sixty years of age his wife died. Mary was now five years old, and a fine, beautiful girl. The neighbourswere foolish enough sometimes to call her pretty to her face, and, although this was a dangerous thing to do, it had not the effect ofspoiling her. Besides being beautiful in face, Mary had a beautifulcharacter, and was modest and obedient, and possessed unbounded lovefor her father. When she came to be fifteen years of age, she becameher father's housekeeper, and so thorough and constant were her habitsof cleanliness that the kitchen utensils shone brightly enough to beeasily mistaken for new. 

We have already informed our readers that her father, James Rode, earned his living as a gardener. Twice a week he carried the vegetablesand fruit which he cultivated to the nearest market-town. But, whilethe growing of fruits and vegetables had to be looked after in order tosecure his subsistence, his greatest delight was in the cultivation offlowers; and in this pleasant task Mary assisted him every hour whichshe could spare from the work of the house. She counted the hoursdevoted to this task among the happiest of her life, for her father hadthe art of turning labour into pleasure by his interesting andentertaining conversation. To Mary, who had grown up, as it were, inthe midst of plants, there had come a natural taste for flowers, andthe garden was to her a little world. She was never at a loss for adelightful occupation, for every hour which she had at her disposal wasspent in cultivating the young plants with the utmost care. 

Specially did she find pleasure in studying the buds of every strangespecies. Her young imagination delighted in picturing what kind offlowers they would become; and so impatient was she to see herexpectations fulfilled, that she was hardly able to wait until theflowers had unfolded. When the flower for which she had waited longappeared in all its beauty, the sight filled her with a strange joy. Intruth, there was not a day which did not bring some new pleasure toMary's heart. Sometimes it was by a stranger passing the garden andstopping to admire the beauty of the flowers. The children of theneighbourhood, as they passed on their way to school, never failed topeep through the hedge, and were generally rewarded by Mary with somelittle present of flowers as a token of her goodwill. 

James, as a wise father, knew how to direct the taste of his daughtertowards the most noble ends. Often he used to say, "Let others spendtheir money for jewels and silks and other adornments; I will spendmine for flower-seeds. Silks and satins and jewels cannot procure forour children so pure a pleasure as these beautiful exhibitions of thewisdom and benevolence of God. "

In the beauty of the various flowers which adorned their garden, in thecharming variety of their shapes, in the perfection of theirproportions, in the glory of their colours, and in the sweetness oftheir perfumes, he taught Mary to see and admire the power and wisdomand goodness of God. It was his custom to begin each day with God byspending the first hours of the morning in prayer; and, in order toaccomplish this without neglecting his work, it was his habit to riseearly. In the beautiful days of spring and summer, James would leadMary to an arbour in the garden, and, while the birds sang their joyoussongs, and the dew sparkled on the grass and flowers, he delighted totalk with his daughter of God, whose bounty sent the sun and the dew, and brought forth the beauty and life of the world. It was here that hefirst instilled into Mary's mind the idea of God as the tender Fatherof mankind, whose love was manifested not only in all the beautifulworks of nature, which were round them, but above all in the gift ofJesus Christ. It was in this arbour that James had the happiness ofseeing Mary's heart gradually unfold to the reception of the truth. 

Once in the early part of March, when with shining eyes and boundingfeet she brought him the first violet, he said, "Let this beautifulflower serve to you as an emblem of humility and sweetness, by itsmodest colour, its disposition to flourish in hidden places, and thedelicate perfume which it sends forth. May you, my dear child, be likethe violet, modest in your demeanour, careless of gaudy clothing, andseeking to do good without making any fuss about it. "

At the time when the lilies and roses were in full bloom and when thegarden was resplendent with beautiful flowers, the old man, seeing hisdaughter filled with joy, pointed to a lily unfolding in the rays ofthe morning sun. "See, in this lily, my daughter, the symbol ofinnocence. Its leaves are finer than richest satin, and its whitenessequals that of the driven snow. Happy is the daughter whose heart alsois pure, for remember the words, 'The pure in heart shall see God. ' Themore pure the colour, the more difficult to preserve its purity. Theslightest spot can spoil the flower of the lily, and so one word canrob the mind of its purity. Let the rose, " said he, pointing to thatflower, "be the image of modesty. The blush of a modest girl is morebeautiful than that of the rose. "

Mary's father then made a bouquet of lilies and roses, and, giving itto Mary, he said, "These are brothers and sisters, whose beauty noother flowers can equal. Innocence and modesty are twin sisters, whichcannot be separated. Yes, my dear child, God in His goodness has givento modesty, innocence for a sister and companion, in order that shemight be warned of the approach of danger. Be always modest, and youwill be always virtuous. Oh, if the will of God be so, I pray that youmay be enabled to preserve in your heart the purity of the lily!"

One ornament of their garden, which James and his daughter most dearlyprized, was a dwarf apple-tree little higher than a rose-bush, whichgrew in a small round bed in the middle of the garden. The old man hadplanted it on his daughter's birthday, and every year it gave them aharvest of beautiful golden yellow apples spotted with red. One seasonit seemed specially promising, and its blossom was more luxurious thanever. Every morning Mary examined it with new delight. One morning shecame as usual, but what a change had taken place! The frost hadwithered all the flowers, which were now brown and yellow and fastbeing shrivelled up by the sun. Poor Mary's sensitive feelings were soaffected that she burst into tears, but her father turned the incidentto good account. 

"Look, my child, " said he, "as the frost spoils the apple-blossoms, sowicked pleasures spoil the beauty of youth. Oh, my dear Mary, trembleat the thought of going aside from the path of right. If the timeshould ever come when the delightful hopes which I have had for yourfuture should vanish, I should shed tears more bitter than you do now. I should not enjoy another hour of pleasure, and my grey hairs would bebrought with sorrow to the grave. " At the mere thought of such acalamity the old man could not keep back his tears, and his words oftender solicitude made a deep impression on Mary's heart. 

Brought up under the care of a father so wise and loving, Mary grew uplike the flowers of her garden, fresh as the rose, pure like the lily, modest as the violet, and full of promise for the future, as abeautiful shrub in the time of flourishing. 

When James viewed his beautiful garden, with its luxuriant flowers andits prolific fruits, which so well repaid his constant care, it waswith a feeling of satisfaction and gratitude. But this feeling wasnothing compared with the joy he felt when he saw his daughter, as thereward of his pious efforts to train her in the love of God, bringingforth the most precious fruits of the Holy Spirit. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE BASKET OF FLOWERS. 

One day, early in the charming month of May, Mary went into a wood nearher home to get some branches and twigs of the willow and hazel. Whenher father was not busily engaged in the garden, he occupied his timein making baskets of all sorts, and particularly lady's work-baskets. While he busied himself in this way, Mary read to him from the Bible orsome good book, or, as her father worked, he talked to her about thehighest matters. 

While Mary was gathering the materials for her father's basket-work, she found some beautiful specimens of lily-of-the-valley; and, gathering sufficient of the flowers, she made two bunches, one for herfather and the other for herself. After she had finished her work, andwhen she was returning home through a meadow, she met the Countess ofEichbourg and her daughter Amelia who were taking an afternoon walk. The ladies spent the greater part of their time in the city, butoccasionally they lived for a few days at the Castle. 

Some of the most important circumstances of life spring from apparentlytrifling events. In the case of Mary, this accidental meeting with theCountess and her daughter proved the beginning of the painfulcircumstances of this story. But God overrules all events, and thistale gives abundant proof that all things work together for good tothem that love God. 

As the ladies came near Mary, she stood a little on one side to letthem pass; but when they saw the beautiful bunches of lilies in herhand they stopped to admire them, and wanted to buy one. Maryrespectfully declined to sell her flowers, but she begged that theladies would each accept a bunch. They were so struck with the girl'sunaffected grace and modesty, that they gladly took her littleoffering, and Amelia requested her to gather more and bring them to theCastle every day for the rest of the season. 

Mary faithfully performed this duty, and every morning while theflowers were in bloom she carried a bunch of lilies to the young lady. By and by an intimacy, which was something more than ordinary betweentwo girls of such widely different positions, sprang up between Maryand Amelia. They were nearly of the same age, their tastes weresimilar, and it is not surprising that the acquaintance begun in achance manner developed into a sincere friendship. 

The anniversary of Amelia's birthday drew near, and Mary determined tomake her some little present. She had given her so many bunches offlowers, that she puzzled her brain to think of some new gift. Duringthe winter her father had been making a beautiful basket, which heintended to give to Mary herself. It was the most finished piece ofwork he had ever done, and he had worked on it a design of the villagein which they lived. Mary's idea now was to fill this basket withflowers, and to offer it to the young Countess as her birthday present. Her father readily fell in with the plan, and added a finishing touchto it by weaving Amelia's name in on one side of the basket and theCount's coat-of-arms on the other. 

The long-expected day arrived, and early in the morning Mary gatheredthe freshest and most beautiful roses, the richest pinks, and otherflowers of beautiful colours. She picked out some green branches fullof leaves, and arranged them in the basket, so that all the colours, though perfectly distinct, were sweetly and delicately blended. A lightgarland composed of rosebuds and moss was passed around the basket, andAmelia's name could be distinctly read enclosed in a coronet offorget-me-nots. The basket when completed was a thing of uncommonbeauty. 

When Mary went to the Castle with her basket-present, the youngCountess Amelia was sitting at her toilet. Her maid was with her busilyengaged on making her young mistress's head-dress for the birthdayfeast. Mary shyly offered her present, adding the best wishes of herheart for the young Countess's happiness. Amelia received the presentwith unaffected pleasure, and in an impulsive manner she warmlyexpressed her delight, as she viewed first of all the charming flowerswith which the basket was filled, and examined more carefully thebeautiful design of the basket itself. 

[Illustration: "Mary shyly offered her present. "_See page 15. _]

"Dear Mary, " she said, "why, you have robbed your garden to make methis present. As for the basket, I have never seen anything sobeautiful in all my life. Come, we will go and show it to my mother. "Taking Mary affectionately by the hand, the girls went together to theapartments of the Countess. "See, mother, " cried Amelia, "of all mybirthday presents, surely nothing can equal the one I have receivedfrom Mary. Never have I seen so beautiful a basket, and nowhere can youfind such beautiful flowers. " The Countess was equally pleased withMary's present, although she expressed herself more moderately. "What acharming basket!" she said, "and its flowers, how beautiful! They areyet wet with dew. The basket of flowers does credit to the taste ofMary but more to the kindness of her heart. " Asking Mary to remain inthe room, she made a sign to Amelia to follow her into anotherapartment. 

"Amelia, " said the Countess, "Mary must not be permitted to go awaywithout some suitable return. What have you to give her?"

Amelia paused for a moment's reflection. "I think, " she replied, "oneof my dresses would be a most acceptable gift. For instance, if youwill permit me, my dear mother, that one with the red and white flowerson the deep green ground. It is almost new; I have worn it but once. Itis a little too short for me, but it will almost fit Mary, and she canarrange it herself. She is so handy with her needle. If, therefore, youdo not think the present too valuable----"

The Countess interrupted her. "Too valuable! certainly not. When youwish to give anything it ought to be something good and serviceable. The green robe with the flowers will be very appropriate for Mary. "

"Go now, my dear children, " said the Countess, when they returned tothe room where Mary was, "take good care of the flowers, that they maynot fade before dinner. I want the guests to admire the basket also, which will be the most beautiful ornament on our table. "

Amelia ran to her room with Mary, and told Juliette, her maid, to bringthe dress with the white and red flowers. 

"Do you wish to wear that dress to-day, miss?" said her maid. 

"No, " said Amelia, "I intend to make a present of it to Mary. "

"Give that dress away!" replied Juliette hastily. "Does the Countessknow?"

"You forget yourself, I think, Juliette, " said Amelia with dignity. "Bring me the dress, and give yourself no trouble about the rest. "

Juliette turned away hastily, her face burning with anger, and herheart full of spite. Pulling the door of the wardrobe open, she tookfrom it the young Countess's dress. "Oh, I could tear it to pieces, "she said passionately. "This sly Mary has already wormed her way intothe affections of my young mistress, and now she steals from me thisdress which ought to have been mine when the Countess had done with it. I could tear the eyes out of this little flower-girl; but some day Iwill be revenged. " For the time being, however, she had to suppress heranger, and, taking the dress on her arm, she returned to her mistressand gave her the dress with a pleasant air. 

"Dear Mary, " said Amelia, "many of the presents which I have had to-dayhave cost more money than your basket, but none of them have given meso much pleasure. Will you take this dress from me as a token of myaffection, and carry my best wishes to your good old father?"

Mary was not a vain girl, but her eyes sparkled at the sight of thebeautiful dress, which surpassed anything she had ever dreamed ofpossessing. After warm thanks, she kissed the hand of the youngCountess and left the Castle. 

Amelia's maid continued her work in silence, but with jealous furyburning at her heart. The many tugs which she gave to the head-dressshe was preparing made Amelia at length inquire--

"Are you angry, Juliette?"

"I should be silly indeed, miss, " answered Juliette; "to be angrybecause you choose to be generous. "

"That is a very sensible answer, Juliette, " replied Amelia, "I hope youmay feel just as sensible. "

Meantime Mary ran home to her father to show her new dress. The goodold man, while pleased at his daughter's pleasure, could not helpfeeling a little anxiety when he saw the present. "I would much rather, my child, " he said, "that you had not taken the basket to the youngCountess, but it cannot be helped now. I fear that this valuablepresent will but rouse the jealousy of some of our neighbours, and, what would be still worse, that it may make you vain. Take care, mydear Mary, that you fall not into this great evil. No costly andbeautiful garments so much adorn a young girl as modesty and goodmanners. It is the Bible that says the ornament of a meek and quietspirit is in the sight of God of great price. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE MISSING RING. 

Shortly after Mary had left the Castle the Countess missed a valuablediamond ring. No one had been in the room where she had left it butMary, and it is not surprising that suspicion fell upon the humbleflower-girl. Calling Amelia to her, the Countess told her of her lossand of her suspicions, and bade her go to the cottage in order that shemight induce Mary to restore the ring before the theft became known. 

When Amelia arrived at Mary's home, the young girl was busily engagedtrying on her beautiful dress. She was frightened to see the youngCountess enter her little room, pale and trembling, and out of breathwith her haste. 

"Dear Mary, " said Amelia, "what have you been doing? My mother'sdiamond ring, which she left lying in the room where you were, is lost. No one has been in the chamber but you. Do give it up at once, and noharm will be done. "

The unexpected charge of theft stunned and frightened Mary. Earnestlyshe declared her innocence. She had never seen the ring, nor had shemoved from the place where she stood when she entered the room. ButAmelia found it impossible to believe her, and continued to urge her togive up the ring, which she said was worth a large sum of money. To besuspected of theft was bad enough, but to have her friend Ameliaunwilling to believe her, made Mary burst into tears. 

"Truly, " she cried, "I have no ring. Never in all my life have Iventured to touch anything which did not belong to me, much less tosteal. My dear father has always taught me better. "

Her father, who had been at work in his garden, now came in to learnthe young Countess's errand, and to him Amelia told the story. Shockedbeyond measure at the charge, the old man was so overcome that he wasobliged to sink into a chair. 

"My dear child, " he said to Mary solemnly, "to steal a ring of thisprice is a crime which in this country is punished with death. Butthis is not all. Your action is not only one for which you mustaccount to men, but to that God who reads the heart and with whom allfalse denials amount to nothing. Have you forgotten His holycommandment, 'Thou shalt not steal?' Have you forgotten all the advicethat I have given you? Were you tempted with the gold and the preciousstones? Alas, do not deny the fact, but give back the ring to theCountess. It is the only return you can make for your crime. "

"My father, oh, my father, " cried Mary, weeping bitterly, "be sure, bevery sure that I have not the ring. If I had even found such a ring onthe road I could not have rested till I had restored it to its owner. Indeed, believe me, I have it not. "

"Look at this dear young lady, " said the old man, without replying toMary's protestations, "her affection for you is so great that shewishes to save you from the hands of justice. Mary, be frank, and donot add falsehood to the crime of theft. "

"My father, " cried Mary, "well do you know that never in my life have Istolen even the smallest coin, and how should I take anything sovaluable as the Countess's ring? I pray you, believe me; I have neverin my life told you a lie. "

"Mary, " again said her father, "see my grey hairs. Do not bring themdown with sorrow to the grave. Spare me so great an affliction. Beforethat God who made you, into whose presence there can come no thief, tell me if you have the ring?"

Thus adjured, Mary raised her eyes, and once more assured her father inthe most solemn manner that she was innocent of the charge. The old manhad put his daughter to a severe test, and now he was satisfied of herinnocence. 

"My child, " he cried, "I do believe you. You would not dare to tell alie in the presence of God and before this young Countess and yourfather. You are innocent, and therefore you may take comfort and fearnothing. There is nothing to fear on earth but sin. Prison and deathare not to be compared to it. Whatever happens, we will put our trustin God. All will yet come right, for He says, 'I will make thyrighteousness as the light and thy just dealings as the noonday. '"

Touched to the heart by the old man's faith, Amelia's suspicions alsovanished. "Truly, " she said, "when I hear you speak in this way, Ibelieve that you have not the ring; but when I examine all thecircumstances how can I help believing? My mother says she knowsexactly the place where she laid it down. Not a living soul has been inthe room but Mary, and as soon as she left the Castle my mother missedthe ring. Who else, then, can have taken it?"

"It is impossible for me to say, " replied Mary's father. "May Godprepare us for a severe trial, but whatever happens, " said he, turninghis eyes to heaven, "I am ready. Give me but Thy grace, O Lord; it isall I ask. "

"Truly, " said Amelia, "I came here with a heavy heart. It will be forme the saddest birthday I have ever had. My mother has not yet spokento any one of her loss but myself, but it will not be possible to keepthe secret much longer. My father returns to the Castle at noon, and hewill certainly ask her where the ring is. It was a gift to her on theday when I was born, and on every succeeding birthday she has worn it. Farewell, " said Amelia, turning to Mary, "I will tell my mother that Iconsider you are innocent, but who will believe me?" Her eyes filledwith tears, and she left the cottage with a sad heart. 

After the young Countess had gone, Mary's father sat for a long timeresting his head on his hand and with his eyes fixed on the ground. Thetears fell down his wrinkled cheeks, and Mary, touched by his grief, threw herself at his knees and besought him to believe in herinnocence. 

The old man raised himself and looked for a long time in her eyes, andthen said--

"Yes, Mary, you are innocent. That look, where integrity and truth arepainted, cannot be the look of guilt. "

"But, my father, " asked Mary, "what will be the end of it? What willthey do to us? I do not fear what they may do to me, but the idea thatyou may have to suffer on my account is intolerable. "

"Have faith in God, " answered her father. "Take courage. Not one hairof our heads can fall to the ground without His permission. All thathappens to us is the will of God, and what more can we wish? Do not befrightened into saying anything but what is strictly true. If theythreaten you, or if they hold out promises, do not depart ahair's-breadth from the truth. Keep your conscience free from offence, for a clear conscience is a soft pillow. Perhaps they will separate us, and I shall no longer be with you to console; but if this should happencling more closely to your heavenly Father. He is a powerful protectorto innocence, and no earthly power can deprive you of His strength. "

Suddenly the door opened with a noise, and an officer entered, followedby two constables. Mary uttered a piercing shriek, and fell into herfather's arms. 

"Separate them, " cried the officer angrily; "let her father also be putin custody. Set a watch on the house and garden. Make a strict searcheverywhere, and allow no one to enter until the sheriff has made aninventory. "

Mary clung to her father with all her force, but the officers tore herfrom the old man's arms. In a fainting state she was carried off toprison. 

The story of the lost ring had spread through the whole village ofEichbourg, and when Mary and her father were taken through the streets, the crowd pressed round them filled with curiosity. It was curious tonotice how diverse were the opinions which were pronounced on the oldman and his daughter. They had been kind to all, but there were somewho repaid their kindness by rejoicing in their present affliction. Although they had accepted the old man's gifts, their jealousy and envyhad been excited by the thought of his superior position. 

"Now, " they exclaimed maliciously, "we know how it is that James hadalways so many good things to give away. If this is what the old manand his daughter have been doing, it was easy to live in abundance andbe better clothed than their honest neighbours. "

It is true that most of the inhabitants of Eichbourg were sincerelysorry for James and his daughter, although many of them felt compelledto believe in Mary's guilt. Fathers and mothers were heard to say, "Whowould have believed this thing of these good people? Truly it provesthat the best of us are liable to fall. " But there were others who werepersuaded of Mary's innocence, and said, "Perhaps it is not so bad asit appears. May their innocence be brought out when the trial comes, and may God help them to escape the terrible fate which now hangs overthem. "

Groups of children, to whom Mary had given fruit and flowers, stoodweeping as they saw their kind friend being carried off to prison. 

CHAPTER IV. 

MARY IN PRISON. 

We have already said that Mary was in a faint when she was carried offto prison. When she recovered to realise her condition, she burst intopassionate sobbing, but at length, clasping her hands together, shefell down on her knees in prayer. Overcome with terror at hersurroundings, filled with sadness at the thought of being separatedfrom her old father, and wearied with the excitement of the day, shethrew herself upon her hard straw couch and fell into a heavy sleep. 

When she awoke it was so dark that she could hardly distinguish asingle object. At first she could not remember where she was. The storyof the lost ring came back to her as a dream, and her first idea wasthat she was sleeping in her own little bed. Suddenly she felt that herhands were chained. Instantly all the sad reality of the past dayflashed upon her mind, and, jumping from her bed, she cried out, "Whatcan I do but raise my heart to God?"

Falling upon her knees, Mary then engaged in prayer. She prayed forherself, that she might be delivered, but especially she prayed for herdear father, that in the trouble which had now come upon him the Lordmight support him. The thought of her father brought a torrent of tearsfrom her eyes and stopped her prayer. 

Suddenly the moon, which had been covered with thick clouds, now shonein a clear sky, and, its rays coming through the iron grating in theprison wall, threw a silvery light on the floor of Mary's cell. By thelight thus afforded, Mary could make out the large bricks of which thewalls of her prison were built, the white mortar which united them, theplace in the wall serving as a table on which her meals were placed. Although her surroundings were so miserable, Mary felt that themoonlight had soothed her heart. 

To her astonishment, she became conscious of a sweet perfume fillingher cell. Suddenly she remembered that in the morning she had placed inher bosom a bouquet of roses and other sweet flowers which remainedfrom the basket. Taking it in her hand she untied it, and looked at theflowers in the moonlight. "Alas, " said she mournfully, "when I gatheredthese rosebuds and forget-me-nots from my garden this morning, whowould have thought that I should be confined in this gloomy prison inthe evening? When I wore garlands of flowers, who would have imaginedthat on the same day I should be doomed to wear iron chains?" Then shethought of her father, and tears fell from her eyes and moistened theflowers which she held in her hand. 

[Illustration: "Oh, my father, be sure that I have not the ring. "_See page 23. _]

"Oh, my dear father, " she said, "how this bouquet reminds me of theadvice which you have given me. From the midst of thorns, I pluckedthese rosebuds; and thus I know that joy will come to me from the verytroubles which now cause me pain. If I had attempted with my own handsto unfold the leaves of these rosebuds, they would have perished; butGod with a delicate finger had gradually unfolded their purple cups andshed over them the sweet perfume of His breath. He can disperse theevils which surround me, and make them turn to my good which seemed allevil. Let me then patiently wait His time. These flowers remind me ofHim who created them. I will remember Him as He remembers me. 

"These tender forget-me-nots, as blue as the heavens, may even be mysilent consolation in all the sufferings of earth. Here are somesweet-peas with small delicate leaves, half white, half red. The plantgrows and winds itself around a support, that it may not grope in thedust. And while it balances itself above the earth it displays itsflowers, which might be taken for butterflies' wings. In this way Iwill cling to God and by His help raise myself above the miseries ofthis earth. This mignonette is the chief source of the perfume whichfills my cell. Sweet plant, you cheer by your perfume the one whoplucked you from your home in the earth. I will try to imitate you andto do good even to those who without cause have torn me from my gardenand thrown me into this prison. Here is a little sprig of peppermint, the emblem of hope. I also will preserve hope now that the time ofsuffering is come. Here again are two leaves of laurel. They remind meof that crown incorruptible, which is reserved in heaven for all wholove the Lord and have submitted to His will upon the earth. Already Ithink I see it, surrounded with golden rays. Flowers of the earth, youare shortlived, as are its joys. You fade and wither in an instant, butin heaven, after our short suffering on the earth, an unchangeable joyawaits us and an eternal glory in Christ Jesus. "

Talking thus to herself, Mary found her heart gradually grow consoled. Suddenly a dark cloud covered the moon; darkness filled the prison. Herflowers were blotted out from her sight, and grief again tookpossession of her heart. But the cloud was merely temporary, and in alittle while the moon reappeared more beautiful than ever. "Thus, "reflected Mary, "clouds can be cast over us, but it is only for alittle, and at the end we shine clearly again. If a dark suspicionhangs over my character, God will make me triumphant over every falseaccusation. " The thought brought comfort to her; and Mary, stretchingherself upon her bed of straw, slept as tranquilly as a little child. 

In her sleep she dreamed a beautiful dream. It seemed to her that shewas walking by moonlight in a garden which was quite new to her, situated in a wilderness surrounded by a dark forest of oak trees. Bythe light of the moon, which had never appeared to her so brilliant orso beautiful before, she saw hundreds of flowers in this garden, displaying their charms and filling the air with sweet perfume. Best ofall, she dreamed that her father was with her in this beautiful place. The moon shining on his face showed his venerable countenance lightedby a gracious smile. Running to him, she fell on his bosom and shedtears of joy, with which her cheeks were wet when suddenly she awoke. It had only been a dream, but it comforted her heart, and she sleptagain. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE TRIAL. 

Early in the morning, and almost before she was awake, an officer cameto Mary's cell to bring her forth for trial. At the sight of the roomin which the court was held she trembled, and her fears returned. Sitting in a large scarlet chair was the judge. Before him a clerkstood at an enormous table covered with papers. 

A number of questions were put to Mary, to all of which she answeredtruthfully. She found it impossible to keep back her tears, butpersisted in declaring her innocence of the crime. 

"It is useless to try to make me believe this, " said the judge. "Youwere the only one to enter the room where the ring was. No one but youcould have taken it. You had better acknowledge the truth. "

"It is the truth I speak now, " replied Mary. "I cannot speak anythingelse. I have not seen the ring, indeed I have not. "

"The ring was seen in your hands, " continued the judge; "have youanything to say now?"

Mary declared that this was impossible. Turning to his side, the judgerang a little bell, and Amelia's maid, Juliette, was brought in. In thefit of jealousy which she had felt because of the dress given to Mary, and in her anxiety to deprive Mary of her mistress's favour, Juliettehad said to one or two people that she had seen Mary take the ring. Inconsequence of this statement Juliette was now summoned as a witness, and, fearful to be caught in a lie, she determined to maintain it evenin a court of justice. When the judge warned her to declare the truthbefore God, she felt her heart beat quickly and her knees tremble; butthis wicked girl obeyed neither the voice of the judge nor the voice ofher own conscience. "If, " said she to herself, "I acknowledge now thatI told a lie, then I shall be driven away. Perhaps I may even beimprisoned. " Determined to carry out her part, she turned to Mary andsaid insultingly--

"You have the ring; I saw you with it. "

Mary heard this false charge with horror, but she did not allow passionto get the upper hand. Her only reply was, and her tears almost chokedher while she said it--

"It is not true. You did not see me with the ring. How can you tell soterrible a falsehood for the sake of ruining me, when I never haveinjured you?"

At the sight of Mary, Juliette's feelings of hatred and jealousyrevived. She repeated the falsehood, with new circumstances anddetails, after which she was dismissed by the judge. 

"Mary, you are convicted, " said he. "All the circumstances are againstyou. The chamber-maid of the young Countess saw the ring in your hand. Tell me now, what you have done with it?"

In vain Mary protested her innocence. According to the cruel custom ofthose days, the judge now sent her to be whipped until the blood came, in the effort to make her confess her guilt. The punishment made poorMary scream with pain, but she continued to declare her innocence. Suffering great agony, she was finally thrown into her prison again. Her bed of straw was hard, her wounds gave her great pain, and half thenight she spent without sleeping, groaning and praying to God. 

The next day she was brought again before the court. The severity ofthe law had failed to wring any confession from her. The judge nowtried to make her confess by adopting a mild tone, and by holding outpromises. 

"You have incurred the penalty of death, " said he, "but if you confesswhere the ring is, nothing will be done to you. Think well before youanswer, for your choice is between life and death. "

Still Mary protested that she had nothing more to confess. The judgenow tried to move her by her love for her father. 

"If you persist in concealing the truth, " he said, "if you are carelessof your own life, you will at least spare that of your old father. Would you see his head, whitened by age, cut off by the sword ofjustice? Who but he could have induced you to tell a falsehood soobstinately? Are you ignorant that his life as well as yours is atstake?"

This was a new thought to Mary, and, terrified at the threat, shenearly fainted. 

"Confess, " said the judge, "that you have taken the ring. A singleword--say yes, and your life and that of your father are saved. "

It was a great temptation and a terrible trial to Mary. Satan suggestedthat she should say, "I took the ring, but I lost it on the road. ""No, " she thought again, "no, I must stick to the truth. Let it costwhat it will, not even to save my own or my father's life will I departfrom the truth. I will obey God rather than man, and trust Him for therest. "

In a clear but tremulous voice she then answered--

"If I say I had the ring, it would be a lie; and, though this falsehoodwould save my life, I cannot utter it. But, " she entreated, "if life isdemanded, spare at least the white hairs of my loved father. I shouldbe glad to shed my blood for him. "

Her words touched the hearts of all the people in the court. Even thejudge, for all his severity, was deeply moved; but he remained silent, and, giving the signal, Mary was taken back to prison. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A PAINFUL MEETING. 

Not for a long time had the judge been so perplexed as he was overMary's case. 

"For three days, " he said, "it has been before us, and we have not madethe least advance towards the solution of the mystery. If I could seeany possibility of the ring having been taken by any one else, I shouldcertainly believe this girl innocent, but the evidence is so clearagainst her, that it is impossible to believe anything else. "

The Countess was again examined and questioned thoroughly; the minutestcircumstances being inquired into. Juliette was also examined again. 

A whole day was spent by the judge in going over their testimony, andweighing against it the words that Mary had uttered in her examination. It was late at night when the judge sent to the prison for Mary'sfather to be brought to his house. 

"James, " said he kindly, "I am known perhaps as a strict man, but I donot think that you can reproach me with ever having intentionallyinjured any one. I do not need to tell you that I do not desire thedeath of your daughter. All the details of the case, however, provethat she must have committed the theft, and, under these circumstances, you are aware that the penalty which the law requires is death. Butyour daughter is young, and, notwithstanding the serious nature of thecrime, if she were to return the ring even now, a pardon might begranted to her. To persist so obstinately in denying her guilt willmost certainly end in her death. Go to her, James; insist upon herreturning the ring, and I give you my word that the penalty of deathwill not be visited upon her, but a mere trifling punishmentsubstituted. As her father you have great power over her. If you cannotobtain a confession, most people will think that you have been anaccomplice with your daughter in the crime. Once more, I repeat, if thering is not found, I pity your case. "

"My daughter has not stolen the ring, " replied James sadly; "of that Iam sure. That she will not therefore acknowledge her guilt, I knowbeforehand. But I will speak to her as you desire. I will employ everymeans to find it out, and if it be that she is to perish, notwithstanding her innocence, it is a comfort to know that I can seeher once again before the terrible event. "

Accompanied by an officer, the old man went to the prison where Marywas confined. The officer set a lamp upon a projection of the wall in acorner of the cell, on which also stood an earthen pitcher of water. Mary was lying on her straw bed, with her face turned towards the wall, partially asleep. The light of the lamp woke her from her troubledslumber, and, turning over and seeing her father, she uttered a cry ofjoy and raised herself hastily, forgetting her chains. Almost fainting, she threw herself upon her father's neck, and the old man sat down withher upon her bed and pressed her in his arms. For some time they bothremained silent and mingled their tears together. At length James brokethe silence and began to speak as the judge had instructed him. 

[Illustration: "She raised herself hastily, forgetting her chains. "_See page 44. _]

"Oh, my father, " said Mary, in a reproachful voice, interrupting him, "surely you at least do not doubt my innocence. Alas, " she continued, weeping bitterly, "is there no one who believes me innocent, no one, not even my father! Oh, my dear father, believe me that I am innocent. "

"Calm yourself, my dear child; I believe you entirely. I am only doingnow what I have been instructed to do by the judge. "

There was a silence for a little while in the cell. The old man lookedat his daughter and saw her cheeks pale and hollow with grief, her eyesred and swollen with weeping, and her hair hanging dishevelled abouther. 

"My dear child, " he said, "God has suffered you to be tried veryseverely; but I fear lest there should be a worse trial to come, morepainful sufferings than any you have yet undergone. Alas, perhaps evenmy dear child's head may fall by the hands of the executioner!"

"My father, " said Mary soothingly, "I care but little for myself. Butfor you----"

"Fear nothing for me, my dear Mary, " said her father, "I run norisk----"

"Oh, " cried Mary, "thank God! If that is the case, a great load istaken off my heart. For myself, all is well. Be sure, my dear father, Ifear not to die. I shall go to God; I shall find my Saviour. I shallalso see my mother in heaven. That will be a great happiness. "

Deeply moved at his daughter's words, the old man wept like a child. 

"Well, God be praised, " said he, clasping his aged hands together, "Godbe praised for your submissive spirit. It is very hard for a manstricken in years, for a tender father to lose his only child, thechild of his love, his only consolation, the joy of his old age, andhis last support, but, " he continued, "may the will of the Lord bedone. "

"One word, " said he, a moment afterwards; "Juliette has sworn falselyagainst you. On her oath she has declared that she saw the ring in yourhands. If you perish, you will perish by her testimony. But you willpardon her, my Mary--is it not so? You do not take with you any feelingof hatred towards her. Alas, even upon this bed of straw, and loadedwith chains, you are still more happy than she is, living in theCountess's palace and dressed in fine clothes, and with everything thather heart can desire. It is better to die innocent than to livedishonoured. Pardon her, my child, as thy Saviour pardoned His enemieson the cross. Do you pardon her?" the old man asked anxiously. 

Mary assured her father that she did. And now the officer was heardcoming to separate them. 

"Well, " said her father, "I commend you to God and His grace. If Ishould not see you again, if this is the last time that I am permittedto talk with you, my daughter, at least be sure that I will not be longin following you to heaven. You may depend upon it that I shall notlong survive this parting. "

The time was now up, and, warned by the officer, the old man preparedto take his departure. Mary clung to him with all her strength, but herfather was obliged to disengage himself as gently as he could, and Maryfell insensible upon her bed. 

As soon as James was brought before the judge, he raised his hands toheaven, and cried out, almost beside himself--

"My daughter is innocent!"

The judge was deeply moved. 

"I am disposed, " he said, "for my own part to believe it. Unfortunately, I must judge the case from the nature of the testimony, with impartiality and even to the utmost rigour of the law. "

CHAPTER VII. 

SENTENCED. 

In the village of Eichbourg the case of Mary and the missing ring werethe only subjects of conversation, and many were the speculations as towhat the result of the case would be. At the period when Mary lived, the crime of theft was always visited with severe punishment, and inmany cases the sentence of death was carried out when the theft was ofa much less valuable article than the Countess's ring. 

The Count himself wished for nothing so much as to find Mary innocent. In his anxiety to give her the advantage of any doubt there might be, he himself read all the testimony and conversed with the judge forhours at a time, but, after all had been done, he was unable topersuade himself of Mary's innocence. Amelia and her mother were, asmay be imagined, in deep distress, and begged with tears that Mary'slife might be spared. As for the old man, Mary's father, he spent hisdays and nights in unceasing prayer that God would be pleased to proveto the world the innocence of his daughter. 

All this time the preparations for the execution were being rapidlypushed forward, and whenever Mary heard an officer enter her cell, shethought it was to announce to her that her hour had come to die. 

But if Mary was thus distressed at the preparations for the execution, there was another person for whom the thought had infinite terror. Amelia's maid, Juliette, for the first time realised the crime of whichshe had been guilty, and when she saw the executioner at his work, horror seemed to deprive her of her reason. When she sat down to eatshe could not swallow a bite, and her spirits became so low that shewas an object of general remark. When she retired to rest, her sleepwas disturbed by ghastly dreams, in which she saw Mary's head severedfrom her body. But in spite of the remorse which gnawed her day andnight, the heart of the unhappy woman was hardened against the idea ofconfessing her falsehood, and so Mary remained guilty in the eyes ofthe law. 

After much anxious deliberation the judge pronounced sentence uponMary. In consideration of her extreme youth and the unblemishedcharacter which, up till now, she had enjoyed, the sentence of deathwas not to be carried out; but instead, Mary and her father were to bebanished from the country, and all their furniture and possessions wereto be sold to make up, as far as possible, for the value of the ring, and to pay the expenses of the trial. 

Next morning at break of day the sentence was carried into execution, and Mary and her father were conducted from the prison. Their road laypast the Castle gate, and just then Juliette came out. Since thepublication of the news that the sentence of death was not to becarried out, this wicked girl had recovered her spirits, and once moreallowed all her evil feelings against Mary to revive. So far from beingsorry for the banishment that was now inflicted upon Mary, she rejoicedin the thought that Mary could no longer be feared as a rival in hermistress's favour. After the trial was over, the Countess, seeingMary's basket of flowers on the sideboard, had said to Juliette, "Takeaway that basket, that I may never have it before my eyes. Therecollections which it arouses in me are so painful that I cannotendure the sight of it. "

Now, as Mary and her father were passing the Castle gate, Juliettecalled out to them, "Stop a minute. Here is your fine present; mymistress would keep nothing from such people as you. Your glory haspassed away with the flowers for which you were paid so well. " Sosaying, she threw the basket at Mary's feet, re-entered the Castle, andbanged the door with great violence after her. Mary took the basket insilence, and, with tears in her eyes, continued her way, while herfather dragged his aged limbs alongside of her. 

[Illustration: "She threw the basket at Mary's feet. "_See page 52. _]

Many a time on the journey Mary turned back to look, with tear-dimmedeyes, towards the cottage where they had spent so many happy years, until the roof of the Castle and even the church steeple disappearedfrom her sight. At last they came to the limits of the country beyondwhich their exile was to be; and, having conducted them thus far, theofficer left them. They were now in the heart of a forest, and the oldman, though overwhelmed with grief and anxiety for the future, seatedhimself upon the grass under the shade of an oak tree and comforted hisdaughter. 

"Come, my child, " said he, taking Mary's hands in his own and raisingthem to heaven, "before we go on let us thank God who has taken us outof the gloomy prison, and allowed us to enjoy once more the sight ofheaven and the freshness of the air; who has saved our lives, and whohas returned you, my dear daughter, to your father's arms. " The old manthen fell upon his knees, and out of a thankful heart commended himselfand his daughter to the protection of their heavenly Father. 

With the prayer of faith, which was thus offered up, feelings of joyand courage began to fill their hearts. And now it was seen that God'sprovidence had not left them. An old huntsman--Anthony by name--withwhom James had been in service when he accompanied the Count on histravels, had set out before daybreak to hunt a stag, and now came uponJames and his daughter seated under the oak. 

"God bless you, James, " said Anthony. "It does me good to hear yourvoice. Is it then true that they have banished you? Truly it is hard tosee a man obliged, in his old age, to quit his country. "

"As far as the reach of heaven extends, " answered James, "the earth isthe Lord's, and His kindness is extended to all. Our country--our realcountry--is in heaven. "

"Tell me, " said the huntsman, with sympathy in his face, "if they havebanished you just as you are, without food or clothing necessary forthe journey. "

"He who clothes the flowers of the field will know how to provide forus also!"

"That is so; but you are provided at least with money?" insistedAnthony, whose kind heart was filled with sympathy and indignation. 

"We have a good conscience, " replied the old man, "and with that we arericher than if the stone upon which I sit was gold. My father was abasket-maker. He taught me his trade besides that of gardening, inorder that, during the dark winter months, I might have a usefuloccupation. This has done more for me, and has been better for myprosperity, than if he had left me a fortune. A good conscience, healthof body, and an honourable trade, are the best and surest fortunes wecan have on earth. "

"God be praised, " answered the huntsman, "that you bear yourmisfortunes so well. I am forced to confess that you are right, andthat you have still a good resource in gardening. But I cannot seewhere you expect to get employment. "

"Far from here, " answered James; "in places where we are not known. Wherever, in short, God will conduct us. "

"James, " said the huntsman, "take this stout stick in your hand. I haveused it to assist me in climbing up the mountains, but I can easily getanother. And here, " he added, drawing from his pocket a little leatherpurse, "is some money that I received in payment for some wood in thevillage where I passed the night. "

"I gladly accept the cane, " replied James, "and I will cherish it inremembrance of a generous man; but it is impossible for me to acceptthe money, as it is payment for wood that belongs to the Count. "

"Good old James, " the huntsman replied, "if that is your fear, you maytake the money with an easy mind. Some years ago a poor old man, whohad lost his cow, could not pay for the wood which he had bought fromthe Count. I advanced him the sum, which he paid to the Count, andthought no more about it. Now he has got out of his difficulties, andyesterday, when I had forgotten all about it, he returned it to me withhearty thanks. So you see it is truly a present which God sends you. "

"I accept it, " said James, "with thanks, and may God return it to you. See, Mary, " he said, turning to his daughter, "with what goodness Godprovides for us at the very commencement of our banishment, here almostbefore we have passed the limits of the country, and sends us our goodold friend who has given us money. Courage, my daughter; our heavenlyFather will watch over us. " The huntsman then took leave of them withtears in his eyes. 

"Farewell, honest James, " said he, "farewell, my good Mary, " extendinghis hands to both. "I always thought you innocent, and I still thinkso. Do not despair. Do not surrender your honesty because you aresuspected. Yes, yes; whosoever does well and has confidence in God, maybe assured of His protection. May God be with you. "

Hand in hand Mary and her father now continued their way through theforest, not knowing at what spot they would rest, and without a friendin the world but God. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

FINDING NEW FRIENDS. 

Although their hearts were thus sustained by faith in God, the journeyon which Mary and her father now started was a long and painful one. For days they were unable to find a lodging, and the little money withwhich they had started was at last exhausted, and they had no prospectof earning more. Although it was sorely against their will, they wereat last compelled to ask for bread at the hands of charity. Here againthey were made to feel the humiliation of their position; for in goingfrom door to door, seeking for help which they so sorely needed, theymet with scarcely anything but rebuffs, and sometimes indeed withabuse. Often their meal consisted only of a small piece of dry bread, washed down by water from the nearest fountain. A luxury wouldoccasionally come their way in the shape of a little soup or somevegetables, and here and there, some scraps of meat or pastry, given tothem by some kind-hearted housekeeper. After days spent in this way, they were thankful at night to be allowed to sleep in a barn. 

Up till now Mary's father had borne up with wonderful courage. One day, however, the distance which they had travelled was longer than usual, and the road which stretched before them seemed endless, unbroken bythe sight of any village or human habitation. Suddenly the old manbegan to feel very weak. His limbs tottered under him, and he fell, pale and speechless, on a heap of dry leaves at the foot of a hillcovered with pine trees. 

In great alarm for her father's safety, and overwhelmed with grief, Mary ran hither and thither trying to find water, but in vain. Thinkingthat her voice might be heard by some one in the neighbourhood shecried for help, but the echo alone answered her. As far as she couldsee, in every direction the country was without human habitation. Almost worn out with fatigue, she at last climbed to the top of thehill in order that she might more readily discover any dwelling-placewhere help might be obtained. It was then that she saw just behind thehill a small farmhouse surrounded by green meadows, and shut in onevery side by forest. Hastily running down the hill, she arrived at thecottage out of breath, and with tears in her eyes asked assistance forher old father. The farmer and his wife were kind-hearted people, andwere deeply touched at the sight of Mary's agony. 

"Put the horse in the little waggon, " said the farmer's wife to herhusband, "and we will bring this sick old man here. "

When the horse was harnessed the farmer's wife put two mattresses, anearthen pitcher of water, and a bottle of vinegar into the waggon. Butwhen Mary heard that the waggon would require to go round the hill, andcould not reach her father within half an hour, she took the water andvinegar in her hand, and went by the short road across the hill inorder that she might the sooner minister to her father's needs. Greatlyto her joy, she found that her father had recovered a little and wasnow sitting at the foot of a pine tree. The old man was greatlyrelieved to see his daughter, whose absence had caused him deepanxiety. 

In a short time the waggon arrived with the farmer and his wife. Placing James in the waggon they carried him to their home, where theygave him a clean little room, and a closet and a kitchen which werethen unoccupied. 

The old man's illness had been caused solely by insufficient food, wantof rest, and the fatigue of the journey. With great kindness, the goodfarmer and his wife, who were poor people, sacrificed some of theirusual luxuries in order that they might have more money to spend on thethings which James required to restore him to his usual health. Forinstance, they had been in the habit of taking a trip every year to afair in a neighbouring village; but when the time came round theyagreed to remain at home that they might save the cost of the journey, and spend the money thus saved in procuring some delicacies to temptthe old man's appetite. At this fresh proof of their kindness, Marythanked them with tears of gratitude in her eyes. 

"Oh, " said she, "truly there are kind people everywhere, and in themost unlikely places we find compassionate hearts. "

During the days when the old man was gradually recovering, Mary watchedconstantly at his bedside. But with the habit of industry which she hadpractised, she filled up these hours with working for the farmer's wifeby knitting or sewing, and as may be imagined, this anxiety to help herbenefactors, added to her modest and winning manner, gave greatpleasure to the kind-hearted peasants. 

By and by the care which had been bestowed upon James, and thenourishing food which he had got, began to tell upon him, and soon hewas so far restored as to be able to get up out of bed. As soon as hefelt returning strength, he was desirous of doing something. Resumingtheir old habits, Mary gathered for him branches of willow and hazel, and with these her father made a pretty little basket, which he offeredto the farmer's wife as a small token of gratitude. 

When he felt himself quite recovered, he said to his hosts--

"We have been long enough a burden to you. It is time we should go andseek our fortunes elsewhere. "

"Why should you leave us, my good James?" said the farmer, taking theold man by the hand. "I hope we have not offended you in any way? Theyear is now far advanced; the winter is at the door. If you have anyhardship again you will certainly be sick. "

James warmly assured them that the only motive he had for desiring toleave them was the fear that he and his daughter were burdensome. 

"If that is all, " said the farmer heartily, "pray do not distressyourself further. The spare room which you occupy prevents you frombeing burdensome to us in the smallest degree, and you gain enough tosupply your wants. "

"Yes, that is true, " added the farmer's wife. "Mary alone earns enoughwith her needle to support you; and as for you, James, if you wish toexercise your trade of basket-maker, you will have your hands full. Notlong since I took your pretty basket with me to the market, and all thecountrywomen who saw it wished to have one like it. If you like I willprocure customers, and I promise that you will not soon be in want ofwork. "

The old man and his daughter were only too glad to remain with theirkind-hearted friends, who expressed themselves as thoroughly pleasedwith the new arrangement. 

CHAPTER IX. 

A NEW HOME. 

James and his daughter were now settled down in a place which theycould call home; they furnished their rooms in a simple style, withnothing more than they needed for everyday wants. It gave Mary greatpleasure in again being able to prepare her father's meals, and to lookafter his comforts in every way; and together they led a life of quiethappiness. The good friends with whom they lived had a large gardenattached to the house, but as the farmer and his wife had their timetoo much taken up in the field to give much care to the garden, it wasof little or no use to them. James saw that it could be made aprofitable source of income by devoting it to the growing of flowersand fruit, and when he proposed to put this plan into execution thefarmer's consent was willingly granted. 

During the autumn time, James had made his preparations, and when thewarmth of spring had melted the winter snows, he began his work, assisted by Mary; and together they laboured from morning to night. Thegarden was divided into beds planted with all sorts of vegetables andflowers, and bordered with gravel walks. The old man was anxious to seethe completion of his idea, and allowed neither himself nor hisdaughter rest until he had stocked the garden with their favouriteflowers, rose trees, tulip and lily roots, and various kinds ofshrubbery. 

Mary made a special study of cultivating some rare flowers, among whichwere some which had never before been seen in this part of the country. When the summer came, the garden showed such a burst of verdure andblossom, that the valley, which was overshadowed by dark trees, nowassumed quite a smiling appearance. An orchard belonging to the farmer, which had also been taken in hand by James, soon bore evidence to hisgardening skill in the shape of an abundant harvest of fruit. Indeed, it seemed as if the blessing of God was upon everything that Jamesundertook. 

Settled in a comfortable home, and occupied in his favourite calling, the old gardener began to forget the troubles of the past, and toregain the cheerful humour which had made his conversation such adelight in the past. Once more he began to reflect upon the lessonswhich the flowers taught, and day by day he taught to Mary some newlesson which he had learned from them. 

One day a woman from the neighbouring village came to buy some flaxfrom the farmer, and brought her little boy with her. While she wasoccupied in bargaining for the flax, her little child, finding thegarden-gate open, had gone in and begun to plunder a full-blown rosebush, with the result that he scratched himself terribly with the sharpthorns. His mother and the farmer's wife, as well as James and hisdaughter, hearing his screams of pain, ran to him. The child, with hislittle hands all covered with blood, cried out against the naughty rosebush for having attracted him by its pretty flowers and then cruellytorn his hands. 

The occasion was seized by James for drawing a lesson. "It is sometimesthus with us older children also, " he said to Mary. "Like this rosetree, every pleasure in life has its thorns. We run towards them, andwould fain seize them with both hands. Some are led away by a taste forthe dance and theatre, others by a taste for strong drink, or stillmore shameful vices. But the thorns make themselves felt by and by, andthen there comes lament for wasted youth, and a distaste for thepleasures once so eagerly sought. Do not let us be foolishly dazzled bythe beauty of the world. The chief end which man has to care for is thesaving of his soul, and it is folly to give ourselves up to theenjoyment of passion. Our unceasing effort should be to use alldiligence to gain eternal life. "

One day James was employed in placing young plants in a part of thegarden, while Mary was weeding at a little distance from him. "Thisdouble labour, my child, " said her father, "represents what should bethe occupation of our life. Our heart is a garden which the good Godhas given to us to cultivate. It is necessary that we should constantlyapply ourselves to cultivate the good and to extract the evil, which istoo apt to take root. That we may fulfil faithfully these two duties, let us implore God's assistance and blessing, which makes the sun toshine out and the rain to fall, the plants to grow, and the fruit toripen. Then will our hearts be delightful gardens. We shall then haveheaven within ourselves. " In this way the old man and his daughterpassed through life, active and industrious in their calling, andmingling innocent pleasures and instructive conversation with theirdaily pursuits. 

Three years passed swiftly away, and the happy days they had spent atPine Cottage had almost blotted out the memory of their pastmisfortunes. It was now autumn time, and the chrysanthemums, the lastornaments of the garden, were glorious in red and yellow flowers. Theleaves of the trees had become of varied tints, and everything showedthat the garden was preparing for the winter's repose. James had latelybegun to feel his strength failing, and the thought of his daughter'sfuture gave him considerable uneasiness. He concealed his feelings fromher for fear of distressing her, but Mary observed that her father'sremarks upon the flowers were now mostly of a melancholy kind. One dayshe observed a rose-bud which had never blossomed. In attempting togather it the leaves of the flower fell off in her hand. "It is thesame with men, " said her father, who had been watching her. "In youthwe resemble the rose newly opened, but our life fades like the rose. Almost before it is matured, it passes away. Do not pride yourself, mydear child, upon the beauty of the body. It is vain and fragile. Aimrather at beauty of soul and true piety, which will never wither. "

One day towards evening time the old man climbed a ladder to pluck someapples, while Mary stood below with a basket to hold them. 

"How cold, " said James, "this autumn wind is as it whistles over thestubble fields and plays with the yellow leaves and my white hairs. Iam in my autumn, my dear child, as you will also be some day. Try togrow like this excellent apple tree, which produces beautiful fruit andin great abundance. Try to please the Master of the great garden whichis called the world. "

On another day Mary was sowing seed for the following spring. "The daywill come, " said her father, "when we shall be put in the ground, asyou are putting these seeds. But let us console ourselves, my dearMary. As soon as the corn is enfolded in the earth, it is animated. Itsprings from the earth in the form of a beautiful flower, and risesthus triumphantly from the place where it was buried. So also shall werise one day from our tombs with splendour and magnificence. When youfollow me to the tomb, my dear child, do not mourn for me, but think ofthe future. In the flowers which you will plant on my grave, try to seethe image of the resurrection and immortal life. "

CHAPTER X. 

A FATHER'S LAST WORDS. 

The winter had now set in with threatenings of severity. Already themountain and valley round about the farm were covered with deep snow. The weakness which old James had been feeling for some time nowculminated in a severe illness. Obtaining her father's consent, Maryasked a physician from a neighbouring village to visit him. The doctorcame to see James and prescribed for him. Full of foreboding, Maryfollowed him to the door to ask him if he had any hope of her father'srecovery. To this the physician replied that the old man was in noimmediate danger, but that he suffered from a disease which would makehis recovery as an old man very improbable. It was with difficulty thatMary bore up under the news, and, after the physician had gone, she hada fit of passionate sobbing. For the sake of her father, however, shewiped away her tears, and endeavoured to appear calm before she went tohim. 

During the succeeding days Mary attended her father with the utmostdevotion and loving care. Rarely had he to make his requests known, forhis daughter could read in his eyes all that he wanted. Mary spentwhole nights by his bedside. If at any time she consented to berelieved for a little rest, it was but rarely that she could close hereyes. If her father coughed, she trembled with apprehension; if he madethe least stir, she immediately approached him softly and on tiptoe toknow how he was. She prepared and brought to him in the most delicateforms the food which best suited his condition. She arranged hispillows from time to time, read to him, and prayed for him continually. Even when he dozed for a little she would stand by his bed with herhands clasped and her tearful eyes raised to heaven. 

Mary had a little money which she had saved from her hard-won earnings. To scrape together this small sum she had often spent half the night insewing and knitting articles for sale. Now, in her father's illness, she made use of this little store to procure for him everything whichshe thought would be of any service. Good old James, althoughoccasionally he felt himself a little stronger, was never deceivedabout his condition, but felt only too sure that he was on hisdeathbed. The thought had no power to disturb him, and he spoke to hisdaughter of his approaching death with the greatest serenity. 

"Oh, " said Mary, crying bitterly, "do not speak thus, my dear father. Icannot bear the thought. What will become of me? Alas, your poor Marywill no longer have any one upon the earth!"

"Do not cry, my dear child, " said her father affectionately, holdingout his hand to her. "You have a kind Father in heaven who will neverforsake you, although your earthly father be taken away from you. I donot feel anxious about the manner in which you will gain a livelihoodwhen I am dead, for the birds easily find their food, and you will findenough to nourish you. God provides for the smallest sparrow; will Henot also provide for you? The thought that distresses me, " hecontinued, "is that you will be left alone. Alas, my dear child, youhave little idea of the wickedness that is in the world! There will bemoments perhaps when you will feel inclined to do evil; moments whenyou will perhaps yourself be persuaded that sin is not so very wrong. Listen to the advice which I now give you, and let the last words ofyour dying father be for ever deeply impressed on your heart. Forbidevery action, every speech, every thought for which you would have toblush if your father knew. Soon my eyes will be for ever closed, Ishall not longer be here to watch over you, but remember you have inheaven a Father whose eye sees everything and reads the secrets of yourheart. "

After a little while, when he had recovered breath, he continued: "Youwould not wish by an act of disobedience to hurt the father whom youhave on earth; how much more then should you fear to offend your Fatherwhich is in heaven? Look at me once more, Mary. Oh, if you ever feelthe least inclination to do wrong, think of my pale face and of thetears which wet these sunken cheeks. Come to me, put your hand intomine which will soon fall into dust. Promise me never to forget mywords. In the hour of temptation, imagine that you feel this cold handwhich you now hold on the border of the grave. My poor child, youcannot see without weeping, my pale and hollow cheeks. But know thateverything passes away in this world. There was a time when I had thebloom of health and the fresh colour which you now have. The time willcome when you too will be stretched on the bed of death, pale andemaciated, as you now see me, if God does not sooner take you toHimself. The friends of my youth have disappeared like the flowerswhich have passed away with the spring, and for whose places you seekin vain, like the dew which sparkles for a moment on the flowers and isgone. "

The next day James, feeling that his end was near, felt it his duty anddelight, though weak in body, to continue his advice to his daughter. 

"I have seen the world, " said he, "as well as other people, in the daywhen I accompanied the young Count on his travels. If there wasanything in the large cities superb or magnificent, I went there. Ispent whole weeks in pleasure. If there was a brilliant assembly or alively conversation, I saw and heard as well as my young master. Ishared in the most exquisite meals, and of the scarcest wines, andalways had more than I wished for. But all these worldly pleasures leftme with an empty heart. I assure you solemnly, my dear Mary, that a fewmoments of peaceful thought and fervent prayer in our arbour inEichbourg, or under this roof that covers us now, gave me more real joythan all the vain pleasures of the world. Seek then your happiness in alife of service of our blessed Saviour. You will find Him and He willbless you. 

"Too well you know, my child, that I have not been without misfortunein this life. When I lost your dear mother my heart was for a long timelike a dry and barren garden, whose soil, burned by the sun, cracksopen, and seems to sigh for rain. In this way I languished, thirstingfor consolation, and at last I found it in the Lord. Oh, my deardaughter, there will be days in your life when your heart also will belike dry and barren ground; but let it not dishearten you. As thethirsty ground calls not for rain in vain, but God sends the refreshingshowers, so if you seek your consolation from God, He will refresh yourheart as the sweet rain refreshes the thirsty parched earth. Let yourconfidence in your heavenly Father be unshaken. Firmly believe thatthere is nothing He will not do for those He loves. Sometimes He maylead us by paths of grief, but be sure that these paths lead tounmingled happiness. Do you recollect, my good Mary, all the grief youfelt when, after our painful walk, I fell down with fatigue in themiddle of the road? Now you can see that this accident was the meanswhich God made use of to procure for us the comforts which we haveenjoyed for three years with the good people of this house. Had I nottaken ill that day then we should not have come before their door, ortheir hearts would not have been touched with compassion for us. Allthe pleasures which we have enjoyed here, all the good which we mayhave been enabled to do, are so many benefits which sprang from thesickness which at first so sorely distressed you. 

"But you will always find, my dear Mary, that in the troubles of lifethere are proofs of the Divine goodness, to those who will look forthem. If the liberal hand of the Lord has scattered with flowers themountains and valleys, forests and river-banks, and even the muddymarshes, to give us everywhere the opportunity of admiring thetenderness and beauty of nature, He has also imprinted on all theevents of our life the evident traces of His great wisdom, and all Hispassionate love to man in order that the attentive man may learn bythem to love and adore Him. 

"In all our life, we have never had to suffer more than when you wereaccused of a theft, when you were chained and likely to be doomed todeath. We were weeping together in prison and lamenting our affliction. Well, even this trial has been a source of great good to us. Lookingback upon it we can see that, when the young Countess favoured youabove other young girls, honoured you by admitting you to her company, made you a present of a beautiful gown, and expressed a wish that youshould always be near her, there was a danger that these greatadvantages of life would render you vain and trifling, fond of thethings of this world, and apt to forget God. Doubtless the Lordconsulted our highest interests when He changed our condition, andbanished us from happiness into despair. In the misery of our state, inprison and in poverty of circumstances, we have been enabled to livenearer to Him. He has brought us far from the corrupt influences oflarge towns into this lonely country where He has prepared for us abetter home. Here you are like a flower flourishing in solitude, where, if it has not the admiration of man, it has nothing to fear from hishand. 

"The good and faithful God who has done all these things for us willgive a still more happy turn to your life. For I firmly believe that Hehas answered my prayer, that He will one day show to the world yourinnocence. When that time shall come I shall be no more, but I can diein peace without seeing it, for I am convinced of your innocence. Yes, my daughter, the pain which you have suffered will yet be the means ofleading you to much happiness on earth, though this kind of happinessis the least, and you will see that God's great design in afflicting uswas to sanctify our hearts, and to prepare us for that home to which wecan arrive only through tribulation and suffering. 

"Believing this, let not your heart be troubled that you are inmisfortune. Believe firmly that God's tenderness watches over you, thatHis care will be sufficient for you in whatever place He chooses totake you. In whatever painful situation you may be placed, say, 'It isthe best place for me. Notwithstanding all that, I am safe, for He hasbrought me here. '"

CHAPTER XI. 

MARY'S GREAT LOSS. 

When at last Mary could no longer hide from herself the seriousness ofher father's illness, she went to the minister of the parish in whichPine Cottage was situated and asked him to come and visit him. Theminister, who was a kind-hearted and godly man, gladly availed himselfof the opportunity. Besides conversing with James on spiritual matters, he was of great comfort to Mary by the kindly affection with which hetreated her. One afternoon when the old man's weakness was sensiblyincreased, James requested Mary to leave the room for a moment that hemight have private conversation with the minister. After a littlewhile, he called her in again, and said--

"My dear child, I have settled all my worldly affairs, and am now readyto depart and be with Christ. "

Mary was deeply distressed, and had great difficulty in keeping backher tears, for she saw that the end was rapidly approaching. But out ofconsideration for her father, and after a great effort, she recoveredherself, and remained calm. 

The rest of the day was spent by James in silent prayer, and next dayhe received the Lord's Supper at the hands of the minister, bypartaking of the bread and wine which are the symbols of the body andblood of Christ. Faith in the power of God, love to Christ who hadredeemed him, and hope of eternal life, had made his venerablecountenance radiant with happiness. 

Mary remained on her knees beside his bed, weeping and praying. Thefarmer and his wife and their household looked on in wonder at therapture of the aged saint, and tears of sympathy were in every eyebecause of Mary's grief. 

It gave the old man pleasure to have Mary read to him in her sweet andclear voice. During the latter part of his illness he desired to hearnothing else than the last words and prayer of Jesus. One night, afterall the household had gone to bed, Mary was sitting beside her father. The moon was shining so brightly into the room that the light of thecandle was scarcely seen. 

"Mary, " said the dying man, "read me once again that beautiful prayerof our Saviour. "

Mary began to read. "Now, " said the old man, "give me the book. " Marygave him the book, and carried the light nearer to him. "This will bethe last prayer, " said her father, "that I shall make for you, " as hemarked the passage with his finger, then in a trembling voice heuttered the following prayer: "O Father, I have not long to remain inthis world. I am going--I dare hope it--I am going to Thee, my heavenlyFather. Oh, preserve this my child from sin, for Thy Name's sake. WhileI have lived on the earth, I have endeavoured in Thy name to preserveher from it. But, O Lord, I am now going to Thee. I do not ask Thee totake her to Thyself, but only to preserve her from harm. Let Thy holytruth preserve her. Thy word is truth. Grant, O heavenly Father, thatthe child whom Thou hast given me may at last be admitted to the placewhere I hope to go. Through Jesus Christ my Saviour. Amen. "

Mary repeated, as well as her sobs would allow her, her father's_Amen_. "Yes, " continued the old man, "yes, my daughter, in thekingdom which Jesus had from the beginning of the world, we shall seeHim, and we shall see each other. " He again lay down on his pillow torest a little. His hands continued to hold the New Testament, which hehad bought with his first money saved from the purchase of food afterhe left Eichbourg. 

"Dear daughter, " he said, some minutes afterwards, "I am grateful forall the affection and tenderness which you have shown me since myillness commenced. Trust in your heavenly Father, Mary, and you willreceive of Him your reward. Poor and forsaken as I am, I can give younothing, when I leave you, but my blessing and this book. Live in theways of righteousness, and this blessing will not be without effect. The blessing of a father with the confidence of the Lord is better fora virtuous child than the richest inheritance. This book, which I wishyou to take in remembrance of your father, cost me, it is true, but afew shillings, but if it be faithfully read and its precepts put inpractice, I shall have left you the richest treasure. If I had left youas many pieces of gold as the spring produces leaves and flowers, withall that money you could not buy anything so valuable as this book. Itis the Word of God. Read it every day, no matter how much work pressesupon you; read at least one passage. Preserve it and meditate upon itin your heart during the day. "

About three o'clock the next morning James said, in a faint voice, "Ifeel very ill. Open the window a little. " Mary opened it. The moon haddisappeared, but the sky was brilliant with stars, and presented amagnificent sight. 

"See how beautiful the sky is!" said the dying man. "What are theflowers of earth whose beauty I have so often admired compared withthese stars, whose glory suffers no fading? It is there I am going. What joy! Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly. "

With these words James fell back upon his pillow, and passed peacefullyaway. Mary had never seen any one die before, and she thought herfather had only fainted. In her fright she awoke all the family. Theyran to her father's bed, and there she heard them say to each otherthat he was dead. Abandoning herself to her grief, she threw herselfupon her father's body, embraced it, and wept passionately. 

"Oh, my father, my good father, " said she, "how shall I discharge allmy obligations to you? Alas, I cannot now. I can only thank you for allthe words, for all good advice I received from your dear lips, nowsealed in death. Your hand, which is now cold and stiff, I kiss withgratitude, and remember that that hand has bestowed upon me manybenefits, and has all my life laboured for my good. Oh, if I could atthis moment follow you into the heavenly kingdom, how gladly would I doso. Oh, let me die the death of the righteous. My only consolation nowis that I shall one day enter upon the happiness and everlasting lifeof heaven. "

During this heart-rending scene the farmer's family had been muchaffected. At last they prevailed upon Mary to lie down and rest, hopingthat sleep would ease her grief. During the following day nothing wouldinduce her to leave her father's body. Before the coffin lid was naileddown, Mary took one more look at her father. "Alas, " said she, "it isthe last time that I shall ever look upon your dear face! How beautifulit was when you smiled, and it shone with the glory into which you wereso shortly to enter. Farewell, farewell, my father, " said she, sobbingaloud, "may your body rest peacefully in the earth now, while angels ofGod are, as I hope, bearing your soul to eternal rest. "

When the funeral took place, Mary, dressed in mourning which one of thegirls of the village had kindly given her, followed close to the bodyof her father. She was as pale as death, and every one pitied the poorgirl who now was without a relative in the world. As Mary's father wasa stranger at Erlenbrunn, they dug a grave for him in a corner of thecemetery beside the wall. Two large pine trees shaded the humble grave. The minister who had attended James during his illness spoke of James'spatience and of the resignation with which he had borne all hismisfortunes, and the good example he had set for those who knew him. With tender words he consoled Mary, who was overwhelmed with grief. Inthe name of her father, the minister thanked the farmer and his wifefor all their kindness to Mary and her father. He begged of them to befather and mother to her who had no longer any parents. 

CHAPTER XII. 

CHANGES AT PINE FARM. 

After her father's death, Mary was no longer the bright happy girl shehad been before. Even her favourite flowers seemed to have lost alltheir beauty, and the pine trees near the farm looked as though theywere clothed in mourning. From time to time she attended the church atErlenbrunn; and when here she never failed to visit her father's grave. On every opportunity she went to this sacred spot to weep for herdeparted parent, and she never left the grave without having made freshresolutions to ignore the pleasures of the world, and to live only toGod. As time went on her grief gradually moderated, but she soon hadnew trials to undergo. 

Great changes took place in Pine Farm. The good farmer had given thefarm to his only son, an amiable, good-tempered young man, but unhappyin his choice of a wife, whom he had married a short time before. Shewas a handsome woman, and possessed of considerable means; but she wasvain to a degree, and cared for nothing but money. Pride and greed hadgradually imprinted on her features an expression of harshness sostriking that, with all her beauty, her looks were repellent. She wasviolently opposed to religion, and was thus without any restraint onher conduct. By every means in her power she sought to make the livesof her husband's parents miserable. If she knew that anything wouldgive them pleasure, she delighted in doing the contrary, and when shegave them the food which was their due, according to the contract theyhad made with their son, it was always with a bad grace, and in agrudging spirit. 

The good old man and his wife lived the greater part of their time in alittle back room, seldom appearing outside. As for their son, he led amiserable life; for his wife overwhelmed him with constant abuse, andwas constantly reminding him of the money she had brought him. Being ofa peaceable disposition, and averse to quarrelling and disputing, hebore his sufferings in silence. His wife would never quietly allow himto visit his parents, for fear, as she said, he would give themsomething secretly. In the evening, after he had finished his work, heused to try to find an opportunity to visit them, when he wouldcomplain to them of his hard lot. 

"Well, " said his father, "so it is. You suffered yourself to be dazzledby the thought of her gold, and to be fascinated by her good looks. Iyielded too easily to your wishes, and thus we are punished. We shouldhave taken the advice of old James, who was an experienced man andnever approved of this match when it was talked of. I well rememberevery word he said on the subject, and I have thought of it many atime. Do you remember, " said he to his wife, "our having said that tenthousand florins make a handsome sum. 'A handsome sum!' said James, 'no; for the flowers you see in your garden are a thousand times morebeautiful. Perhaps you mean to say it is a large and heavy sum. I willacknowledge that. He must have good shoulders to bear it without beingbowed down to the earth, and without becoming a poor wretch, unable tolift his head to heaven. Why then do you wish for so much money? Youhave never wanted anything; you have always had more than sufficient. Believe me, too much money produces pride. Rain is a useful andnecessary thing, but when too much falls there is danger of itdestroying the most healthy plants of the garden. '

"These were exactly the old friend's words we have lost, " said thefarmer, "and I think I still hear him. And you, my son, once said tohim of your wife, 'She has a charming person, and is beautiful andfresh as a rose. ' 'Flowers, ' answered James, 'have not beauty only;they are good and pretty at the same time. They make so many richpresents. The bee sucks in pure wax and delicious honey. Without piety, a beautiful face is merely a rose upon paper, a miserable triflewithout life or perfume. It produces neither wax nor honey. ' Such werethe reflections that James frankly made before us. We would not listento him--now we know how to appreciate his advice. That which appearedthen to us so great a happiness is now to us the height of misfortune. May God give us grace to bear our misfortunes with patience!" Thus theold couple and their son used to talk together. 

Poor Mary had much to suffer also. The back room which she and herfather had occupied was given up to the old couple, and, although therewere two empty rooms in the farmhouse, the young farmer's wife, whodisliked Mary, gave her the most miserable apartment in the house;beside which, she ill-treated her in every possible way, and loaded herwith abuse and fault-finding from morning to night. According to her, Mary did not work enough and did not know how to do anything as itought to be done. In short, she made it very plain to the poor orphanthat she was despised and considered troublesome. 

The old man and his wife were keenly conscious of the miserable lifethat Mary led, but they were not in a position to interfere. They hadenough to do with their own griefs. 

Mary thought often of going away from Pine Farm, but where to go wasthe question. After some consideration she asked the minister's advice. "My dear Mary, " said the old minister, "it is impossible for you tothink of remaining longer at Pine Farm. They expect you to do more thana strong man could accomplish. Still, I do not advise you to leaveimmediately. Although your father gave you an excellent education, andtaught you all that it was necessary for a village housekeeper to know, my advice would be to remain where you are for the present; to work asfaithfully as you can, and to wait patiently until the Lord deliversyou from your present hard circumstances. I will endeavour to get you aplace in an honest Christian family. Have confidence in God; prayconstantly, bear with this trial, and God will arrange all. " Marythanked the good old minister and promised to follow his advice. 

Mary's favourite place of meditation was her father's tomb, where shehad planted a rose tree. "Alas, " said she, "if I could remain herealways, I would water you with my tears!" The rose tree was alreadygreen, and the buds began to open their purple cups. "My father wasright, " said Mary, "when he compared human life to the rose tree. Itoffers nothing but thorns; but wait a little and the season will comewhen it shall be decked anew in foliage and robed in the most beautifulflowers. For me, this is now the time of thorns; but God help me not tobe cast down! I believe your word, best of fathers. Perhaps I may seein my life the truth of your favourite maxim--'Patience produces roses. '"Thus poor Mary consoled herself in her distress. 

 "Thou art, O Lord, my only trust, When friends are mingled with the dust, And all my loves are gone. When earth has nothing to bestow, And every flower is dead below, I look to Thee alone. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

AGAIN A WANDERER. 

The months sped on, and now the anniversary of her father's birthdayarrived. Until then it had always been to Mary a day of great joy, butthis time, when the day dawned, she was bathed in tears. Previously shehad had the pleasure and excitement of preparing something which sheknew would please her father, but now, alas, this delightful occupationwas rendered useless!

The country people round about their home used to beg flowers from herfor the purpose of decorating the graves of their friends. It hadalways been a pleasure to Mary to give her flowers for this purpose, and she now determined to decorate her father's tomb in the samemanner. Taking from a cupboard the beautiful basket which had been thefirst cause of all her unhappiness, she filled it with choice flowersof all colours, artistically interspersed with fresh green leaves, andcarried it to Erlenbrunn before the hour of divine service, and laid iton her father's tomb, watering it at the same time with tears thatcould not be repressed. 

"Oh, best and dearest of fathers, " said she, "you have strewed withflowers the path of life for me. Let me at least ornament your gravewith them. "

Mary left the basket on the grave, and went back to the misery of PineFarm. She had no fear that any one would dare to steal either thebasket or the flowers. Many of the country people who saw her offeringwere moved to tears, and, blessing the old gardener's pious daughter, they prayed for her prosperity. 

The next day the labourers at the farm were busy taking in the hay froma large meadow just beyond the forest. The farmer's wife had a largepiece of fine linen spread out on the grass a few steps from the house, and in the evening this was found to have disappeared. Unfortunatelythe young farmer's wife had heard the story of Mary and the ring fromher husband, to whom it had been told by his father and mother. Instantly then she connected Mary with the disappearance of the linen, and saw in the circumstance a means of venting her spite upon the girlwhom she had always disliked. 

When Mary was returning from her work in the evening with a rake on hershoulder and a pitcher in her hand, along with the other servants, thispassionate woman came out of the kitchen and met her with a torrent ofabuse, and ordered her to give up the linen immediately. At first Marywas too stunned to reply, but when she understood the charge, sheanswered meekly that it was impossible she could have taken the linen, as she had passed the whole day in the hay-field with the otherservants; that a stranger might easily have taken advantage of a momentwhen there was no one in the kitchen to commit the theft. Thisconjecture turned out to be the true one, but the farmer's wife was notto be turned from her conviction. 

"Thief, " she cried coarsely, "do you think I am ignorant of the theftof the ring, and what difficulty you had to escape the executioner'ssword? Begone as soon as possible. There is no room in my house forcreatures like you. "

"It is too late, " said her husband, "to send Mary away now. Let her supwith us, as she has worked all day in the great heat. Let her butremain this one night. "

"Not even one hour, " cried his wife passionately; and her husband, seeing that advice would only irritate her more, remained silent. 

Mary made no further attempt to defend herself against the unjustaccusation. She immediately made her simple preparations for herdeparture, wrapping up all that she had in a clean napkin. When she hadput the little bundle under her arm, thanked the servants of Pine Farmfor their kindness to her and protested once more her innocence, sheasked permission to take leave of her friends, the old farmer and hiswife. 

"You may do that, " said the young farmer's wife, with a scornful smile;"indeed, if you wish to take with you these two old people, it willgive me great pleasure. It is evident death does not mean to rid me ofthem for some time. "

The good old people, who had heard the altercation, wept when Mary cameto bid them good-bye. However, they consoled her as well as they could, and gave her a little money to assist her on her journey. "Go, goodgirl, " said they to her, "and may God take care of you. "

It was towards the close of the day when Mary set out with her littlebundle under her arm, and began to climb up the mountain, following thenarrow road to the woods. She wished before leaving the neighbourhoodto visit her father's grave once more. When she came out of the forestthe village clock struck seven, and before she arrived at the graveyardit was nearly dark; but she was not afraid, and went up to her father'sgrave, where she sat down and gave way to a burst of grief. The fullmoon was shining through the trees, illumining with a silver light theroses on the grave and the basket of flowers. The soft evening breezemurmured among the branches, making the rose trees planted on herfather's grave tremble. 

"Oh, my father, " cried Mary, "would that you were still here, that Imight pour my trouble into your ears! But yet I know that it is betterthat you are gone, and I thank the Lord that you did not live towitness this last affliction. You are now happy, and beyond the reachof grief. Oh, that I were with you! Alas, never have I been so much tobe pitied as now. When the moon shone into the prison which confined meyou were then alive; when I was driven from the home which I loved somuch you were left me. I had in you a good father and protector andfaithful friend. Now I have no one. Poor, forsaken, suspected of crime, I am alone in the world, a stranger, not knowing where to lay my head. The only little corner that remained to me on the earth I am drivenfrom, and now I shall no longer have the consolation of coming here toweep by your grave!" At these words the tears rushed forth afresh. 

"Alas, " said she, "I dare not at this hour beg a lodging for the night. Indeed, if I tell why I was turned out of doors, no one perhaps willconsent to receive me. "

She looked around. Against the wall, near her father's tomb, was agravestone, very old and covered with moss. As the inscription had beeneffaced by time, it was left there to be used as a seat. "I will sitdown on this stone, " said she, "and pass the night by my father'sgrave. It is perhaps the last time I shall ever be here. To-morrow atdaybreak, if it be God's will, I shall continue my journey, goingwherever His hand may direct me. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

A STRANGE MEETING. 

Mary sat down on the stone near the wall shaded by the thick foliage ofa tree which covered her with its dark branches. Here she poured outher soul in fervent prayer to God. Suddenly she heard a sweet voicecalling her familiarly by her name, "Mary, Mary!"

The late hour of night and the solitude of the graveyard and herloneliness made Mary start with fear. Looking up she saw the beautifulface and figure of a woman, dressed in a long flowing robe. Frightenedand trembling, Mary was about to fly. 

[Illustration: "Looking up she saw the beautiful face and figure of awoman. "_See page 104. _]

"Dear Mary, " said the lady, with tenderness in her voice, "do not bealarmed; I am not a spirit, but a human being like yourself. God hasheard your fervent prayers, and I have come to help you. Look at me; isit possible you do not know me?"

The moon was shining brightly upon her face, and with an exclamation ofsurprise, Mary cried out, "Is it you, the Countess Amelia? Oh, how didyou get here--here in so lonely a place at this hour of the night, sofar from your home?"

The Countess raised Mary gently from the ground, pressed her to herheart, and kissed her tenderly. 

"Dear Mary, " said she, "we have done you great injustice. You have beenill rewarded for the pleasure which you gave me with the basket offlowers, but at last your innocence has been made known. Can you everforgive my parents and me? We are ready to make amends as far as itlies in our power. Forgive us, dear Mary. "

Mary was distressed at these words, and begged the Countess not to talkof forgiveness. "Considering the circumstances, " she said, "you showedgreat indulgence towards me, and it never entered my mind to nourishthe least resentment towards you. I had grateful thoughts of all yourkindness, and my only sorrow was that you and your dear parents shouldregard me as ungrateful enough to be guilty of stealing your ring. Mygreat desire was that you might one day be convinced of my innocence, and God has granted this desire. May His name be praised!"

The Countess pressed Mary to her heart, and bathed her face in tears. Afterwards she looked at James's grave and, clasping her hands, shecried out passionately, "Oh, noble man, whose body lies here, whom Ilearned to love in my tender youth, whose affectionate counsels I haveoften received, and whose fervent prayers I have so often listened to, why cannot I see your face to ask pardon for all the injustice doneyou? Oh, if we had only taken more precaution, if we had placed moreconfidence in an old servant who had always shown unimpeachable honestyand faithfulness, perhaps thou hadst still been living with us!"

"Believe me, good Countess, " said Mary, "my father was far from feelingthe least resentment towards you. He prayed for you daily, as he wasaccustomed to do when he lived at Eichbourg, and at the hour of hisdeath he blessed you all. 

"'Mary, ' said he to me, a little before he died, 'I feel confident thatthose whom we once served will one day recognise your innocence, andrecall you from exile. When that day comes, assure the Countess andCount and Amelia that my heart was full of respect and love andgratitude towards them till my last breath. ' These, my dear Countess, were his last words. "

The tears of the good Amelia flowed copiously. "Come, Mary, " said she, "and sit down here with me on the stone. We are safe here in thesanctuary of the Lord. Let me tell you of all the strange events thathave happened. "

CHAPTER XV. 

THE YOUNG COUNTESS'S STORY. 

Having made Mary sit down beside her, the young Countess began herstory. 

"God is surely with you, dear Mary, " said she, "and has taken you underHis protection. I see now that He has guided my steps here in orderthat I might find you for whom we have sought so long. Simple as arethe events which I am about to relate to you, we can see in them achain of truly providential circumstances. 

"From the time that your innocence was discovered I had no more rest. You and your father were always pressing on my mind, wandering withouthome and friends. Believe me, my dear Mary, I have shed many bittertears on your account. My parents were also deeply distressed at theinjustice they had unwittingly done you, and sought for you everywhere;but, as you know, without being able to obtain any trace of you. 

"Two days ago we came to a hunting-lodge of the Prince in the forest, not far from this village. For twenty years at least this castle hasnot been visited, the only occupant being a gamekeeper. My father hadgone on business, and had spent the whole day in the forest in companywith two noblemen whose wives were staying at the castle. It had been avery warm day, and the evening was very fresh. The setting sun, themountain covered with pines interspersed with picturesque rocks offeredsuch a beautiful spectacle that I begged permission to take a walk. Accompanied by the gamekeeper's daughter I set out, and as we passedalong we found the graveyard gate open, and the tombstones gilded bythe light of the setting sun. 

"Since my childhood I have always had a pleasure in readinginscriptions and epitaphs on tombstones. I am moved when one tells of ayoung man or woman carried off in the bloom of youth, and I feel a sortof melancholy pleasure if it concerns a person who had reached advancedage. The verses themselves, poor as they may be from a poetical pointof view, stir serious feelings within me, and I never fail to carryaway with me from a graveyard good thoughts and pious resolutions. 

"Entering the graveyard with the gamekeeper's daughter, I began asusual to read the inscriptions. After a little while the girl said tome, 'Come, I will show you something very beautiful. It is the grave ofan old man, who has neither tombstone nor epitaph, but it has beenornamented with taste and beauty by the tender piety of his daughter. See, you can just distinguish it through the thick leaves of thesepines--the beautiful rose tree and the basket of flowers. '

"You can imagine, dear Mary, the shock I received, when at the firstglance I recognised the basket of flowers which had never been out ofmy mind since that sad day when you left Eichbourg. If there had beenany doubts in my mind as to it being the same basket, the initials ofmy name and the coat-of-arms of my family would have dispelled them. Turning to my companion, I asked if she knew anything of you and yourfather. She told me all about your life at Pine Farm, your father'ssickness and death, and your great grief. After hearing all that thegamekeeper's daughter could tell me, I went to the minister, only tohear the same story with very much praise of yourself added. I wouldhave gone off to Pine Farm immediately, but while the story was beingtold me, time had passed rapidly, and it was now already quite dark. 'What shall I do, ' said I; 'it is now too late to go to the farm, butto-morrow at daybreak we will set out. ' Your good friend the ministersent for the schoolmaster to charge him to go and bring you withoutdelay to the castle. 

"'My dear young friend, ' said the schoolmaster, 'you need not go far tolook for her. She has gone to her father's grave to weep there. Alas, poor child!' he continued, 'I saw her sitting there from an opening inthe steeple when I went this afternoon to wind up the clock. '

"I at once determined to find you, and the minister wanted to accompanyme, but I begged to be allowed to come to you alone, that my firstmeeting with you might be as affectionate as I desired. While I camehere the old minister went to tell my parents where I was, and toprepare them for your arrival. This accounts, my dear Mary, for mysudden appearance before you. You can now see, through God'sprovidence, this basket of flowers which separated us has reunited usby your father's grave--that father who is now inhabiting the homeabove. "

"Yes, " said Mary, clasping her hands and raising her grateful eyes toheaven, "God has done it all. He has had pity on my tears and on myneeds. How can I thank Him for His goodness and His boundlesstenderness?"

"I have still one thing to tell you yet, " answered the Countess Amelia, interrupting her, "and it is one which seems to me singularly touching, and inspires me with an awe for the justice of God who directs our loteven when we are unconscious of it. My maid, Juliette, had but onethought, one desire. It was to banish you from my heart and to takeyour place in my affections. It was with that design that she made upher terrible falsehood, and her wicked plan succeeded too well. Butthat very falsehood was the means of her afterwards losing her placeand our confidence, and that made you dearer than ever to our hearts. Juliette endeavoured to estrange you from me for ever, and yourbanishment was a constant subject of triumph to her. 

"You know how that, in her wickedness, she threw this basket at yourfeet with an insulting laugh. Well, it was exactly this event which wasafterwards, although she little thought it then, to reunite us forever. For was it not indeed through this basket on your father's gravethat I discovered you to-day? Truly, those who have the love of Godhave nothing to fear from any enemies. God knows how to turn to ouradvantage all the ill that wicked people do to us; and our most cruelenemies, although for a while they may bring us to unhappiness, can donothing but contribute to our real and lasting happiness. We may say inthis case that our safety comes from our enemies. 

"But now, dear Mary, " said the Countess, "tell me what brought you solate to your father's grave, and why, when I found you, you wereweeping so bitterly. "

When Mary had told her story, of how they had driven her from the PineFarm on a false charge, the Countess was astonished still more at theprovidence which had brought her and Mary together. 

"Yes, indeed, " said the Countess to Mary, "it is by God's will that Ihave found you to-day, just when you were again plunged into thedeepest distress. You were imploring His assistance with burning tearsrunning down your cheeks. This is another proof of what we have beenspeaking, that God knows how to turn to our advantage the ill which ourenemies design to do us. The farmer's wicked wife, who drove you fromher house, thought she would make you unhappy. Without knowing it shehas brought you to my arms and those of my parents, who, as well asmyself, are desirous of making your life happy. 

"But it is now time to set out, " said Amelia. "My parents will beanxious at my long absence. Come, dear Mary, I will never leave you anymore. Let us go to my parents. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

HOW THE RING WAS FOUND. 

The road to the castle towards which the Countess now led Mary, laythrough a long and dark walk of tall old linden trees. For a while theywalked in silence together, each wrapped in her own thoughts, but atlast the Countess said to Mary--

"Oh, I must now tell you how the ring was found. My father's affairsrequiring his presence at Eichbourg, we left Court earlier than usualthis year--in the beginning of March. When we arrived at the Castle, the weather was very boisterous, and one night in particular we had atremendous storm. You remember the great pear tree we had in our gardenat Eichbourg? It was very old, and bore scarcely any fruit. That nightthe wind, which blew with great violence, had shaken it so much that itthreatened every moment to fall, and my father ordered it to be cutdown. 

"My father, and mother, the children, and servants, and indeed all ofthe people in the Castle, came into the garden to see it fall. As soonas it was cut down, my two little brothers ran immediately towards amagpie's nest in the tree, which had for a long time been a covetedobject, but had hitherto been out of their reach. Now they seized uponthe nest and busied themselves examining its contents. 

"'Look, Albert!' said Augustus, 'what is that shining among the twigs?How bright it is!'

"'It sparkles like gold, ' said Albert. 

"My maid, Juliette, ran forward to look at it, and immediately uttereda scream. 

"'Oh, ' she cried, 'it is the ring!' and became as pale as death. 

"The children extricated the ring from among the twigs, and carried itin great glee to my mother. 

"'Yes, indeed it is my ring, ' said my mother, with deep emotion. 'Oh, good and honest James! oh, poor Mary, what injustice we have done you!I am glad enough to find my ring again, but if I could find James andMary, I would gladly sacrifice the ring to repair the wrong which wehave done them. '

"I was curious to know by what chance the ring was carried into themagpie's nest at the top of the tree, and the old huntsman, Anthony, gave a ready explanation. 

"'Neither the gardener James nor his daughter could have hidden thering in this place, that is very clear, ' said he. 'The tree was toohigh, and it would have been impossible to climb up so far. Besideswhich, they had not time to do so. Mary had scarcely returned to thehouse when she and her father were both arrested. Magpies are greatlyattracted by anything that shines, and if they can find anythingsparkling, they carry it off immediately to their nests. One of thesebirds must have stolen the ring, and carried it to the tree. That isall the mystery. The only thing that astonishes me is that an oldhunter, as I am, should not have thought sooner of this explanation. '

"The old man spoke with deep feeling and with tears in his eyes, butthey were tears of joy at seeing your innocence proved. 

"'Anthony, ' said my mother, 'I believe you are perfectly right, and nowI remember quite distinctly that very often these birds came from thetop of this tree to my window, that the sash was open when the ringdisappeared, that the table on which I put the ring was close to thewindow, and that, after having shut the door and bolted it, I went intothe next room, where I stayed for some time. No doubt one of thesemischievous birds saw the ring from his nest, and, while I was in theother room, he must have darted in and carried it off. '

"My father was deeply troubled at the conviction, which he could notresist, that you and your father had been unjustly condemned. 

"'My heart is almost broken, ' said he, 'for having done these goodpeople so much injury. My only consolation is that it was not done fromill-will, but in ignorance and error. '

"My father now turned to Juliette, who in the universal rejoicing atthe discovery of the ring remained silent and pale. 

"'False woman, ' said he, 'deceitful servant! How could you have thehardihood to lie to me and to the judge, and to compel us to commit anaction unwillingly, the iniquity of which now calls for vengeance? Whattempted you to plunge into suffering an old and honest man, and hispoor and virtuous daughter?'

"'Officers, do your duty, ' he said to two constables, who had assistedin cutting down the tree, and who now approached the unhappy Julietteto carry out my father's orders. 'Let her be put in chains, ' he added, in a grave tone, --'the same chains that Mary wore, --and let her bethrown into the same prison in which she caused Mary to languish. Shemust suffer all that Mary suffered, only that, unlike Mary, she hasdeserved it. What she has been able to hoard of money or clothes shallbe taken from her, to compensate, if it be possible, the unhappy oldman and his daughter who have had to suffer an unjust sentence. Theofficer who conducted Mary out of my dominions shall also conductJuliette, just as she is, to the same place. '

"No one had ever seen my father so exasperated, never had any one heardhim speak in such passionate tones. For a while every one was silent, but at last the officers and servants gave voice to their sentimentsand thoughts. 

"'It is well done, ' said one of the officers, seizing Juliette by thearm; 'when one digs another's grave he must fill it himself. '

"'That is what is gained by telling falsehoods, ' said the otherofficer. 'It is true that no thread is so fine that it cannot be seenin the sunshine. '

"'It was a pretty dress which the young Countess gave to Mary, ' saidthe cook in her turn, 'that made Juliette angry. In her rage, and notknowing well what she was about, she began to tell lies, and then itwas impossible to retract without acknowledging her guilt. The proverbis true which says that, once the devil has us by the hair, he willhold fast to us afterwards. '

"'It is well, it is well, ' said the coachman, who had just finishedcutting the tree, and who still had the axe over his shoulder. 'Let ushope she will mend her ways, if she does not wish to be worse off inthe next world. The tree that bears not good fruit, ' said he, shakinghis axe, 'shall be cut down, and cast into the fire. '

"The news of the finding of the ring spread through Eichbourg in a veryshort time, and every one ran to the place, so that in a little while agreat crowd had gathered. The judge who condemned you came also, andevery witness of the discovery was as eager as possible to tell him allabout it. 

"You cannot imagine, my dear Mary, " the Countess proceeded, "the effectthat the story produced on the good man. Notwithstanding his severityrespecting you, he is a man of great probity, and one who has all hislife tried to administer justice with strict fidelity. 

"'I would give half of my goods, ' said he, in a tone that went to theheart of every one who heard him--'yes, I would willingly have giveneverything I possess if this misfortune had not happened. To havecondemned innocence is a frightful thought. ' Then, looking round him atthe people, he said, in a solemn voice, 'God is the only infalliblejudge, the only one that cannot be deceived. He knows everything. Healone knew the hiding-place in which the ring had remained until now. The judges of the earth are near-sighted and prone to be deceived. Itis rare here below that innocence suffers and vice triumphs. Theinvisible Judge, who will recompense one day all good actions andpunish all bad ones, has decreed that even here innocence shall notalways suffer from suspicion, nor hidden crime remain alwaysconcealed. '"

While Amelia had been relating this interesting narrative, Mary hadbeen lifting up her heart in silent thanksgiving to God for clearingher character from every stain of suspicion and establishing herinnocence in the minds of her friends. By the time Amelia had finishedher story, they had arrived at the door of the castle. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

REPARATION. 

The Count, the Countess, and the guests who were at the castle, wereassembled in the drawing-room when Amelia and Mary entered. The worthyminister had arrived before them, and had been reciting to adeeply-interested audience, the story of James and Mary and their lifeat Pine Cottage. He had painted in a touching manner the conduct of thegood old man during his residence at Pine Farm, emphasising the loveand respect which he bore to the Count and his family. He told ofMary's activity, of her filial piety, and her patience and modesty, until tears streamed from the eyes of his hearers. 

At this moment the Countess Amelia, holding Mary by one hand and in theother the basket of flowers, entered the brilliantly-lighted room. Marywas welcomed by all, and loaded with congratulations. The Count himselftook her kindly by the hand, and said, "Poor child, how pale and thinyou look. It was our hasty judgment that brought your misery upon you, and we must now spare nothing, that happiness may once more be restoredto you, and that the faded flowers may once more bloom on your youngcheeks. You were driven from your father's house, but in future youshall have it for your own property. "

The Countess kissed Mary, pressed her to her heart, called her herdaughter, and, taking from her finger the ring which had caused so manymisfortunes, she said, "Here, my dear child, although your piety is agreat deal more precious than the large diamond which sparkles in thisring, you must accept this present as a feeble compensation for thewrong you have suffered, and as a token of the sincere attachment andmaternal tenderness I feel towards you. "

With these words she held out the ring to Mary, who was almost overcomewith so much kindness and ready to sink under the weight of thebenefits she had received. Her tears flowed freely, but they were tearsof joy. 

"Poor child, " said one of the guests, "take what the Countess offersyou. God has given the Count and his wife fortune, but He has giventhem something more precious--hearts which know how to make the bestuse of riches. "

"Why do you flatter us?" said the Countess. "This is not a _generous_action, it is an act of _justice_. "

Still Mary hesitated about accepting the valuable gift, and turned withstreaming eyes towards the minister, as if to ask his advice. 

"Yes, Mary, " said the venerable man, "you must keep the ring. You see, my good child, how God is blessing your filial piety; for whosoeversincerely honours his parents shall be better for it. Take the valuablepresent with gratitude, and as adversity found you resigned to theDivine will, so in prosperity show yourself grateful to your heavenlyFather--grateful to His dear name, benevolent and kind. "

Mary put the ring on her finger and attempted to express her thanks, but tears checked her utterance, and were thus the best expression ofher gratitude. Amelia, who sat by her with the basket of flowers in herhand, was delighted with the generous proceedings of her parents. Hereyes shone with affection for Mary; and the minister, who had oftenobserved how envious children generally are when their parents exercisetheir benevolence towards other people, was deeply touched by thisdisinterested love of Amelia. "May God, " said he, "reward thegenerosity of the Count and Countess. May all that they have done forthe poor orphan be rendered to them a hundredfold in the person oftheir own dear daughter!"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

PINE FARM REVISITED. 

The Count and his family were just on the eve of leaving for Eichbourg, and next morning at break of day all was bustle in the castle, preparing for their departure. In the midst of all the preparations, however, Mary was not forgotten, and each one vied with the other inthe attentions they paid to her. 

Mary's clothes, which she had bought during her residence at Pine Farm, were made of the coarsest material and of the plainest cut. But one ofAmelia's friends, a young lady of the same age and size as Mary, atAmelia's request presented Mary with a complete outfit, which, withoutbeing extravagant, was more in keeping with her new situation. Inanswer to Mary's modest protest against donning what seemed to her, extravagantly grand garments, Amelia said, "You are my friend; you arehenceforth to be my companion; you are also to live with me. You oughttherefore to dress yourself differently from a farm servant. "

After breakfast they started on their journey homeward, and Mary satbeside Amelia in the carriage, with the Count and Countess opposite. First of all, however, the Count gave orders for the coachman to drivethem to Pine Farm, that he might become acquainted with the people whohad entertained Mary and her father so kindly. It was not long beforethey gathered from Mary's answers that the old people at Pine Farm werefar from being comfortable, and that their declining years were not sopeaceful as they had a right to expect. 

The arrival of a nobleman's carriage at Pine Farm caused no littleexcitement. No sooner had the young farmer's wife seen the carriagestop at the door than she hastened towards it. 

"Sir, " said she to the Count, "allow me to assist you and also theladies, your daughters, I presume. "

So saying, she presented her hand to one of the young ladies, when, recognising her to be Mary herself, she uttered an exclamation ofsurprise, let go her hand as if she had touched a serpent, and drewback in great confusion. 

The old farmer was working in his garden when the Count with his familyand Mary alighted; and when they went to the good old man, took him bythe hand, and thanked him for his kindness towards Mary and her father, the worthy farmer was deeply moved. 

"Oh, " said he, "I owe that good man more than ever he owed me. Theblessing of heaven came with him into our home, and if I had followedhis advice in everything, I should have been much better for it at thismoment. Since his death I have no pleasure in anything but this garden, which I began to cultivate at his suggestion. Since I have not hadstrength to follow the plough, I have occupied myself here, and I seekamong the herbs and flowers the peace which I can no longer find in myown house. "

In the meantime Mary had gone to look for the old farmer's wife in herlittle room, and she now came forward leading her by the hand. Theworthy woman was quite overcome by the strange circumstances in whichshe found Mary, and the excitement of the moment; and when she cameforward to meet the Count and Countess, it was with a timid air, and inevident distress at finding herself the object of so much attention. Byand by, however, she and her husband heard the story of the finding ofthe ring, and so great was their affection for Mary that they cried forjoy like children. 

"Did I not tell you, " said the farmer, addressing Mary, "that yourfilial piety would receive its reward? You see, my prophecy is alreadyfulfilled, " and his wife, who had recovered her self-possession, said, "Yes, yes; your father was right when he said, 'He who clothes theflowers, well knows how to take care of you. '"

While this conversation had been going on, the young farmer's wifestood at some distance, consumed with jealousy and anger. 

"Well, well, " she said to herself, "there is no saying what will happenin this life. That miserable beggar whom I turned out of my house--lookat her now, dressed like a young lady of high rank. Who would havethought of such a thing! Every one, however, knows who she is, so shecannot impose on any one in this town. They know that yesterday she wassent from here with a little package under her arm, to go into thecountry. "

The Count had not heard this abusive language, but a glance at thewoman's face was enough to show him that she was nursing angrypassions. "She is a wicked creature, " he said to himself, as he walkedround the garden in a very thoughtful mood. 

At last he stopped before the old farmer. "Listen, my good old friend, "said he, "while I make a proposition to you. I have given Mary a pieceof ground on my estate, which was rented and cultivated by her father. But Mary is not ready to take up housekeeping. What should prevent youfrom retiring there? It will suit you, I am certain, and the owner willnot exact any rent from you. You can cultivate the herbs and flowers inwhich you find your pleasure, and you will find, in the pretty cottagewhich is attached to the ground, rest and peace in your old age. "

The Count's wife, Amelia and Mary joined in urging the old man toaccept this generous offer. But there was no need for persuasion. Theold people were happy to be taken from their uncomfortablesurroundings, and gladly agreed to the proposal. 

At this moment the young farmer came home from the fields. His surprisewas as great as his wife's when he saw the carriage at his door drawnby four white horses; for never in the history of the farm had acarriage stopped there before. When he heard of the proposal which theCount had made to his father and mother, he gladly consented to it, although he was deeply grieved to part from his old parents. Hisconsolation was found, however, in thinking that they were going to behappier than they could possibly be with his wife. 

As for his wife herself, the only remark she made was to say in aspiteful way to the Count--

"It is a great favour you are doing us in ridding us of two old peoplewho are nothing but a burden!"

Promising to send for the old farmer and his wife as soon as everythingwas ready, the Count and his family, accompanied by Mary, now steppedinto the carriage and drove off. Here for a time we will leave Mary andfollow the fortunes of the occupants of Pine Farm. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

RETRIBUTION. 

In course of time, when arrangements had been made for their reception, a carriage was sent from Eichbourg to bring away the old farmer and hiswife. Their son was grieved to the heart when the time came for them togo, but their daughter-in-law had counted the days and hours until thetime of their departure, and felt nothing but vindictive pleasure atbeing rid of them. Her joy, however, received a severe check from anote which the coachman presented to her, in which the Count informedher that she and her husband should pay all that had been stipulatedfor the support of her father and mother-in-law; and that the price oftheir living valued in money, according to the current market price, should be paid to them every quarter. Realising her helplessness, shebecame violently angry and turned round to her husband, saying, "We areover-reached. If they had stayed here, it would not have cost us halfas much. " Her husband was secretly pleased to think that he was stillpermitted to help his parents in their old age, but he took good carenot to show his joy before his wife. 

The old people set off in the carriage the next morning, followed bythe blessings of their son and the secret ill-wishes of theirdaughter-in-law. 

But the unnatural conduct of this wicked woman was visited with thetrouble which is always the lot of avarice and inhumanity. Hersecretly-cherished god was gold, and she had lent the bulk of her moneyto a merchant to use in his business, on his promise to pay her a largeinterest for the loan. Her greatest pleasure was in makingcalculations, as to how much her money would amount to after a certainnumber of years, with all the interest and compound interest added. Suddenly, however, these golden dreams received a rude awakening. Themanufacturer's speculations proved unfortunate, and he shortlyafterwards failed in business, and his goods were sold by order of thesheriff. 

The news came as a thunder-stroke for the farmer's wife, and from themoment that she heard of the catastrophe she had no repose. Every dayshe kept running to the lawyers, or to her neighbours to complain ofher hard lot, and the nights she spent in weeping and scolding herhusband. From the wreck of her fortune of ten thousand florins shereceived only a paltry hundred or two, and so deeply did she feel theloss of her money that she openly declared her wish to die. The resultof the continual worrying induced a fever which never left her. Whenher husband wished to send for a physician she would not consent to it, and when, in spite of her objections, he at last sent for one, his wifein a passion threw the medicine he prescribed out of the window. 

At last her husband saw that she was seriously ill, and he requestedthe minister of Erlenbrunn to come and see her. The good old manvisited her frequently and talked to her affectionately, in order toinduce her to repent of her sins, and to detach her heart from thethings of this earth, that she might turn to God. 

But this advice made her very angry. She looked at the good man withutter astonishment. "I do not know, " she said, "for what purpose theminister comes to preach repentance to me. He should have deliveredsuch a sermon to the merchant who stole our money. Yes, there wouldhave been some sense in that. As for me, I do not see that I have anyreason for repentance. As long as I was able to go out I always went tochurch, and I have never failed to say my prayers. I have not ceasedall my life to do my duty and to behave myself like a virtuoushousewife. I defy any living soul to slander me. And of all the poorpeople who have come to my door, not one can complain that I sent themaway without giving them something. Now, I should like to know how anyone can behave better!"

The venerable pastor saw that she was justifying herself before God, and he tried by adopting a more direct tone to lead her to contrition. He showed to her that she loved money more than anything else in theworld, and that the love of money was idolatry. He showed her that thebursts of anger in which she had indulged were heinous sins before God, that she had totally failed in the most beautiful of all Christianvirtues--filial affection; that by her greed of money she had made herhusband unhappy, cruelly driven away the poor orphan Mary, and eventurned away her husband's parents, those whom she ought to havecherished as if they were her own. 

He showed her also that, with a fortune like hers, a little piece ofbread given to a poor man to get rid of him did not fulfil the dutieswhich God expected of her, that in spite of all her boasting of goingto church she was none the better of it, for her prayers had come froma heart unwarmed by love, and could not ascend to the throne of God. Inthis faithful way did he talk to her, but only with the result ofmaking her burst into a fit of passionate sobbing. 

The illness from which she suffered was a long and trying one. Shespent whole nights in coughing, and yet the ruling passion of avaricewas so strong that she would scarcely take sufficient nourishment tosustain her. No consoling thought came to her to mitigate hersuffering. She was utterly unwilling to resign herself to God and tosubmit to His will. 

The good minister tried in every imaginable way to bring her to abetter frame of mind. During the last days of her life she wasoccasionally a little softened in her manners, but she never evincedany true repentance. In the flower of her age she died, a sad instanceof the effects of avarice, passion, and love of the world. 

CHAPTER XX. 

FORGIVING AN ENEMY. 

And now we must return to Mary whom we left in her new surroundings. 

Immediately after leaving Pine Farm, Mary went with the Count's familyto the city, in which they spent part of every year. While they werethere, a clergyman came one morning to their residence and asked to seeMary. He told her that he was charged with a message for her from aperson who was very ill and probably near death, and who desiredanxiously to speak to her. The clergyman said that the person was notwilling to give her message to any one but to Mary herself. 

Mary could not imagine what the woman could want with her, and sheconsulted the Countess as to what she ought to do. The Countess, knowing the clergyman to be a pious and prudent man, advised Mary to gowith him, and at the minister's request old Anthony the huntsmanaccompanied them. After a long walk to the outskirts of the town, theyarrived at last at a house situated in a side street, which presented amost gloomy aspect. "Here is the house, " said the clergyman, knockingat the door, "but wait a little. "

After a few moments he returned for Mary, who then entered with himinto a most miserable room. The window was narrow and dark, and somebroken panes were patched with paper. The only furniture which the roomcontained was a miserable truckle-bed, covered with a more miserablemattress, and a broken chair, on which stood a stone pitcher, withneither handle nor cover. 

On the miserable bed lay stretched a figure which to Mary's eyes seemedmore like a skeleton, but which she gradually made out was the form ofa woman, in the last stages of illness. 

In a voice which resembled the rattle of death, this miserable creaturesought to speak with Mary, who trembled in every limb. It was with theutmost difficulty that she could make out what the poor woman said, butat last she learned, to her horror, that the frightful phantom wasJuliette, who at the Castle of Eichbourg had been the beginning andcause of all her distress. After being turned away from the Castle, shehad gone from bad to worse, until she had sunk into her present state. 

Lying upon her miserable bed, death staring her in the face, remorsehad overtaken her, and her one wish was to have Mary's forgiveness. Learning in some way, that the Count and his family were in the city, she begged of the clergyman who was visiting her to ask Mary to come tosee her. The poor woman, judging Mary by herself, had entreated theclergyman not to mention her name in case Mary would not come. 

Mary was affected to the heart when she heard Juliette's story, and sheshed tears of sympathy with her old enemy. She assured her that she hadforgiven her long ago, and that the only feeling she experienced wasthat of the deepest pity for her. 

[Illustration: "Mary was affected to the heart when she heardJuliette's story. "_See page 142. _]

"Alas, " said Juliette, "I am a great sinner; I have deserved my fate. Forgetfulness of God, contempt of good advice, love of dress, flattery, and pleasure were the first causes of misery, and these have brought meto my present state. Oh, " cried she, raising her voice to a shriek, andweeping bitterly, "that is nothing to the fate which I fear awaits mein the world to come. You have pardoned me, it is true, but I feel theweight of God's anger now settling on my soul. "

Mary conversed long and earnestly with her, endeavouring to point herto the Saviour of the world, who would receive her if she trulyrepented. At last she was obliged to leave her without being satisfiedas to her state of mind, but the idea of the unhappy Juliette dyingwithout hope continually pressed on her mind and weighed down herspirits. She recollected her little apple tree in blossom, withered bythe frost, and what her father had said on that occasion. The mostconsoling words he had said on his deathbed presented themselves to hermind, and she renewed the promise she had made to God to live entirelyto His glory. 

To the Countess she related her discovery, and that generous lady sentthe unhappy Juliette medicine, food, and linen, and everything whichmight tend to relieve her illness. But it was too late, and at the ageof twenty-three the once beautiful Juliette, reduced to a mere skeletonand disfigured by disease, died without having given evidence of achanged heart towards God. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

The next spring, when the country was covered with verdure and flowers, the Count, accompanied by his wife, and daughter, and Mary, went to hishome at Eichbourg. Towards evening they approached the village, andwhen Mary saw in the light of the setting sun the familiar churchsteeple, the Castle, and the cottage where she had spent so many happyyears with her father, she was so deeply touched that tears started toher eyes. 

But in the midst of the sorrowful memories which the scene called up inher mind, there came to her a devout feeling of thankfulness for thewonderful way in which God had led her back. 

"When I left Eichbourg, " she said, "it was in disgrace, and withoutever expecting to come back again. The ways of Providence aremysterious, but God is good. "

When the carriage stopped at the Castle, the servants and officersbelonging to the Count's household were waiting to receive them. Maryhad a warm welcome from them all. Every one showed the greatest joy atseeing her again, and their congratulations on her innocence havingbeen proved were manifestly sincere. The old judge who had sent herinto banishment was among those who welcomed her most cordially. Takingher hand in the presence of all the servants, he asked her pardon forthe mistake he had made. He expressed his gratitude to the Count andCountess for having so nobly repaired the injustice, assured them thathe reproached himself for the misfortune, and that he was willing to doeverything in his power to discharge his debt. 

The exciting day came to an end, and Mary was glad to escape to herchamber. Next morning, the sun shining brightly into her room woke herearly. As soon as she was dressed she ran to visit her father'scottage, and to walk once more round the old familiar garden. On herway she met numbers of the villagers, and all of them showed greathappiness at seeing her. 

The old farmer and his wife, who had now been settled some time in thecottage, were delighted to meet her again. They kissed heraffectionately and assured her of the happiness of their new life. 

"When you were without a home, " said the farmer, with tears in hiseyes, "we received you and your father into our own, and now that weare old and had no place that we could call our own, you give us thischarming cottage in which we might spend our declining years. "

"Yes, " said his wife, "it is always well to be generous and hospitable. We never know how soon we shall receive it again. "

"Well, well, " said her husband, "I am glad we did not think of thatthen. We took Mary and her father in without hope of reward. However, the maxim is not the less true, 'Do good to others and you will alwaysfind some one to do good to you. '"

When Mary entered the cottage, the sight of the place where her fatherused to sit raised a host of sad but sweet recollections in her mind. She walked round the garden and kissed every tree planted by his hand, seeing in each an old acquaintance. The little apple tree which hadbeen their favourite, was just now covered with blossom, and before itshe stopped to meditate for a little on man's brief life, which fadesaway before the tree which he has planted. In the arbour where she hadpassed so many happy hours with her father, she rested a little, andgave herself up to reflection. Looking around on the garden, which hehad cultivated so diligently by the sweat of his brow, she fancied thatshe could still see him, and tears streamed from her eyes, when sheremembered that he had gone from her for ever. But one thought soothedher heart and made her calm, the thought that he had gone to a betterworld, and was now reaping the reward of his beautiful life. 

As long as Mary lived she spent some weeks every spring at the Castle, cherished and honoured by every one there, and endearing herself to thepeople of the village, and particularly to the children, among whom shewas a great favourite. Her delight was to take them apart and to talkto them of the Saviour, and she had the happiness of believing thatmany of them under her instructions gave their hearts to God. 

A monument had been erected to her father in fulfilment of a promisewhich Amelia had made to Mary that evening when she found her sittingon her father's grave. It was an elegant monument of white marble, ornamented with an epitaph in gold letters. Besides the name of thedeceased, his age and occupation, nothing in the way of epitaph wasadded but these words of Jesus--

 "I am the Resurrection and the Life: He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. "

Underneath these words a beautiful basket of flowers had been cut froma design drawn by Amelia herself. Underneath the basket was written--

 "_All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof as the flowers of the field. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of the Lord endureth for ever. _"

The erection of this monument gave great satisfaction to the good oldminister of Erlenbrunn. The dark background of the fir trees threw themonument into relief, and gave it a very beautiful appearance; and whenthe rose tree planted by his grave was in bloom, and its branchescovered with roses bent over the marble, which was of dazzlingwhiteness, the sight was a striking one. The humble old man's monumentwas the most beautiful ornament of the rural churchyard, and the goodminister never allowed strangers to leave the church without takingthem to see it. 

When some people observed that it was a good idea to have put a basketof flowers on the tomb of a man who was at the same time a gardener anda basket-maker, the old minister would say--

"But it is something better than a good idea. The basket of flowers tellsmore than you know, and it is not without reason that our villagers lookupon it as the symbol of a touching story. The ground on which we treadhas been bathed with a daughter's tears. "

Then he would pour into the attentive ears of strangers the familiarstory of the basket of flowers, concluding his recital with theassurance which this whole story is intended to illustrate: That pietytowards God and truth towards men will never fail to triumph over themalice of the worst of foes. 

Let our readers who have followed this touching story be assured thatunder all circumstances it is best to do as Mary did--walk in the fearof God, love and obey their earthly parents, stand fast by the truth, and under all circumstances trust fully in God. Thus they will livehappy and die with a sure prospect of eternal glory. 

THE END

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