me before me; and what a worthless life it was!
I seemed shut out from heaven. I felt so miserable and hopeless and
wretched! Then I saw you coming over the water. You looked so pale
and slight, but you worked like a man. Then I understood that you
loved me, that you really cared for me, and would forgive me. I did
not know then of the dreadful thing of which I was suspected, but you
did, and you and dear father were willing to forgive me. That helped
me afterwards to understand that I might try to lead a new life, and to
believe our heavenly Father too could forgive me, and willingly give me
strength to do better."

Alma had several times tried to speak, but Frans had laid his hand
pleadingly on hers as he went on. Now she said solemnly, "Thank God,
Frans! we are to begin our new life together. I have not been the true
Christian you seem to have thought me, in spite of my very wrong way
towards you. I feel that I have set you a very bad example. We must
help each other now."

"_You_ must help me," said Frans soberly; then starting up, he
exclaimed, "But I am forgetting Marie, who has always been so kind to
me. You can't think how many messages she managed to send me when I
was in town in disgrace, and little things to eat, too, that she
thought I would like."

Marie was lingering in the hall, listening not to catch the words of
the conversation going on without, but enjoying the satisfaction of
hearing the voice of her "dear boy," as she called him, once more in
his own home. She had made up her mind, however, to reprove him
sharply for causing them all so much trouble. When, however, she saw
him looking so humble and sorrowful, so little like himself, she had no
reproaches for him, but took his offered hand affectionately, and
exclaimed, "You dear boy!" as if he had been a little child.

And Frans felt like a child--a naughty child; but a child forgiven, and
resolved to do better.

CHAPTER XVII.

QUESTIONINGS.

Another spring had come to the golden house. Such a little family as
Karin now had! She quite mourned over it. The twins had gone to
America; Erik had written for them. He had now a good place on a farm,
where there was work for two such "hands" as he was sure Adam and Enos
must be, raised in such a home. The twins had been good teachers of
the Swedish language in their way, the best way, by example; and Erik
was soon able to write a letter again that could be understood at the