nothing to her; she went about her
work all the more diligently and ignored it all. Black Marianne could
offer her no encouragement in her hope that the stranger would some day
appear again and claim her; she had waited all her life for her John,
and would continue to wait until she died.]

Spring had come again. Amrei was standing beside the flowers in her
window when a bee came flying up and began sucking at an open blossom.

"Yes, so it is," thought Barefoot; "a girl is like a plant; she grows up
in one place, and cannot go out into the world and seek--she must wait
until something comes flying to her."

"Were I a little bird,
And had a pair of wings,
I'd fly to thee;
But since I can't do that,
Here must I be.

Though I am far from thee,
In dreams I am with thee,
Thou art mine own;
But when I wake again,
I am alone.

No hour at night doth pass,
But that my heart doth wake,
And think of thee,--"

Thus sang Amrei. It was wonderful how all songs seemed now to apply to
her own life. And how many thousands of people have already sung those
songs from the depths of their souls, and how many thousands more are
yet to sing them!

Ye who yearn and who at last embrace a heart, ye embrace along with it
the love of all those who have ever been, or who ever shall be.

CHAPTER XII

HE IS COME

One Sunday afternoon Barefoot, according to her custom, was leaning
against the door-post of the house and gazing dreamily out before her,
when Coaly Mathew's grandson came running up the street, beckoning to
her from afar and crying:

"He is come, Barefoot! He is come!"

Barefoot felt her knees tremble, and she cried in a broken voice:

"Where is he? Where?"

"At my grandfather's, in Mossbrook Wood!"

"Where? Who? Who sent you?"

"Your Damie--he's down yonder in the woods."

Barefoot was obliged to sit down on the stone bench in front of the
house; but only for a minute. Then she pulled herself together and stood
up stiffly with the words:

"My brother? My Damie?"

"Yes, Barefoot's Damie," said the boy, bluntly; "and he promised that
you would give me a kreutzer if I would run and tell you. So now give me
a kreutzer."

"My Damie will give you three."

"Oh, no!" said the boy, "he's been whimpering to my grandfather because
he hadn't a kreutzer left."

"I haven't one now either," said Barefoot, "but I'll promise you one."

She went quickly into the ho