-wert
thou not born here--art thou not my son?" And as she spoke she grasped
eagerly both his hands.

The stranger paused, and a pang as if of sorrow seemed to pass across
his brow, as he saw the weakness and infirmity of her who stood
trembling before him. The years which had passed over his own head and
had changed him from the slender youth into the strong and healthy man,
had indeed laid a sore and heavy hand on her, who all this time had been
left alone and unprotected, bowed down with sorrow and infirmity. He
reproached himself for his long absence and neglect. Then falling on her
neck, he embraced her long and tenderly, and he said, "Mother, I am
indeed thy Hans!" and then turning to the wondering monks, "Yes, holy
fathers, I am the Hans Gensfleisch, who was in this convent taught to
read and write. When but a child, it was chance which first gave me the
thought of thus imprinting books, but long years of patience and
industry have been needed ere I could bring it to perfection." Then to
his mother, he said, "I will leave thee no more. Too much of my life has
been passed away from thee--but now shalt thou have thy son again to
cheer thy last days and to make thee happy."

And happy indeed was Frau Gensfleisch, and she needed no promises from
her son to assure her of the joy and comfort which his care would secure
her for the few remaining years of her life. One thing alone displeased
her, which was that he should have adopted a name different from that by
which he had been known in childhood, but when he told her of the
ridicule which had followed him wherever he went, when his strange name
of Gensfleisch[3] was heard, she was reconciled; especially when he
reminded her too, that the name which he had taken, was one which
belonged to his family and to which he had some claim; and when in
future she would hear her son called by his name of Gutenberg, and was
told that that name was become known not only all over Germany, but in
strange and distant lands, she would say, "Yes, Gutenberg--it soundeth
well. It is a goodly name,--but he is still my Hans, my own son Hans!"

And Father Gottlieb, too, when they talked to him of the fame which his
nephew had gained, and how that his native town felt proud that one of
her citizens should had discovered and made perfect so wonderful and
useful an art, so that he was looked upon as a great and famous man--the
good Father would thank God that the fame and the greatness h