ole district, and the site of the
old Poor-house was chosen for it. The beautiful nut-trees which Hannele
had planted had to be destroyed. I was sorry to be obliged to give
the order, but we needed the ground where they stood. As we had to be
economical in everything, big and little, we had planks sawn out of the
trees for our use.'

"At this point another spirit interrupted the physician. 'I have lain
in one of the beds made from the wood. At home I slept on a bundle of
straw, and very uncomfortable it was when I was shaken by the fever. In
the hospital all was different, and when I lay in my comfortable bed, I
felt as if I were already in Heaven.'

"'And I,' cried another broad-winged angel, 'for ten years I walked
with the crutches that were made for me from the nut-tree by the Fresh
Spring, and old Conrad, below on the earth, is still using them.'

"'And mine also,' another continued, 'were of the same wood. I had lain
for a long time on my back; but after I got them, I learned to walk with
them and they enabled me to stand before the loom, and to earn bread
once more for my family. That man yonder from Hochdorf has had the same
experience, and the wooden leg of William, the toll-gate keeper, who
entered here shortly before me, was made of wood from the nut-tree.'

"'I owe it a debt of gratitude, too, but for an entirely different
service,' said a beautiful angel, as it bowed its crowned head
reverently before the Son of God. 'My lot below was a very hard one. I
was early left a widow, and I supported my children entirely by the
work of my hands. By dint of great effort I brought them up well, and my
three sons grew to be brave men, who took care of themselves, and helped
their mother. But all three, my Master, were lost to me, taken away by
the unfathomable wisdom of the Father. Two fell in war, the third was
killed by the machinery while at his work. That broke my strength, and
when they brought me to the hospital I was on the verge of despair, and
life seemed a greater burden than I could bear. Your image, my Saviour,
had just been finished by a sculptor, who had carved it from the wood of
the nut-tree by the Fresh Spring. They put it up opposite to my bed. It
represented you, my Lord, on the cross, and your head bowed in agony,
with its crown of thorns, was a very sorrowful sight. Yet I paid but
small heed to it. One morning, however--it was the anniversary of the
death of my two dear sons, who had lost their