end of the world with you. But we are
not alone. If we go, your parents and your brothers and sisters must
give us their blessing at parting."

"Oh! that they will."

"I think so too. But just consider, Ernst! We are both of us quite
young, and I have just begun to live. Do not look so fierce; when you
do that, you do not look half so handsome as you really are. And
besides, there is something yet on my mind which I must tell you, and
in which I am fully resolved."

"I cannot imagine what you mean; it seems, at times, that I really do
not know you as I once did."

"You do know me, and it grieves me to be obliged to tell you so."

"What is it? What can it be? You have become quite serious all at
once."

"I am glad that you can say so much in my praise, for I have need of
it; and I feel quite sure that you will approve of what I am going to
say.

"Just see, Ernst! I won't speak of anything else--but with mother's aid
I have begun so much that is good, that I cannot bear to think of
hurrying away while the work is half finished. You have passed your
examination; let me pass mine too. First let mother tell me that my
apprenticeship is at an end, and then I will wander with you; and we
shall be two jolly gadabouts, and have lots of money for travelling
expenses. Isn't it so? You will let me stay here ever so long; won't
you?

"Ah, that is right. You are laughing again, and I see that you approve
of what I have said. If you had not done so you should have had no
peace, for my mind is made up.

"The canopied bed next to your mother's is now mine; and indeed it is a
heavenly canopy that one must be slow to leave. And, as I told you
before, I have just begun to live."

Ernst looked towards my wife. It seemed as if doubt and pride were
struggling within him. When Martella had left the room and my wife
urged him to remain with us and to afford us the joy of having such a
daughter-in-law in our home, he was vanquished, and exclaimed:

"Yes, I am indeed proud of her! I must admit I never expected so much
of her. If she only does not grow over my head."

My wife wrote me that she only remembered a portion of what had
happened. The wisdom and feeling evinced by the child had surprised
her; and the subdued, heartfelt voice in which she had spoken had been
as delightful as the loveliest music. She had been obliged to ask
herself if this really was the wild creature who had entered the house
but three-quarters of a year