a musician of no ordinary talent. As he drew nearer his
surprise was great to see that the player was none other than the
beautiful child found in the Black Forest. Attracted by the sound of
steps, Frida had turned round, and seeing her friend had, as we have
written, bounded off to meet him. Hearing that Elsie had taken her babe
and gone a message to the Dorf, he seated himself on a knoll with the
child and began to talk to her.

"How old are you?" he asked her.

"Seven years and more," she replied; "because I remember my birthday was
only a little while before Muetterchen (I always called her that) died,
and that that day she took the locket she used to wear off her neck and
gave it to me, telling me always to keep it."

"And have you that locket still?" queried the pastor.

"Yes; Elsie has it carefully put away. There is a picture of Muetterchen
on the one side, and of my father on the other."

"And did your mother ever speak to you of your relations either in
Germany or England?"

"Yes, she did sometimes. She spoke of grandmamma in England and
grandpapa also, and she said they lived in a beautiful house; but she
never told me their name, nor where their house was. Father, of course,
knew, for he said he was going to take me there, and he used to speak of
a brother of his whom he said he dearly loved."

"But tell me," asked the pastor, "where did you live with your parents
in Germany?"

"Oh, in a number of different places, but never long at the same place.
Father played at concerts just to make money, and we never remained long
anywhere--we were always moving about."

"And your parents were Protestants?"

"I don't know what that means," said the child. "But they were often
called 'Ketzers' by the people where he lodged. And they would not pray
to the Virgin Mary, as many did, but taught me to pray to God in the
name of Jesus Christ. And Muetterchen gave me a little 'brown Bible' for
my very own, which she said her mother had given to her. Oh, I must show
it to you, sir!" and, darting off, the child ran into the house,
returning with the treasured book in her hand. The pastor examined it
and read the inscription written on the fly-leaf--"To my dear Hilda,
from her loving mother, on her eighteenth birthday." That was all, but
he felt sure from the many underlined passages that the book had been
well studied. He found that Frida could read quite easily, and that she
had been instructed in Scripture truth.