point which is even yet in
dispute among foresters--whether a fertile soil or a large return in
lumber is most to be desired. I began to feel assured that my son, who
had so often gone astray, would yet be able to erect a life-fabric that
would afford happiness both to himself and to others.

Towards evening, when we were about to light the lamps, the Professor
arrived, to Martella's great delight.

"I knew you would be glad to see me," said Richard, "and I must confess
I like to come to my parents; but I have come more for the sake of
seeing you than any one else."

Richard congratulated Ernst, and promised to prepare a grand poem for
the wedding day.

The lights shone brightly, and joy beamed from every eye.

The Professor had brought some books for Martella, but had not been
fortunate in his selections. There were children's books among them,
and these Martella quietly laid aside.

Bertha had sent her a dress, Annette had contributed some furs, and
Johanna had sent her an elegantly bound Bible.

"I see already," said Martella, "that naught but good things are
showered down on me. Let them come. God grant that the day may arrive
when I, too, can bestow gifts. But now let us be happy," she said,
turning to Ernst. "When we are alone together in the wild-woods, let us
remember how lovely it is here. Look at the Christmas-tree. It was out
in the cold and was freezing; but now they have brought it into the
warm room, and decked it with lights and all sorts of pretty gifts. And
thus was I, too, out of doors and forgotten; but now I am better off;
the tree is dead, but I--" Richard grasped my hand in silence, and
softly whispered:

"Don't interrupt her. Always let her finish what she has begun this
way. When the bird singing on the tree observes that the wanderer is
looking up to it with grateful eyes, it flies away."

Martella tried on her furs, stroked them with her hand, and then lit
the lights on a little Christmas-tree on which were hanging some large
stockings--the first she had ever knit.

"Come along," she said to Ernst, "let us go to Rothfuss; and, Richard,
you had better come with us, too, and help us sing."

Carrying the burning tree in her hand, and accompanied by Ernst and
Richard, she went, singing on her way, to the room in which Rothfuss
lay.

"You are the first person," she said to Rothfuss, "to whom I can give
something. I only knit them; the wool was given me by my mother."

"Oh!" exclaime