in the
neighborhood; they show the care you take of them."

The doctor's wife came nearer to the hedge, and over the low barrier
Heiri, the day-laborer, stretched his hand, stained and knotted with
work, to clasp that of his old friend and schoolmate. How often had he
been to her for counsel and aid since those school-days, and when had
that willing and helpful hand ever failed him?

"How are you all at home, Heiri?" she asked heartily. "Have you plenty
of work? Are your wife and children well?"

"Yes, yes, thank God!" replied Heiri, as he lifted his heavy tools from
his shoulder and set them on the ground. "There is work enough; I am
just taking these tools to be sharpened. I have to keep hard at it, for
the family is growing big."

"The three little boys look finely; I saw them go by yesterday with
Elsli," continued the doctor's wife. "But Elsli herself looks quite too
pale and delicate. Do not forget how her mother died, Heiri. The little
girl ought not to have too much to do; she is not strong, and she is
growing too fast. Do take it in time, Heiri; you know by sad experience
how rapidly disease gains ground when it has once got hold of a young
girl."

"Yes, yes, I can never forget that. It was terrible to see how quickly
Gritli sank,--and she so young, so young! Marget is a good wife and an
industrious woman; but nothing will ever make me forget my poor Gritli";
and Heiri wiped away a few tears with his hard hand.

Tears were also in the eyes of the doctor's wife, as she said, "Neither
can I ever forget her, nor how gladly she would have lived for you and
the children, nor how quickly it was all over. Elsli is the very image
of her mother, Heiri, and I cannot help fearing that she is working
beyond her strength."

"She's a poor, thin little creature, to be sure," said Heiri; "and it
strikes me, now and then, that she is delicate; but usually she is so
quiet that I don't take much notice of her. Now, the boy is much more
like his mother; he's always busy about something, especially about
keeping things clean. He can't abide dirt, any more than Gritli could,
and he is always at the little ones to make them come and be washed at
the spout. Of course the little boys won't stand that, and they set up a
scream, and then out comes their mother, and there's a grand row! I
scarcely ever come home at night that Marget doesn't come complaining
of the boy for plaguing the younger children. She wants me to punish
him,