een accustomed to visit the lowliest cottages, bringing to the
inmates refreshment and comfort. Her pious deeds shone bright upon his
soul. He thought of her as she had come to distribute words of
comfort, binding up the wounds of the afflicted, giving meat to the
hungry; though her stern husband had chidden her for it. He thought of
the legend told of her, how she had been carrying the full basket
containing food and wine, when her husband, who watched her footsteps,
came forth and asked angrily what she was carrying, whereupon she
answered, in fear and trembling, that the basket contained roses which
she had plucked in the garden; how he had torn away the white cloth
from the basket, and a miracle had been performed for the pious lady;
for bread, and wine, and everything in the basket had been transformed
into roses!

Thus the saint's memory dwelt in Anthony's quiet mind; thus she stood
bodily before his downcast face, before his warehouse in the simple
booth in the Danish land. He uncovered his head, and looked into her
gentle eyes, and everything around him was beautiful and roseate. Yes,
the roses seemed to unfold themselves in fragrance. There came to him
a sweet, peculiar odour of apples, and he saw a blooming apple tree,
which spread its branches above him--it was the tree which Molly and
he had planted together.

And the tree strewed down its fragrant leaves upon him, cooling his
burning brow. The leaves fell upon his parched lips, and were like
strengthening bread and wine; and they fell upon his breast, and he
felt reassured and calm, and inclined to sleep peacefully.

"Now I shall sleep," he whispered to himself. "Sleep is refreshing.
To-morrow I shall be upon my feet again, and strong and
well--glorious, wonderful! That apple tree, planted in true affection,
now stands before me in heavenly radiance----"

[Illustration: THE OPPOSITE NEIGHBOUR LOOKS AFTER OLD ANTHONY.]

And he slept.

The day afterwards--it was the third day that his shop had remained
closed--the snow-storm had ceased, and a neighbour from the opposite
house came over towards the booth where dwelt old Anthony, who had not
yet shown himself. Anthony lay stretched upon his bed--dead--with his
old cap clutched tightly in his two hands! They did not put that cap
on his head in his coffin, for he had a new white one.

Where were now the tears that he had wept? What had become of the
pearls? They remained in the nightcap--and the true ones