it cost a princely sum of money."

And Gerda took Hulda into an adjoining
chamber and uncovered the picture, and for
a long time Hulda stood admiring it in
silence. It was indeed a masterpiece of art.
Such beauty of conception, such elegance of
design, and such nicety in execution had
never before been seen. It was a marvel of
figure and color and effect.

"Is it not the most beautiful picture in
all the world?" asked Gerda.

"It is very beautiful," replied Hulda, "but
it is not the most beautiful picture in all the
world."

Then Gerda took Hulda into another
chamber and showed her a jewelled music-box
which the most cunning artisans in all
Switzerland had labored for years to produce.

"You shall hear it make music," said Gerda.

And Gerda touched the spring, and the
music-box discoursed a harmony such as
Hulda's listening ears had never heard
before. It seemed as if a mountain brook, a
summer zephyr, and a wild-wood bird were
in the box vying with each other in sweet melodies.

"Is it not the most beautiful music in all
the world?" asked Gerda.

"It is very beautiful," replied Hulda, "but
it is not the most beautiful music in all the world."

Then Gerda was sorely vexed.

"You said that of the picture," said Gerda,
"and you say it of the music. Now tell
me, Hulda, where is there to be found a
more beautiful picture, and where more
beautiful music?"

"Come with me, Gerda," said Hulda.

And Hulda led Gerda from the stately
mansion into her own humble little cottage.

"See there upon the wall near the door?"
said Hulda.

"I see nothing but stains and marks of
dirt," said Gerda. "Where is the picture
of which you spoke?"

"They are the prints of a baby hand,"
said Hulda. "You are a woman and a
wife, and would you not exchange all the
treasures of your palace for the finger-marks
of a little hand upon your tinted walls?"

And Gerda made no reply.

Then Hulda went to a corner and drew
forth a pair of quaint, tiny shoes and showed
them to Gerda.

"These are a baby's shoes," said Hulda,
"and make a music no art can equal. Other
sounds may charm the ear and delight the
senses, but the music of a baby's shoe thrills
the heart and brings the soul into
communion with the angels."

Then Gerda cried "'T is true, O Hulda!
't is true." And she bowed her head and
wept. For she was childless.

THE WOOING OF MISS WOPPIT

At that time the camp was new. Most of what was calle