e of my own.' I thought he had a good
purpose in view if he would only pursue it the right way. But it does not
do to want to begin by being a gentleman. First come work, and service for
us all, then mastership may follow. Whoever tries to begin at the end,
will end at the beginning; which is not a good nor an agreeable method. Am
I right or wrong, Dietrich?"

"You are right, doctor. If one could only look ahead!" answered Dietrich.

"Yes, that would help; but as we cannot, we must trust those who are our
friends, and who have gone before us in the right way, and can show us the
road; like that noble woman to whom we are now going."

When they entered Gertrude's room they found her asleep. The doctor sat
down by the bedside, watched her awhile, and felt her pulse from time to
time. Then he arose and turning to Veronica, he said,

"I can do no good here; take care of her; she deserves all you can do, but
the lamp of life burns low, and will soon go out altogether. She has had a
hard lot; trouble wears faster than years."

With these words the doctor went to the door. He did not even glance
towards Dietrich, who threw himself on his knees by the bedside of his
dying mother, sobbing out:

"O God in Heaven, do not let her die! Let her come back! Let her have a
little comfort in this world! Punish me as I deserve, but oh! let my
mother live!"

Gertrude opened her eyes. She grasped the hand of her sobbing son, which
lay upon hers, and held it tightly clasped; while she whispered softly:

"Yes, my Dieterli, pray, pray; if you can pray, all will come right
again."

She closed her eyes and never spoke again. The hand that held Dietrich's
grew cold. Veronica, who had been standing behind Dietrich weeping
silently approached the bedside, took Gertrude's other hand in hers, and
said between her sobs:

"Sleep well, dear, good mother! Yes, for you 'tomorrow will be fine';" and
she left the room.

Two days later Dietrich followed his mother to her last resting place.
There was no need to avoid meeting people now, for every one knew that
the true thief had been discovered. But no hope was left to him in his
home. When he returned from the funeral, and went into the house, he knew
that he had no right there, for it no longer belonged to him. He went to
his room, strapped on his heavy knap-sack, and came down stairs. Veronica
was alone in the sitting-room. She stood leaning against the window, her
eyes fixed on the church-