asant to our friend
to walk along the street toward the end of the afternoon, and look at
the pretty cottages, each with its garden of flowers in front and its
vine-encased windows and doors. Now and then he saw at door or window or
in little garden young girls with flowers in their hands: were they
weaving them into emblematic devices for the coffin and the grave? This
little hamlet seemed to be the sanctuary of beautiful thoughts and
things. Music was loved and served here, and he had never seen so many
flowers as were crowded into these gardens.

Instead of entering the church at the hour appointed for the funeral, as
Mrs. Loretz had advised him to do, Leonhard merely ascended the steps
and looked within on the neat edifice, all the architectural points of
which could be surveyed at a glance, for there was neither pulpit nor
altar within, nor pointed window nor arched roof to gaze at, but merely
a large square room well furnished with benches, and a table and the
minister's chair; and then descending the steps, he retired to a group
of trees in the distance, beneath which he sat down to await the
procession. He had not to wait long. Soon the sound of trombones came
floating upon, encompassing, filling the air. A slight breeze was
stirring; the sun was going down; the willow-covered plain was aglow
with its golden light; among the hills the evening shadows were already
gathering. Night was only awaiting its swift-coming opportunity.

A small company gathered around the corpse-house, the body was brought
forth upon the bier, and the procession, which had silently and quickly
gathered at the signal of the trombones, started on foot for the church.

When all had entered the edifice, Leonhard went in and sat down near the
door. It was but his third night in Spenersberg, yet he was not among
strangers, and how his heart was moved by all he saw and heard! An
influence prevailed in this place which was fast mastering him.

As he sat down and looked upon the faces of the elders, the faces of the
men and the women--of the people who had toiled, and whose toil had been
blessed to them--who had suffered, and whose suffering had been
sanctified to them--his heart was like wax. In the drive and hurry of
life he had never seen such faces. When he watched the troop of
children, dressed in white and walking hand in hand, he thought of his
own lonely childhood, and sighed to think that he had come here too
late. And the minister, w