sincerely grateful to Ludwig for having cured his
corns. "But it is not of Ludwig's shoes that we are talking now, my
Roschen," he went on. "It is of Ludwig himself. Hast thou nothing to say
in answer to what he asks?"

Through her tears Roschen laughed a little, and she pressed her head
still more closely beneath her father's chin. "Thou dear foolish one,"
she said, "canst thou not understand?" And then, after a moment of
silence, she went on: "Hast thou not seen, dear father, how all the
birds love Ludwig, and of their own accord go to him?"

Then a little light broke in upon Andreas, and the hope that he had
cherished began to pale; but he answered stoutly: "Yes, the birds love
him, for he is a good young man. And thou, my daughter?"

And Roschen answered in a voice so low and tremulous that Andreas
divined rather than heard the words she spoke: "Perhaps it is with me
also, dear father, as it is with the birds!"

[Illustration: Perhaps it is with me also 298]

For a little time there was silence--for Andreas did not trust himself
to speak while his hope was dying in his heart--then he raised the
pretty head from its resting-place upon his breast, and as he kissed the
forehead that was so like the dead Christine's.

"'Perhaps it is with me also, dear father, as it is with the bird'" he
said, reverently and tenderly: "For thy good and happiness, my dear one,
may God's will be done." And as he clasped her again to him closely, the
Kronprinz once more lifted up his voice in sweetest song.

When at last Roschen raised her rosy, happy face from her father's
breast, she was so full of the wonder that had come to pass that she did
not perceive his weary look, nor how pale he was; yet less pale now than
a little time before when his face was unseen by her.

And presently the rosiness of this sweet Roschen grew still deeper as
the shop door opened, with a great tinkling of its little bell, and
Ludwig entered. Andreas arose from his chair slowly--but neither of them
noticed how feeble and labored were his motions, like those of a weak
old man--and clasped in both of his own Ludwig's great brown hand, while
with a look of love he said: "It is as thou wouldst have it, my son.
This dear rose of my growing will bloom in thy garden now"--and he
led Ludwig to where Roschen, who indeed was a true rose just then, was
standing and put her hand in his.

And then, with a wistful eagerness, he went on: "And thou wilt care for
her