{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_31521/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_31521","id":"gutenberg_31521","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31521","summary":null,"tags":["Bible -- Juvenile fiction","Black Forest (Germany) -- Juvenile fiction","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Children and death -- Juvenile fiction","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Inheritance and succession -- Juvenile fiction","Kindness -- Juvenile fiction","Missing children -- Juvenile fiction","Violinists -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Looking anxiously at the babe in her arms.\n_See page 42._]\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE FRIDA\n\nA TALE OF THE BLACK FOREST\n\n    BY THE AUTHOR OF\n    \"LITTLE HAZEL, THE KING'S MESSENGER\"\n    \"UNDER THE OLD OAKS; OR, WON BY LOVE\"\n    ETC. ETC.\n\nTHOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD.\n\nLONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n        I. LOST IN THE WOODS                                    9\n\n       II. THE WOOD-CUTTER'S HUT                               16\n\n      III. FRIDA'S FATHER                                      23\n\n       IV. THE PARSONAGE                                       29\n\n        V. THE WOODMEN'S PET                                   36\n\n       VI. ELSIE AND THE BROWN BIBLE                           42\n\n      VII. IN DRINGENSTADT                                     46\n\n     VIII. THE VIOLIN-TEACHER AND THE CONCERT                  54\n\n       IX. CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST                             68\n\n        X. HARCOURT MANOR                                      76\n\n       XI. IN THE RIVIERA                                      86\n\n      XII. IN THE GREAT METROPOLIS                             95\n\n     XIII. IN THE SLUMS                                       104\n\n      XIV. THE OLD NURSE                                      115\n\n       XV. THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE                            127\n\n      XVI. THE STORM                                          131\n\n     XVII. THE DISCOVERY                                      137\n\n    XVIII. OLD SCENES                                         151\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n    Looking anxiously at the babe in her arms      _Frontispiece_\n\n    Ere the child consented to go to bed she\n    opened the little \"brown book\"                             17\n\n    \"Come, Frida,\" she said, \"let us play the last\n    passage together\"                                          66\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE FRIDA.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nLOST IN THE WOODS.\n\n    \"When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will\n    take me up.\"\n\n\n\"See, Hans, how dark it gets, and thy father not yet home! What keeps\nhim, thinkest thou? Supper has been ready for a couple of hours, and who\nknows what he may meet with in the Forest if the black night fall!\" and\nthe speaker, a comely German peasant woman, crossed herself as she\nspoke. \"I misdoubt me something is wrong. The saints preserve him!\"\n\nThe boy, who looked about ten years old, was gazing in the direction of\na path which led through the Forest, but, in answer to this appeal,\nsaid, \"Never fear, Muetterchen; father will be all right. He never loses\nhis way, and he whistles so loud as he walks that I am sure he will\nfrighten away all the bad--\"\n\nBut here his mother laid her hand on his mouth, saying, \"Hush, Hans!\nnever mention them in the twilight; 'tis not safe. Just run to the\nopening in the wood and look if ye see him coming; there is still light\nenough for that. It will not take you five minutes to do so. And then\ncome back and tell me, for I must see to the pot now, and to the infant\nin the cradle.\"\n\nThe night, an October one, was cold, and the wind was rising and sighing\namongst the branches of the pine trees. Darker and darker gathered the\nshades, as mother and son stood again at the door of their hut after\nHans had returned from his useless quest. No sign of his father had he\nseen, and boy though he was, he knew too much of the dangers that attend\na wood-cutter's life in the Forest not to fear that some evil might have\nbefallen his father; but he had a brave young heart, and tried to\ncomfort his mother.\n\n\"He'll be coming soon now, Muetterchen,\" he said; \"and won't he laugh at\nus for being so frightened?\"\n\nBut the heart of the wife was too full of fear to receive comfort just\nthen from her boy's words.\n\n\"Nay, Hans,\" she said; \"some evil has befallen him. He never tarries so\nlate. Thy father is not one to turn aside to his mates' houses and\ngossip away his time as others do. It is always for home and children\nthat he sets out when his work is done. No, Hans; I know the path to the\nplace where he works, and I can follow it even in the dark. Stay here\nand watch by the cradle of the little Annchen, whilst I go and see if I\ncan find thy father.\"\n\n\"Nay, Muetterchen,\" entreated the boy; \"thee must not go. And all alone\ntoo! Father would never have let you do so had he been here. O Mutter,\nstay here! Little Annchen will be waking and wanting you, and how could\nI quiet her? O Muetterchen, go not!\" and he clung to her, trying to hold\nher back.\n\nJust as his mother, maddened with terror, was freeing herself from his\ngrasp, the sound of a footstep struck her ear, and mother and child\ntogether exclaimed, \"Ah, there he comes!\"\n\nSure enough through the wood a man's figure became visible, but he was\nevidently heavily laden. He carried, besides his axe and saw, two large\nbundles. What they were could not be distinguished in the darkness.\n\nWith a cry of joyous welcome his wife sprang forward to meet her\nhusband, and Hans ran eagerly to help him to carry his burden; but to\ntheir amazement he said, though in a kindly tone, \"Elsie--Hans, keep off\nfrom me till I am in the house.\"\n\nThe lamp was lighted, and a cheerful blaze from the stove, the door of\nwhich was open, illumined the little room into which the stalwart young\nwood-cutter, Wilhelm Hoerstel, entered.\n\nThen, to the utter astonishment of his wife and son, he displayed his\nbundle. Throwing back a large shawl which completely covered the one he\nheld in his arms, he revealed a sleeping child of some five or six years\nold, who grasped tightly in her hand a small book. In his right hand he\nheld a violin and a small bag.\n\nElsie gazed with surprise, not unmingled with fear. \"What meaneth these\nthings, Wilhelm?\" she said; \"and from whence comes the child? _Ach_, how\nwonderfully beautiful she is! Art sure she is a child of earth? or is\nthis the doing of some of the spirits of the wood?\"\n\nAt these words Wilhelm laughed. \"Nay, wife, nay,\" he replied, and his\nvoice had a sad ring in it as he spoke. \"This is no wood sprite, if such\nthere be, but a little maiden of flesh and blood. Let me rest, I pray\nthee, and lay the little one on the bed; and whilst I take my supper I\nwill tell thee the tale.\"\n\nAnd Elsie, wise woman as she was, did as she was asked, and made ready\nthe simple meal, set it on the wooden bench which served as table, then\ndrew her husband's chair nearer the stove, and restraining her\ncuriosity, awaited his readiness to begin the tale.\n\nWhen food and heat had done their work, Wilhelm felt refreshed; and when\nElsie had cleared the table, and producing her knitting had seated\nherself beside him, he began his story; whilst Hans, sitting on a low\nstool at his feet, gazed with wondering eyes now on the child sleeping\non the bed, and then at his father's face.\n\n\"Ay, wife,\" the wood-cutter began, speaking in the _Plattdeutsch_ used\nby the dwellers in the Forest, \"'tis a wonderful story I have to tell.\n'Twas a big bit of work I had to finish to-day, first cutting and then\npiling up the wood far in the Forest. I had worked hard, and was\nwearying to be home with you and the children; but the last pile had to\nbe finished, and ere it was so the evening was darkening and the wind\nwas rising. So when the last log was laid I collected my things, and\nputting on my blouse, set off at a quick pace for home. But remembering\nI had a message to leave at the hut of Johann Schmidt, telling him to\nmeet me in the morning to fell a tree that had been marked for us by the\nforester, I went round that way, which thou knowest leads deeper into\nthe Forest. Johann had just returned from his work, and after exchanging\na few words I turned homewards.\n\n\"The road I took was not my usual one, but though it led through a very\ndark part of the Forest, I thought it was a shorter way. As I got on I\nwas surprised to see how dark it was. Glimpses of light, it is true,\nwere visible, and the trees assumed strange shapes, and the Forest\nstreams glistened here and there as the rising moon touched them\nwith its beams. But the gathering clouds soon obscured the faint\nmoonlight.--You will laugh, Hans, when I tell you that despite what I\nhave so often said to you about not believing in the woodland spirits,\nthat even your good Muetterchen believes in, my heart beat quicker as now\none, now another of the gnarled trunks of the lower trees presented the\nappearance of some human form; but I would not let my fear master me, so\nonly whistled the louder to keep up my courage, and pushed on my way.\n\n\"The Forest grew darker and darker, and the wind began to make a wailing\nsound in the tree-tops. A sudden fear came over me that I had missed my\nway and was getting deeper into the Forest, and might not be able to\nregain my homeward path till the morning dawned, when once more for a\nfew minutes the clouds parted and the moon shone out, feeble, no\ndoubt--for she is but in her first quarter--and her beams fell right\nthrough an opening in the wood, and revealed the figure of a little\nchild seated at the foot of a fir tree. Alone in the Forest at that\ntime of night! My heart seemed to stand still, and I said to myself,\n'Elsie is right after all. That can only be some spirit child, some\nwoodland being.'\n\n\"A whisper in a little voice full of fear roused me and made me approach\nthe child. She looked up, ere she could see my face, and again repeated\nthe words in German (though not like what we speak here, but more the\nlanguage of the town, as I spoke it when I lived there as a boy),\n'Father, father, I am glad you've come. I was feeling very frightened.\nIt is so dark here--so dark!' As I came nearer she gave a little cry of\ndisappointment, though not fear; and then I knew it was no woodland\nsprite, but a living child who sat there alone at that hour in the\nForest. My heart went out to her, and kneeling down beside her I asked\nher who she was, and how she came to be there so late at night. She\nanswered, in sweet childish accents, 'I am Frida Heinz, and fader and I\nwere walking through this big, big Forest, and by-and-by are going to\nsee England, where mother used to live long ago.' It was so pretty to\nhear her talk, though I had difficulty in making out the meaning of her\nwords. 'But where then is your father?' I asked. I believe, wife, the\nlanguage I spoke was as difficult for her to understand as the words she\nhad spoken were to me, for she repeated them over as if wondering what\nthey meant. Then trying to recall the way I had spoken when a boy, which\nI have never quite forgotten, I repeated my question. She understood,\nand answered in her sweet babyish accents, 'Fader come back soon, he\ntold little Frida. He had lost the road, and he said I'se to wait here\ntill he came back, and laid his violin and his bag 'side me, and told me\nto keep this little book, which he has taught me to read, 'cos he says\nmother loved it so. Then he went away; and I've waited--oh so long, and\nhe's never come back, and I'se cold, so cold, and hungry, and I want my\nown fader. O kind man, take Frida to him. And he's ill, so ill too! Last\nnight I heard the people in the place we slept in say he'd never live to\ngo through the Forest; but he would go, 'cos he wanted to take me 'cross\nthe sea.' Then the pretty little creature began to cry bitterly, and beg\nme again to take her to father. I told her I would wait a bit with her,\nand see if he came. For more than an hour I sat there beside her, trying\nto warm and comfort her; for I tell you, Elsie, she seemed to creep into\nmy heart, and reminded me of our little one, who would have been about\nher size had she been alive, though she was but three years old when she\ndied.\n\n\"Well, time went on, and the night grew darker, and I knew how troubled\nyou would be, and yet I knew not what to do. I left the child for a bit,\nand looked here and there in the Forest; but all was dark, and though I\ncalled long and loud no answer came. So I returned, took the child in my\narms (for she is but a light weight), and with my tools thrown over my\nshoulder, and the violin and bag in my hand, I made my way home. The\nchild cried awhile, saying she must wait for fader, then fell sound\nasleep in my arms. Now, wife, would it not be well to undress her, and\ngive her some food ere she sleeps again, for she must be hungry?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE WOOD-CUTTER'S HUT.\n\n    \"Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me;\n       Bless Thy little lamb to-night.\"\n\n\n\"Indeed you are right, Wilhelm,\" said his wife. \"No doubt the poor\nlittle maid must be hungry, only I had not the heart to waken her.--See,\nHans, there is some goat's milk in the corner yonder. Get it heated,\nwhilst I cut a bit of this bread, coarse though it be. 'Tis all we have\nto give her; but such as it is, she is right welcome to it, poor little\nlamb.\"\n\nAs she spoke she moved quietly to the bed where the child lay asleep. As\nshe woke she uttered the cry, \"Fader, dear fader!\" then raised herself\nand looked around. Evidently the story of the day flashed upon her, and\nshe turned eagerly to the wood-cutter, asking if \"fader\" had come yet.\n\nOn being told that he had not, she said no more, but her eyes filled\nwith tears. She took the bread and milk without resistance, though she\nlooked at the black bread as if it were repugnant to her. Then she let\nherself be undressed by Elsie, directing her to open the bag, and\ntaking from it a nightdress of fine calico, a brush and comb, also a\nlarge sponge, a couple of fine towels, a change of underclothing, two\npairs of stockings, and one black dress, finer than the one she wore.\n\n[Illustration: Ere the child consented to go to bed she opened the\nlittle \"brown book.\"]\n\nEre the child consented to go to bed she opened the little \"brown book,\"\nwhich was a German Bible, and read aloud, slowly but distinctly, the\nlast verse of the Fourth Psalm: \"Ich liege und schlafe ganz mit Frieden;\ndenn allein Du, Herr, hilfst mir, dass ich sicher wohne\" (\"I will both\nlay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in\nsafety\"). Then she knelt down, and prayed in simple words her evening\nprayer, asking God to let father come home, and to bless the kind people\nwho had given her a shelter, for Christ's sake.\n\nElsie and Wilhelm looked at each other with amazement. Alas! there was\nno fear of God in that house. Elsie might cross herself when she spoke\nof spirits, but that was only as a superstitious sign that she had been\ntold frightened them away.\n\nOf Christ and His power to protect and save they knew nothing. Roman\nCatholics by profession, they yet never darkened a church door, save\nperhaps when they took a child to be baptized; but they only thought of\nthat ordinance as a protection to their child from the evil one. God's\nholy Word was to them a sealed book. True, all the wood-cutters were not\nlike them, but still a spirit of ignorance and indifference as regarded\nreligion reigned amongst them; and if now and then a priest sought their\ndwelling, his words (such as they were) fell on dull ears. Things seen\nand temporal engrossed all their thoughts. The daily work, the daily\nbread, and the nightly sleep--these filled their hearts and excluded\nGod. So it was not to be wondered at that little Frida's reading and\nprayer were an astonishment to them.\n\n\"What think you of that, Elsie?\" said Wilhelm. \"The child spoke as if\nshe were addressing some one in the room.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" answered his wife. \"It was gruesome to hear her. She made me\nlook up to see if there was really any one there; and she wasn't\nspeaking to our Lady either. Art sure she is a child of earth at all,\nWilhelm?\"\n\n\"Ay, she's that; and the question is, wife, What shall we do with her?\nSuppose the father never turns up, shall we keep her, or give her over\nto them that have the charge of wanderers and such like?\"\n\nHere Hans sprang forward. \"Nay, father, nay! Do not send her away. She\nis so pretty, and looks like the picture of an angel. I saw one in the\nchurch where little Annchen was baptized. Oh, keep her, father!--Mutter,\ndo not send the little maid back into the forest!\"\n\nBut Elsie's woman's heart had no thought of so doing. \"No, no, my lad,\"\nshe said. \"Never fear; we'll keep the child till some one comes to take\nher away that has a right to her. Who knows but mayhap she'll bring a\nblessing on our house; for often I think we don't remember the Virgin\nand the saints as we ought. My mother did, I know;\" and as she spoke\ngreat tears rolled down her cheeks.\n\nThe child's prayer had touched a chord of memory, and recalled the days\nof her childhood, when she had lived with parents who at least\nreverenced the Lord, though they had not been taught to worship Him\naright.\n\nWilhelm sat for a few minutes lost in thought. He was pondering the\nquestion whether, supposing the child was left on his hands, he could\nsupport her by doing extra work. It would be difficult, he knew; but if\nElsie were willing he'd try, for his kind heart recoiled from sending\nthe little child who clung to him so confidingly adrift amongst\nstrangers. No, he would not do so.\n\nAfter a while he turned to his wife, who had gone to the cradle where\nlay their six-weeks-old baby, and was rocking it, as the child had cried\nout in her sleep.\n\n\"Elsie,\" he said, \"I'll set off at break of day, and go amongst my\nmates, and find out if they have seen or heard aught of the missing\ngentleman.--Come, Hans,\" he said suddenly; \"'tis time you were asleep.\"\n\nA few minutes later and Hans had tumbled into his low bed, and lay for a\nshort time thinking about Frida, and wondering who she had been speaking\nto when she knelt down; but in the midst of his wondering he fell\nasleep.\n\nWilhelm, wearied with his day's work, was not long in following his\nson's example, and was soon sound asleep; but no word of prayer rose\nfrom his heart and lips to the loving Father in heaven, who had guarded\nand kept him from the dangers of the day.\n\nElsie was in no hurry to go to bed; her heart was full of many thoughts.\nThe child's prayer and the words out of the little book had strangely\nmoved her, and she was asking herself if there were indeed a God (as in\nher childhood she had been taught to believe), what had she ever done to\nplease Him.\n\nConscience said low, Nothing; but she tried to drown the thought, and\nbusied herself in cleaning the few dishes and putting the little room to\nrights, then sat down for a few minutes beside the stove to think.\n\nWhere could the father of the child be, she asked herself, and what\nwould be his feelings on returning to the place where he had left her\nwhen he found she was no longer there? Could he have lost his way in the\ngreat Forest? That was by no means unlikely; she had often heard of such\na thing as that happening. Then she wondered if there were any clue to\nthe child's friends or the place she was going to in the bag; and\nrising, she took it up and opened it.\n\nBesides the articles we have already enumerated, she found a case full\nof needles, some reels of cotton, a small book of German hymns, and a\ndouble locket with chain attached to it. This Elsie succeeded in\nopening, and on the one side was the picture of a singularly beautiful,\ndark-eyed girl, on the verge of womanhood; and on the other a blue-eyed,\nfair-haired young man, a few years older than the lady. Under the\npictures were engraved the words \"Hilda\" and \"Friedrich.\" Elsie doubted\nnot that these were the likenesses of Frida's father and mother, for the\nchild bore a strong resemblance to both. She had the dark eyes of her\nmother and the golden hair of her father, if such was the relationship\nshe bore to him.\n\nThese pictures were the only clue to the child's parentage. No doubt she\nwore a necklace quite unlike anything that Elsie had ever seen before;\nbut then, except in the shop windows, she had seen so few ornaments in\nher life that she knew not whether it was a common one or not.\n\nShe put the locket carefully back in its place, shut the bag, and\nslipped across the room to take another glance at the sleeping child.\nVery beautiful she looked as she lay, the fair, golden hair curling over\nher head and falling round her neck. Her lips were slightly parted, and,\nas if conscious of Elsie's approach, she muttered the word \"fader.\"\nElsie patted her, and turned once more to the little cradle where lay\nher infant. The child was awake and crying, and the mother stooped and\ntook her up, and sat down with her in her arms. A look of anxiety and\nsadness crossed the mother's face when she observed that although she\nflashed the little lamp in the baby's face her eyes never turned to the\nlight.\n\nFor some time the terrible fear had been rising in her head that her\nlittle Anna was blind. She had mentioned this to her husband, but he had\nlaughed at her, and said babies of that age never took much notice of\nanything; but that was three weeks ago, and still, though the eyes\nlooked bright, and the child was intelligent, the eyes never followed\nthe light, nor looked up into the mother's face.\n\nThe fear was now becoming certainty. Oh, if only she could make sure,\nsee some doctors, and find out if nothing could be done for her darling!\n\nA blind child! How could they support her, how provide for the wants of\none who could never help herself?\n\nPoor mother! her heart sank within her, for she knew nothing of the One\nwho has said, \"Cast all your cares upon me, for I care for you.\"\n\nNow as she gazed at the child she became more than ever convinced that\nthat strange trial had fallen upon her. And to add to this new\ndifficulty, how could she undertake the charge and keeping of this\nstranger so wonderfully brought to their door?\n\nElsie, although no Christian, had a true, loving woman's heart beating\nwithin her, and putting from her the very idea of sending away the lost\nchild, she said to herself, \"The little that a child like that will take\nwill not add much to the day's expense; and even if it did, Elsie\nHoerstel is not the woman to cast out the forlorn child.\" Oh, the pity of\nit that she did not know the words of Him who said, \"Inasmuch as ye did\nit to one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me;\" and\nagain, \"Whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth\nme.\" But these words had never yet reached her ears, and as yet it was\nonly the instincts of a true God-created heart that led her to\ncompassionate and care for the child lost in the forest.\n\nTaking the babe in her arms, she slipped into bed and soon fell asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFRIDA'S FATHER.\n\n    \"And though we sorrow for the dead,\n       Let not our grief be loud,\n     That we may hear Thy loving voice\n       Within the light-lined cloud.\"\n\n\nEarly in the morning, ere wife or children were awake, and long before\nthe October sun had arisen, Wilhelm Hoerstel arose, and putting a hunch\nof black bread and goat-milk cheese into his pocket, he shouldered his\naxe and saw and went out into the Forest.\n\nThe dawn was beginning to break, and there was light enough for the\npractised eye of the wood-cutter to distinguish the path which he wished\nto take through the Forest.\n\nGreat stillness reigned around; even the twittering of the birds had\nhardly begun--they were for the most part awaiting the rising of the\nsun, though here and there an early bird might be heard chirping as it\nflew off, no doubt in search of food. Even the frogs in the Forest ponds\nhad not yet resumed their croaking, and only the bubbling of a brooklet\nor the falling of a tiny cascade from the rocks (which abound in some\nparts of the Forest) was heard. The very silence which pervaded, calmed,\nand to a Christian mind would have raised the thoughts Godward. But it\nhad no such influence on the heart, the kindly heart, of the young\nwood-cutter as he walked on, bent only on reaching the small hamlet or\n\"Dorf\" where stood the hut of the man with whom he sought to hold\ncounsel as to how a search could be instituted in the Forest for the\nfather of little Frida.\n\nAs he reached the door, and just as the sun was rising above the\nhill-tops, and throwing here and there its golden beams through the\nautumn-tinted trees, he saw not one but several wood-cutters and\ncharcoal-burners going into the house of his friend Johann Schmidt.\nSomewhat wondering he hastened his steps, and entered along with them,\nputting as he did so the question, \"_Was gibt's?_\" (What is the matter?)\nHis friend, who came forward to greet him, answered the question by\nsaying, \"Come and help us, Wilhelm; a strange thing has happened here\nduring the night.\n\n\"Soon after Gretchen and I had fallen asleep, we were awakened by the\nnoise of some heavy weight falling at the door; and on going to see what\nit was, there, to our amazement, lay a man, evidently in a faint. We got\nhim into our hut, and after a while he became conscious, looked around\nhim, and said 'Frida!' Gretchen tried to find out who it was he wished,\nbut could only make out it was a child whom he had left in the Forest;\nbut whether he was still delirious none could tell. He pressed his hand\non his heart and said he was very ill, and again muttering the word,\n'Frida, Armseliger Frida,' he again fainted away.\n\n\"We did what we could for him, and he rallied a little; and then an hour\nago, Gretchen stooping over him heard him say, 'Herr Jesu. Ob ich schon\nwandelte im finstern Thal fuerchete ich kein Unglueck: denn Du bist bei\nmir' ('Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will\nfear no evil: for thou art with me'); and giving one deep breath his\nspirit fled.\"\n\nAs their mate said these words, exclamations of sorrow were heard\naround. \"_Ach_, poor man!\" said one. \"Thinkest thou the child he spoke\nof can be in the Forest?\" \"And the words he said about fearing no evil,\nwhat did they mean?\" said another. \"Well,\" said one who looked like a\nchief man amongst them, \"I believe he was _ein Ketzer_, and if that be\nso we had better send to Dringenstadt, where there is a _ketzer Pfarrer_\n[heretic pastor], and get his advice. I heard the other day that a new\none had come whom they called Herr Langen.\"\n\nThen as a momentary pause came, Wilhelm Hoerstel stepped forward and told\nthe tale of the child he had found in the Forest the night before, who\ncalled herself Frida. The men listened with amazement, but with one\nbreath they all declared she must be the child of whom the dead man had\nspoken.\n\n\"Ay,\" said Wilhelm, \"and I am sure she is the child of a _Ketzer_\n[heretic]; for what think ye a child like that did ere she went to bed?\nShe prayed, and my wife says never a word said she to the Virgin, but\nspoke just straight to God.\"\n\n\"_Ach_, poor _Maedchen_!\" said another of the men; \"does she think the\nLord would listen to the prayer of a child like her? The blessed Virgin\nhave pity on her;\" and as he spoke he crossed himself.\n\n\"If these things be so,\" said the chief man, by name Jacob Heine, \"then\nit is plain one of us must go off to Dringenstadt, see the _Pfarrer_,\nand settle about the funeral.\"\n\nHis proposal was at once agreed to, and as he was overseer of the\nwood-cutters, and could not leave his work, Johann Schmidt, in whose hut\nthe man had died, was chosen as the best man to go; whilst Wilhelm\nshould return to his home, and then take the child to see her dead\nfather.\n\n\"Yes, bring the _Maedchen_\" (little maid), said all, \"and let us see her\nalso; seems as if she belongs to us all, found in the Forest as she\nwas.\"\n\nThere was no time to be lost, for the sun was already well up, and the\nmen should have been at work long ago.\n\nSo they dispersed, some going to their work deeper in the Forest,\nWilhelm retracing his way home, and Johann taking the path which led\nthrough the wood to the little town of Dringenstadt.\n\nAs Wilhelm approached his door, the little Frida darted to him, saying,\n\"Have you found my fader? Oh, take me to him! Frida must go to her\nfader.\" Tears rose to the wood-cutter's eyes, as lifting the child in\nhis arms he entered the hut, and leaving Frida there with Hans, he\nbeckoned his wife to speak to him outside; and there he told her the\nstory of the man who had died in Johann's cottage.\n\n\"Ah, then,\" said Elsie, \"the little Frida is indeed an orphan, poor\nlambie. How shall we tell her, Wilhelm? Her little heart will break.\nEver since she woke she has prattled on about him; ay\" (and the woman's\nvoice lowered as she spoke), \"and of a Father who she says lives in\nheaven and cares both for her earthly father and herself. And, Wilhelm,\nshe's been reading aloud to Hans and me about the Virgin's Son of whom\nmy mother used to speak.\"\n\n\"Well, never mind about all that, wife, but let us tell the child; for I\nand my mates think she should be taken to see the body, and so make sure\nthat the man was really her father.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Fader dead!\" said the child, as she sat on Wilhelm's knee and heard the\nsad story. \"Dead! Shall Frida never see him again, nor walk with him,\nnor talk with him? Oh! dear, dear fader, why did you die and leave Frida\nall alone? I want you, I want you!\" and the child burst into a flood of\ntears.\n\nThey let her cry on, those kind-hearted people--nay, they wept with her;\nbut after some minutes had passed, Wilhelm raised her head, and asked\nher if she would not like to see her father once more, though he could\nnot speak to her now.\n\n\"Yes, oh yes! take me to see him!\" she exclaimed. \"Oh, take me!\" Then\nlooking eagerly up she said, \"Perhaps Jesus can make him live again,\nlike he did Lazarus, you know. Can't he?\" But alas! of the story of\nLazarus being raised from the dead these two people knew nothing; and\nwhen they asked her what she meant, and she said her father had read to\nher about it out of her little brown book, they only shook their heads,\nand Wilhelm said, \"I feared there was something wrong about that little\nbook. How could any one be raised from the dead?\"\n\nFrida's passionate exclamations of love and grief when she saw the dead\nbody of the man who lay in Johann Schmidt's hut removed all doubt from\nthe minds of those who heard her as to the relationship between them;\nand the manner in which the child turned from a crucifix which Gretchen\nbrought forward to her, thinking it would comfort her, convinced them\nmore firmly that the poor man had indeed been a heretic.\n\nNo! father never prayed to that, nor would he let _her_ do so, she\nsaid--just to Jesus, dear Jesus in heaven; and though several of those\nwho heard her words crossed themselves as she spoke, and prayed the\nVirgin to forgive, all were much taken with and deeply sorry for the\norphan child; and when Wilhelm raised her in his arms to take her back\nto his hut and to the care of Elsie, more than one of the inhabitants of\nthe Dorf brought some little gift from their small store to be taken\nwith him to help in the maintenance of the little one so strangely\nbrought among them. Ere they left the Dorf, Johann Schmidt had returned\nfrom executing his message to Dringenstadt. He had seen the _Pfarrer_,\nand he had promised to come along presently and arrange about the\nfuneral.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE PARSONAGE.\n\n    \"The Lord thy Shepherd is--\n     Dread not nor be dismayed--\n     To lead thee on through stormy paths,\n     By ways His hand hath made.\"\n\n\nOn the morning of the day that we have written of, the young Protestant\npastor of Dringenstadt was seated in a room of the small house which\nwent by the name of \"Das Pfarrhaus.\"\n\nHe was meditating more than studying just then. He felt his work there\nan uphill one. Almost all the people in that little town were Roman\nCatholics. His own flock was a little one indeed, and only that morning\nhe had received a letter telling him that it had been settled that no\nregular ministry would be continued there, as funds were not\nforthcoming, and the need in one sense seemed small. He had come there\nonly a few months before, knowing well that he might only be allowed to\nremain a short time; but now that the order for his removal elsewhere\nhad come, he felt discouraged and sad. Was it right, he was asking\nhimself, to withdraw the true gospel light from the people, and to leave\nthe few, no doubt very few, who loved it to themselves? Karl Langen was\na true Christian, longing to lead souls to Jesus, and was much perplexed\nby the order he had received. Suddenly a knock at the door roused him,\nand the woman who took charge of his house on entering told him that a\nman from the Forest wished to speak to him. Telling her to send him in\nat once, he awaited his entry.\n\nJohann Schmidt was shown into the room, and told his sorrowful tale in a\nquiet, manly way.\n\nThe pastor was much moved, and repeated with amazement the words, \"A\nchild lost in the Black Forest, and the father dead, you say? Certainly\nI will come and see. But why, my friend, should you think the man was an\nEvangelisch?\" Then Johann told of the words he had repeated, of the\nchild's prayer and her little brown book.\n\nSuddenly a light seemed to dawn on the mind of the young pastor. \"Oh!\"\nhe said, \"I believe you are right. I think I have seen both the father\nand the child. Last Sunday there came into our church a gentleman and a\nlovely little girl, just such a one as you describe the child you speak\nof to be. I tried to speak to them after worship, but ere I could do so\nthey had gone. And no one could tell me who they were or whither they\nhad gone. I will now see the Buergermeister about the funeral, and make\narrangements regarding it. I think through some friends of mine I can\nget money sufficient to pay all expenses.\"\n\nJohann thanked him warmly, and hastened back to tell what had been\nagreed on, and then got off to his work.\n\nLate in the afternoon Pastor Langen took his way to the little hut in\nthe Black Forest.\n\nThe Forest by the road he took was not well known to him, and the solemn\nquiet which pervaded it struck him much and raised his thoughts to God.\nIt was as if he had entered the sanctuary and heard the voice of the\nLord speaking to him. It was, as a poet has expressed it, as if\n\n    \"Solemn and silent everywhere,\n     The trees with folded hands stood there,\n     Kneeling at their evening prayer.\"\n\nOnly the slight murmuring of the breeze amongst the leaves, or the\nflutter of a bird's wing as it flew from branch to branch, broke the\nsilence. All around him there was\n\n    \"A slumberous sound, a sound that brings\n       The feeling of a dream,\n     As when a bell no longer swings,\n     Faint the hollow echo rings\n       O'er meadow, lake, and stream.\"\n\nAs he walked, he thought much of the child found in the Forest, and he\nwondered how he could help her or find out to whom she belonged. Oh, if\nonly, he said to himself, he had been able to speak to the father the\nday he had seen him, and learned something of his history! Johann had\ntold him that if no clue could be found to the child's relations,\nWilhelm Hoerstel had determined to bring her up; but Johann had added,\n\"We will not, poor though we be, let the whole expense of her upbringing\nfall on the Hoerstels. No; we will go share for share, and she shall be\ncalled the child of the wood-cutters.\"\n\nAs he thought of these words, the young pastor prayed for the kind,\nlarge-hearted men, asking that the knowledge of the loving Christ might\nshine into their hearts and bring spiritual light into the darkness\nwhich surrounded them. The afternoon had merged into evening ere he\nentered the wood-cutters' Dorf. As he neared Johann's hut, Gretchen came\nto the door, and he greeted her with the words, \"The Lord be with you,\nand bless you for your kindness to the poor man in the time of his\nneed.\"\n\n\"Come in, sir,\" she said, \"and see the corpse. Oh, but he's been a\nfine-looking man, and he so young too. It was a sight to see his bit\nchild crying beside him and begging him to say one word to her--just one\nword. Then she folded her hands, and looking up said, 'O kind Jesus, who\nmade Lazarus come to life, make dear fader live again.' Oh, 'twas\npitiful to see her! Who think you, sir, was the man she spoke of called\nLazarus? When I asked her she said it was all written in her little\nbrown book, which she would bring along and read to me some day, bless\nthe little creature.\"\n\nThe pastor said some words about the story being told by the Lord Jesus,\nand recorded in the Holy Scriptures. He did not offer her a Testament,\nas he knew if the priest heard (as it was likely he would) of his having\nbeen there, he would ask if they had been given a Bible, and so trouble\nwould follow. But he rejoiced that the little child had it in her heart\nto read the words of life to the kind woman, and he breathed a prayer\nthat her little brown Bible might prove a blessing to those poor\nwood-cutters.\n\nPastor Langen at once recognized the features of the dead man as those\nof the stranger whom he had seen with the lovely child in the little\nchurch. He then made arrangements for the funeral the next day, and\ndeparted.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the morrow a number of wood-cutters met at the house of Johann\nSchmidt to attend the funeral of the stranger gentleman. Wilhelm\nHoerstel, and his wife, Hans, and little Frida, were there also. The\nchild was crying softly, as if she realized that even the corpse of her\nfather was to be taken from her.\n\nPresently the young pastor entered, and the moment Frida saw him she\nstarted forward, saying in her child language, \"O sir, I've seen you\nbefore, when fader and I heard you preach some days ago.\" All this was\nsaid in the pure German language, which the people hardly followed at\nall, but which was the same as the pastor himself spoke. He at once\nrecognized the child, and sought to obtain from her some information\nregarding her father. She only said, as she had already done, that he\nwas going to England to see some friends of her mother's. When\nquestioned as to their name, she could not tell. All that she knew was\nthat they were relations of her mother's. Yes, her father loved his\nBible, and had given her such a nice little brown one which had belonged\nto her mother.\n\nCould she speak any English, the pastor asked.\n\n\"Yes, I can,\" said Frida. \"Mother taught me a number of words, and I\ncan say 'Good-morning,' and 'How are you to-day?' Also mother taught me\nto say the Lord's Prayer in English. But I do not know much English, for\nfather and mother always spoke German to each other.\"\n\nNo more could be got from the child then, and the simple service was\ngone on with; and when the small procession set off for Dringenstadt,\nthe kindly men took it by turns to carry the little maiden in their\narms, as the walk through the forest was a long one for a child.\n\nIn the churchyard of the quiet little German town they laid the mortal\nremains of Friedrich Heinz, to await the resurrection morning.\n\nTears rose to the eyes of many onlookers as Frida threw herself,\nsobbing, on the grave of her father. Wilhelm and Elsie strove in vain to\nraise her, but when Pastor Langen drew near and whispered the words,\n\"Look up, Frida; thy father is not here, he is with Jesus,\" a smile of\njoy played on the child's face, and rising she dried her tears, and\nputting her hand into that of Elsie she prepared to leave the \"God's\nacre,\" and the little party set off for their home in the Black Forest.\n\nDarkness had fallen on all around ere they reached the Dorf, and strange\nfigures that the trees and bushes assumed appeared to the superstitious\nmind of Elsie and some of the others as the embodiment of evil spirits,\nand they wished themselves safe under the shelter of their little huts.\n\nThat night the little stranger child mingled her tears with her prayers,\nand to Elsie's amazement she heard her ask her Father in heaven to take\ngreater care of her now than ever, because she had no longer a father on\nearth to do it. Little did the kneeling child imagine that that simple\nprayer was used by the Holy Spirit to touch the heart of the\nwood-cutter's wife.\n\nAnd from the lips of Elsie ere she fell asleep that night arose a cry to\nthe Father in heaven for help. True, it was but\n\n    \"As an infant crying in the night,\n    An infant crying for the light,\n    And with no language but a cry.\"\n\nBut still there was a felt need, and a recognition that there was One\nwho could meet and satisfy it.\n\nAt all events Elsie Hoerstel clasped her blind babe to her heart that\nnight, and fell asleep with a feeling of rest and peace to which she had\nlong been a stranger.\n\nAh! God had a purpose for the little child and her brown Bible in that\nlittle hut of which she as yet had no conception. Out of the mouths of\nbabes and sucklings He still perfects praise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE WOODMEN'S PET.\n\n    \"Lord, make me like the gentle dew,\n       That other hearts may prove,\n     E'en through Thy feeblest messenger,\n       Thy ministry of love.\"\n\n\nPastor Langen, ere leaving Dringenstadt, visited the hut in the Black\nForest where Frida had found a home.\n\nHis congregation, with two or three exceptions, was a poor one, and\nhis own means were small; yet he had contrived to collect a small\nsum for Frida's maintenance, which he had put into the hands of the\nBuergermeister, who undertook to pay the interest of it quarterly to the\nHoerstels on behalf of the child. True, the sum was small, but it was\nsufficient to be a help; and a kind lady of the congregation, Fraeulein\nDrechsler, said she would supply her from time to time with dress, and\nwhen she could have her now and then with herself, instruct her in the\nProtestant faith and the elements of education. Frida could already\nread, and had begun to write, taught by her father. Every effort was\nbeing made to discover if the child had any relations alive. The\nBuergermeister had put advertisements in many papers, German and\nEnglish, but as yet no answer had come, and many of the wood-cutters\nstill held the opinion that the child was the offspring of some woodland\nspirit. But in spite of any such belief, Frida had a warm welcome in\nevery hut in the Dorf, and a kindly word from every man and woman in it.\n\nThe \"woodland child\" they called her, and as such cherished and\nprotected her. Many a \"bite and sup\" she got from them. Many a warm pair\nof stockings, or a knitted petticoat done by skilful hands, did the\ninmates of the Dorf present to her. They did what they could, these poor\npeople, for the orphan child, just out of the fullness of their kind\nhearts, little thinking of the blessing that through her was to descend\non them. The day of Pastor Langen's visit to the hut, some time after\nher father's funeral, Frida was playing beside the door, and on seeing\nhim coming up the path she rose from the spot where she was sitting and\nran eagerly to meet him.\n\nBut though unseen by her, he had been standing near for some time\nspell-bound by the music which, child though she was, she was bringing\nout of her father's violin, in the playing of which she was amusing\nherself.\n\nFrom a very early age her father, himself a skilled violinist, had\ntaught her to handle the bow, and had early discovered the wonderful\ntalent for music which she possessed.\n\nThe day of which we write was the first one since her father's death\nthat Frida had played on the violin, so neither Wilhelm nor Elsie was\naware that she could do so at all. The pastor was approaching the\ncottage when the sound of music reached his ears, and having a good\nknowledge of that art himself, he stood still to listen. A few minutes\nconvinced him that though the playing was that of a child, still the\nperformer had the true soul of music, and only needed full instruction\nto develop into a musician of no ordinary talent. As he drew nearer his\nsurprise was great to see that the player was none other than the\nbeautiful child found in the Black Forest. Attracted by the sound of\nsteps, Frida had turned round, and seeing her friend had, as we have\nwritten, bounded off to meet him. Hearing that Elsie had taken her babe\nand gone a message to the Dorf, he seated himself on a knoll with the\nchild and began to talk to her.\n\n\"How old are you?\" he asked her.\n\n\"Seven years and more,\" she replied; \"because I remember my birthday was\nonly a little while before Muetterchen (I always called her that) died,\nand that that day she took the locket she used to wear off her neck and\ngave it to me, telling me always to keep it.\"\n\n\"And have you that locket still?\" queried the pastor.\n\n\"Yes; Elsie has it carefully put away. There is a picture of Muetterchen\non the one side, and of my father on the other.\"\n\n\"And did your mother ever speak to you of your relations either in\nGermany or England?\"\n\n\"Yes, she did sometimes. She spoke of grandmamma in England and\ngrandpapa also, and she said they lived in a beautiful house; but she\nnever told me their name, nor where their house was. Father, of course,\nknew, for he said he was going to take me there, and he used to speak of\na brother of his whom he said he dearly loved.\"\n\n\"But tell me,\" asked the pastor, \"where did you live with your parents\nin Germany?\"\n\n\"Oh, in a number of different places, but never long at the same place.\nFather played at concerts just to make money, and we never remained long\nanywhere--we were always moving about.\"\n\n\"And your parents were Protestants?\"\n\n\"I don't know what that means,\" said the child. \"But they were often\ncalled 'Ketzers' by the people where he lodged. And they would not pray\nto the Virgin Mary, as many did, but taught me to pray to God in the\nname of Jesus Christ. And Muetterchen gave me a little 'brown Bible' for\nmy very own, which she said her mother had given to her. Oh, I must show\nit to you, sir!\" and, darting off, the child ran into the house,\nreturning with the treasured book in her hand. The pastor examined it\nand read the inscription written on the fly-leaf--\"To my dear Hilda,\nfrom her loving mother, on her eighteenth birthday.\" That was all, but\nhe felt sure from the many underlined passages that the book had been\nwell studied. He found that Frida could read quite easily, and that she\nhad been instructed in Scripture truth.\n\nEre he bade her farewell he asked her to promise him to read often from\nher little Bible to Wilhelm, Elsie, and Hans. \"For who knows, little\nFrida, that the Lord may not have chosen you to be a child missionary to\nthe wood-cutters, and to read to them out of His holy Word.\"\n\nFrida thought over these words, though she hardly took in their full\nmeaning; but she loved her Bible, and wished that the people who were so\nkind to her loved it also.\n\nOn his way home the pastor met Elsie with her babe in her arms, and told\nher of his farewell visit to Frida, and of his delight with the child's\nmusical talent, and advised her to encourage her as much as possible to\nplay on the violin.\n\nElsie's face brightened as he spoke, for she and her husband, like many\nof the German peasants, dearly loved music.\n\n\"O sir,\" she said, \"have you heard her sing? It is just beautiful and\nwonderful to hear her; she beats the very birds themselves.\"\n\nThanking her once more for her care of the orphan child, and commending\nher to God, the pastor went on his way, musing much on the future of the\ngifted child, and wondering what could be done as regarded her\neducation.\n\nIn the meantime Elsie went home, and entrusting her babe to the care of\nFrida, who loved the little helpless infant, she made ready for her\nhusband's return from his work. Hans had gone that day to help his\nfather in the wood, which he loved much to do, so Elsie and Frida were\nalone.\n\n\"Mutter,\" said the child (for she had adopted Hans's way of addressing\nElsie), \"the pastor was here to-day, and he played to me--oh so\nbeautifully--on my violin, it reminded me of father, and made me cry. O\nMutter, I wish some one could teach me to play on it as father did. You\nsee I was just beginning to learn a little how to do it, and I do love\nit so;\" and as she spoke, the child joined her hands together and looked\npleadingly at Elsie.\n\n\"_Ach_, poor child,\" replied Elsie, \"how canst thou be taught here?\"\n\nAnd that night when Elsie repeated to Wilhelm Frida's desire for lessons\non the violin, the worthy couple grieved that they could do nothing to\ngratify her wish.\n\nDay after day and week after week passed, and still no answer came to\nany of the advertisements about the child; and save for her own sake\nnone of the dwellers in the wood wished it otherwise, for the \"woodland\nchild,\" as they called her, had won her way into every heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nELSIE AND THE BROWN BIBLE.\n\n    \"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.\"\n\n\nFrida, as time went on, was growing hardy and strong in the bracing\nForest air. Every kindness was lavished on her, and the child-spirit had\nasserted itself, and though often tears would fill her eyes as something\nor other reminded her vividly of the past, yet her merry laughter was\noften heard as she played with Hans in the woods. Yet through all her\nglee there was at times a seriousness of mind remarkable in one so\nyoung, also a power of observation as regarded others not often\nnoticeable in one of her years. She had become warmly attached to the\nkind people amongst whom her lot was cast, and especially so to Elsie.\nSeveral times she had observed her looking anxiously at the babe in her\narms, taking her to the light and endeavouring to attract her attention\nto the plaything which she held before her. Then when the babe, now some\nmonths old, showed no signs of observing it, Frida would see a great\ntear roll down Elsie's cheek, and once she heard her mutter the words,\n\"Blind! my baby's blind!\" Was it possible? Frida asked herself; for the\nchild's eyes looked bright, and she felt sure she knew her, and had\noften stretched out her little arms to be taken up by her. \"No,\" she\nrepeated again, \"she cannot be blind!\" Poor little Frida knew not that\nit was her voice that the baby recognized. Often she had sung her to\nsleep when Elsie had left her in her charge. Already father and mother\nhad noted with joy the power that music had over their blind babe. One\nday Frida summoned courage to say, \"Mutter, dear Mutter, why are you sad\nwhen you look at little Anna? I often notice you cry when you do so.\"\n\nAt that question the full heart of the mother overflowed. \"O Frida,\nlittle Frida, the babe is blind! She will never see the light of day nor\nthe face of her father and mother. Wilhelm knows it now: we took her to\nDringenstadt last week, and the doctor examined her eyes and told us she\n_ist blind geboren_ [born blind]. O my poor babe, my poor babe!\"\n\nFrida slipped her hand into that of the poor mother, and said gently, \"O\nMutter, Jesus can make the babe to see if we ask Him. He made so many\nblind people to see when He was on earth, and He can do so still. Let me\nread to you about it in my little brown book;\" and the child brought her\nBible and read of Jesus healing the two blind men, and also of the one\nin John ix. who said, \"Whereas I was blind, now I see.\"\n\nElsie listened eagerly, and said, \"And it was Jesus the Virgin's Son who\ndid that, do you say? Read me more about Him.\" And the child read on,\nhow with one touch Jesus opened the eyes of the blind. She read also how\nthey brought the young children to Jesus, and He took them into His\narms and blessed them, and said to His disciples, \"Suffer the little\nchildren to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the\nkingdom of heaven.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Elsie, \"if only that Jesus were here now, I'd walk miles and\nmiles to take my Anna to Him; but, alas! He is not here now.\"\n\nFrida was a young child, and hardly knew how to answer the troubled\nmother; but her faith was a simple one, so she answered, \"No, Jesus is\nnot here now, but He is in heaven, and He answers us when we pray to\nHim. Father once read to me the words in Matthew's Gospel--see, here\nthey are--'Ask, and it shall be given you.' Shall we ask Him now?\" and\nkneeling down she prayed in child language, \"O Lord Jesus, who dost hear\nand answer prayer, make little Anna to see as Thou didst the blind men\nwhen Thou wert on earth, and oh, comfort poor Elsie!\"\n\nAs she rose from her knees, Elsie threw her arms round her, saying, \"O\nFrida, I do believe the God my mother believed in hath sent thee here to\nbe a blessing to us!\"\n\nOften after that day Frida would read out of her brown Bible to Elsie\nabout Jesus, His life and His atoning death. And sometimes in the\nevening, when Hans would sit cutting out various kinds of toys, for\nwhich he had a great turn, and could easily dispose of them in the shops\nat Dringenstadt, she would read to him also; and he loved to hear the\nOld Testament stories of Moses and Jacob, Joseph, and Daniel in the\nlion's den; also of David, the sweet psalmist of Israel, who had once\nbeen a shepherd boy. They were all new to poor Hans, and from them he\nlearned something of the love God has to His children; but it was ever\nof Jesus that Elsie loved to hear, and again and again she got the child\nto read to her the words, \"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are\nheavy laden, and I will give you rest.\" And erelong it was evident,\nthough she would scarcely have acknowledged it, that she was seeking not\nonly the rest but the \"_Rest_-Giver.\" And we know that He who gave the\ninvitation has pledged His word that whosoever cometh to Him He will in\nno wise cast out.\n\nAll this while Wilhelm seemed to take no notice of the Bible readings.\nOnce or twice, when he had returned from his work, he had found Frida\nreading to his wife and boy, and he had lingered for a minute or two at\nthe door to catch some of the words; but he made no remark, and\ninterrupted the reading by asking if supper were ready. But often later\nin the evening he would ask the child to bring out her violin and play\nto him, or to sing one of his favourite songs, after which she would\nsing a hymn of praise; but as yet it was the sweetness of the singer's\nvoice and not the beauty of the words that he loved to listen to. But\nnotwithstanding, by the power of the Holy Ghost, the Bible was doing its\nwork--slowly, it may be, but surely; so true is it that God's word shall\nnot return to Him void.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nIN DRINGENSTADT.\n\n    \"Sing them over again to me,\n       Wonderful words of love.\"\n\n\nThree years had passed. Summer had come round again. Fresh green leaves\nquivered on the trees of the Forest, though the pines still wore their\ndark clothing. The song of the birds was heard, and the little brooks\nmurmured along their course with a joyful tinkling sound.\n\nIn the Forest it was cool even at noontide, but in Dringenstadt the heat\nwas oppressive, and in spite of the sun-blinds the glare of light even\nindoors was excessive.\n\nIn a pleasant room, into which the sun only shone through a thick canopy\nof green leaves, sat a lady with an open book in her hand. It was an\nEnglish one, and the dictionary by her side showed it was not in a\nlanguage she was altogether familiar with. The book evidently recalled\nmemories of the past. Every now and then she paused in her reading, and\nthe look which came into her eyes told that her thoughts had wandered\nfrom the present surroundings to other places, and it might be other\ndays.\n\nSitting beside her, engaged in doing a sum of arithmetic, was a\nbeautiful child of some ten years old, neatly though plainly dressed.\nThe lady's eyes rested on her from time to time, as if something in her\nappearance, as well as the book she was reading, recalled other days and\nscenes.\n\n\"Frida,\" she said, for the child was none other than our little friend\nfound in the Forest, \"have you no recollections of ever hearing your\nmother speak of the home of her childhood, or of her companions there?\"\n\n\"No, dear Miss Drechsler, I do not remember her ever speaking of any\ncompanions; but she told me about her mother and father, and that they\nlived in a beautiful house in England, somewhere in the country; and\nwhenever she spoke of her mother she used to cry, and then she would\nkiss me, and wish she could show me to her, for she knew she would love\nme, and I am sure it was to her that my father was taking me when he\ndied. See, here is my little brown Bible which her mother gave to her\nand she gave to me.\"\n\nMiss Drechsler took the Bible in her hand, and examined the writing, and\nnoted the name \"Hilda;\" but neither of them seemed to recall any special\nperson to her memory.\n\n\"Strange,\" she said to herself; \"and yet that child's face reminds me\nvividly of some one whom I saw when I was in England some years ago,\nwhen living as governess to the Hon. Evelyn Warden, and I always connect\nit with some fine music which I heard at that time.\"\n\nThen changing the subject, she said abruptly, \"Frida dear, bring your\nviolin and let me hear how far you are prepared for your master\nto-morrow.\"\n\nMiss Drechsler, true to her promise to the German pastor, had kept a\nlook-out on the child known as \"the wood-cutters' pet,\" who lived in the\nlittle hut in the Black Forest. From the time Pastor Langen had left,\nshe had her often living with herself for days at a time at\nDringenstadt, and was conducting her education; but as she often had to\nleave that town for months, Frida still had her home great part of the\nyear with the Hoerstels in the Forest. At the time we write of, Miss\nDrechsler had returned to her little German home, and Frida, who was\nonce more living with her, was getting, at her expense, lessons in\nviolin-playing. She bid fair to become an expert in the art which she\ndearly loved. She was much missed by the kind people in the Forest\namongst whom she had lived so long. Just as, at Miss Drechsler's\nrequest, she had produced her violin and begun to play on it, a servant\nopened the door and said that a man from the Forest was desirous of\nseeing Fraeulein Heinz. The girl at once put down her instrument and ran\nto the door, where she found her friend Wilhelm awaiting her.\n\n\"Ah, Frida, canst come back with me to the Forest? There is sorrow\nthere. In one house Johann Schmidt lies nigh to death, caused by an\naccident when felling a tree. He suffers much, and Gretchen is in sore\ntrouble. And the Volkmans have lost their little boy. You remember him,\nFrida; he and our Hans used to play together. And our little Anna seems\npining away, and Elsie and all of them are crying out for you to come\nback and comfort them with the words of your little book. Johann said\nthis morning, when his wife proposed sending for the priest, 'No,\nGretchen, no. I want no priest; but oh, I wish little Frida were here to\nread to me from her brown book about Jesus Christ our great High Priest,\nwho takes away our sins, and is always praying for us.'\"\n\n\"Oh, I remember,\" interrupted Frida. \"I read to him once about Jesus\never living 'to make intercession for us.' Yes, Wilhelm, I'll come with\nyou. I know Miss Drechsler will say I should go, for she often tells me\nI really belong to the kind people in the Forest.\" And so saying, she\nran off to tell her story to her friend.\n\nMiss Drechsler at once assented to her return to the Forest to give what\nhelp she could to the people there, adding that she herself would come\nup soon to visit them, and bring them any comforts necessary for them\nsuch as could not be easily got by them. Ere they parted she and Frida\nknelt together in prayer, and Miss Drechsler asked that God would use\nthe child as His messenger to the poor, sorrowing, suffering ones in the\nForest; after which she took Frida's Bible and put marks in at the\ndifferent passages which she thought would be suitable to the different\ncases of the people that Wilhelm had spoken of.\n\nIt was late in the afternoon ere Wilhelm and Frida reached the hut of\nJohann Schmidt, where he left the child for a while, whilst he went on\nto the Volkmans to tell them of Frida's return, and that she hoped to\nsee them the next day. Gretchen met the girl with a cry of delight.\n\n\"_Ach!_ there she comes, our own little Fraeulein. What a pleasure it is\nto see thee again, our woodland pet! And see, here is my Johann laid up\nin bed, nearly killed by the falling of a tree.\"\n\nThe sick man raised himself as he heard the child's voice saying as she\nentered, in reply to Gretchen's words, \"Oh, I am sorry, so sorry! Why\ndid you not tell me sooner?\" And in another moment she was sitting\nbeside Johann, speaking kind, comforting words to him. He stroked her\nhair fondly, and answered her questions as well as he could; but there\nwas a far-away look in his eyes as if his thoughts were in some region\ndistant from the one he was living in now. After a few minutes he asked\neagerly,--\n\n\"Have you the little brown book with you now?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" was the reply. \"Shall I read to you now, Johann? for\nWilhelm is to come for me soon.\"\n\n\"Yes, read, read,\" he said; \"for I am weary, so weary.\"\n\nFrida turned quickly to the eleventh chapter of Matthew, and read\ndistinctly in the German, which he could understand, and which she could\nnow speak also, the words, \"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are\nheavy laden, and I will give you rest.\"\n\nHe stopped her there. \"Read that again,\" he said. She complied, and then\nhe turned to her, saying, \"And Jesus, the Son of God, said that? Will He\ngive it to me, thinkest thou?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"He will; for He has promised to do it, and He never\nbreaks His word.\"\n\n\"Well, if that be so, kneel down, pretty one, and ask Him to give it me,\nfor I need it sorely.\"\n\nFrida knelt, and in a few simple words besought the Saviour to give His\nrest and peace to the suffering man.\n\n\"Thanks, little Frida,\" he said as she rose. \"I believe that prayer will\nbe answered.\" And shutting his eyes he fell quietly asleep, and Frida\nslipped out of the room and joined Wilhelm in the Forest.\n\n\"Is little Anna so very ill?\" she queried as they walked.\n\n\"I fear she is,\" was the answer the father gave, with tears in his eyes.\n\"The mother thinks so also; though the child, bless her, is so good and\npatient we hardly know whether she suffers or not. She just lies still\nmostly on her bed now, and sings to herself little bits of hymns, or\nspeaks about the land far away, which she says you told her about, and\nwhere she says she is going to see Jesus. Then her mother begins to cry;\nbut she also speaks about that bright land. 'Deed it puzzles me to know\nwhere they have learned so much about it, unless it be from your little\nbrown book. And the child has often asked where Frida is. 'I want to\nhear her sing again,' she says.\"\n\n\"O Wilhelm, why did you not come for me when she said that?\"\n\n\"Well, you see, I had promised the pastor that I would let you visit\nMiss Drechsler as often as possible, and then you were getting on so\nnicely with your violin that we felt as if we had no right to call you\nback to us. But see, here we are, and there is Hans looking out for us.\"\n\nBut Hans, instead of rushing to meet them as he usually did, ran back\nhastily to his mother, calling out, \"Here they come, here they come!\"\n\n\"Oh, I am glad!\" she said.--\"Anna, dear Anna, you will hear Frida's\nvoice again.\"\n\nThe mother looked round with a smile, but moved not, for the dying child\nlay in her arms. A moment longer, and Frida was beside her, her arms\nround the blind child.\n\n\"Annchen, dear Annchen, speak to me,\" she entreated--\"just one word, to\nsay you know me. It is Frida come home, and she will not leave you\nagain, but will tell you stories out of the little brown book.\"\n\nA look of intelligence crossed the face of the blind child, and she\nsaid,--\n\n\"Dear Frida, tell Annchen 'bout Jesus, and sing.\"\n\nFrida, choking back her sobs, opened her Bible and read the story that\nlittle Anna loved, of Jesus taking the children in His arms and blessing\nthem; then sang a hymn of the joys of heaven, where He is seen face to\nface, and where there is \"no more pain, neither sorrow nor crying,\nneither is there any more death,\" and where His redeemed ones _see_ His\nface.\n\nThe mother, almost blinded with tears, heard her child whisper, \"'See\nHis face;' then Annchen will see Him too, won't she, Frida?\"\n\n\"Yes, Annchen. There your eyes will be open, and you will be blind no\nmore.\"\n\nAs Frida said these words she heard one deep-drawn breath, one cry,\n\"Fader, Mutter, Jesus!\" and the little one was gone into that land\nwhere the first face she saw was that of her loving Saviour, whom\n\"having not seen she loved,\" and the beauties of that land which had\nbeen afar off burst on her eyes, which were no longer blind.\n\nPoor father! poor mother! look up; your child sees now, and will await\nyour coming to the golden gates.\n\nHeartfelt tears were shed on earth by that death-bed, but there was a\nsong of great rejoicing in heaven over another ransomed soul entering\nheaven, and also over another sinner entering the kingdom of God on\nearth, as Wilhelm Hoerstel bent his knee by the bed where his dead child\nlay, and in broken words asked the Saviour whom that child had gone to\nsee face to face to receive him as a poor sinner, and make him all he\nought to be. In after-years he would often say that it was the words\nlittle Frida, the woodland child, had read and sung to his blind darling\nthat led him, as they had already led his wife, to the feet of Jesus.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE VIOLIN-TEACHER AND THE CONCERT.\n\n    \"There in an arched and lofty room\n       She stands in fair white dress,\n     Where grace and colour and sweet sound\n       Combine and cluster all around,\n       And rarest taste express.\"\n\n\nThree years had passed since all that was mortal of the blind child was\nlaid to rest in the quiet God's acre near where the body of Frida's\nfather lay. After the funeral of little Anna, Frida at her own request\nreturned to the Forest with her friends, anxious to help and comfort\nElsie, who she knew would sorely miss the blind child, who had been such\na comfort and companion to her when both Wilhelm and Hans were busy at\nwork in the woods; but after remaining with them for a few months, she\nagain returned for a part of each year to Dringenstadt, and made rapid\nprogress under Miss Drechsler's tuition with her education, and\nespecially with her music.\n\nThe third summer after little Anna's death, Frida was again spending\nsome weeks in the Forest. It was early summer when she returned there.\nBirds and insects were busy in the Forest, and the wood-cutters were\nhard at work loading the carts with the piles of wood which the\nlarge-eyed, strong, patient-looking oxen conveyed to the town. Loud\nsounded the crack of the carters' whips as they urged on the slow-paced\noxen. Often in those days Frida, accompanied by Elsie (who had now no\nlittle child to detain her at home), would take Wilhelm's and Hans's\nsimple dinner with them to carry to them where they worked.\n\nOne day Frida left Elsie talking to her husband and boy, and strolled a\nlittle way further into the Forest, gathering the flowers that grew at\nthe foot of the trees, and admiring the soft, velvety moss that here and\nthere covered the ground, when suddenly she was startled by the sounds\nof footsteps quite near her, and looking hastily round, saw to her\namazement the figure of the young violinist from whom she had lately\ntaken lessons.\n\n\"Fraeulein Heinz,\" he said, as he caught sight of the fair young girl as\nshe stood, flowers in hand, \"I rejoice to meet you, for I came in search\nof you. Pupils of mine in the town of Baden-Baden, many miles from here,\nwhere I often reside, are about to have an amateur concert, and they\nhave asked me to bring any pupil with me whom I may think capable of\nassisting them. They are English milords, and are anxious to assist\nlocal musical talent; and I have thought of you, Fraeulein, as a\nperformer on the violin, and I went to-day to Miss Drechsler to ask her\nto give you leave to go.\"\n\n\"And what did she say?\" asked the child eagerly. \"How could I go so far\naway?\" And she stopped suddenly; but the glance she gave at her dress\ntold the young violinist the direction of her thoughts.\n\n\"Ah!\" he said, \"Fraeulein Drechsler will settle all that. She wishes you\nto go, and says she will herself accompany you and also bring you back\nto your friends.\"\n\n\"Oh! then,\" said Frida, \"I would like very much to go; but I must ask\nWilhelm and Elsie if they can spare me. But, Herr Mueller, do you think I\ncan play well enough?\"\n\nThe violinist smiled as he thought how little the girl before him\nrealized the musical genius which she possessed, and which already,\nyoung as she was, made her a performer of no ordinary skill.\n\n\"Ah yes, Fraeulein,\" he said, \"I think you will do. But you know, as the\nconcert is not for a month yet, you can come to Dringenstadt and can\nhave a few more lessons ere then.\"\n\n\"Come with me, then, and let me introduce you to my friends;\" and she\nled him up to the spot where Wilhelm, Elsie, and Hans stood.\n\nThey looked surprised, but when they heard her request they could not\nrefuse it. To have their little woodland child play at a concert seemed\nto them an honour of no small magnitude. Hans in his eagerness pressed\nto her side, saying, \"O Frida, I am so glad, for you do play so\nbeautifully.\"\n\n\"As for that matter, so do you, Hans,\" she replied, for the boy had the\nmusical talent so often found even in German peasants, and taught by\nFrida could really play with taste on the violin.\n\n\"O Herr Mueller,\" she said, turning to him, \"I wish some day you could\nhear Hans play; I am sure you would like it. If only he could get\nlessons! I know he would excel in it.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" said the violinist; \"then we must get that good Fraeulein\nDrechsler to have him down to Dringenstadt, and I will hear him play;\nand then if we find there is real talent, I might recommend him to the\nsociety for helping those who have a turn for music, but are not able to\npay for instruction.\"\n\nHans's eyes danced with delight at the idea, but in the meantime he knew\nhis duty was to help his father as much as he could in his work as a\nwood-cutter. \"But then some day,\" he thought, \"who knows but I might be\nable to devote my time to music, and so it would all be brought about\nthrough the kindness of little Frida.\"\n\nFrida was a happy girl when a few days after the violinist's visit to\nthe Forest she set out for Dringenstadt, to live for a month with\nFraeulein Drechsler, and with her go on to Baden-Baden. A few more\nlessons were got from Herr Mueller, the selection of music she was to\nperform gone through again and again, and all was ready to start the\nnext day.\n\nWhen Frida went to her room that evening, great was her amazement to see\nlaid out on her bed a prettily-made plain black delaine morning dress,\nneatly finished off at neck and wrists with a pure white frill; and\nbeside it a simple white muslin one for evening wear, with a white silk\nsash to match. These Miss Drechsler told her were a present from\nherself. Frida's young heart was filled with gratitude to the kind\nfriend who was so thoughtful of her wants; and she wondered if a day\nwould ever come when she would be able in any way to repay the\nkindnesses of the friends whom God had raised up for her.\n\nIn the meantime Herr Mueller had told the Stanfords, in whose house the\nconcert was to be held, about the young girl violinist whose services he\nhad secured. They were much interested in her, and were prepared to give\na hearty welcome, not to her only, but to her friend Miss Drechsler,\nwhom they had already met.\n\nSir Richard Stanford, who was the head of an old family in the south of\nEngland, had with his wife come abroad for the health of their young and\nonly daughter. Sir Richard and Lady Stanford were Christians, and\ninterested themselves in the natives of the place where they were\nliving, and themselves having highly-cultivated musical tastes, they\ntook pleasure in helping on any of the poorer people there in whom they\nrecognized the like talent.\n\n\"Father,\" said his young daughter Adeline, as she lay one warm day on a\ncouch under a shady tree in the garden of their lovely villa at\nBaden-Baden, \"suppose we have a concert in our villa some evening; and\nlet us try and find out some good amateur performers, and also engage\ntwo or three really good professionals to play, so that some of the\npoorer players who have not opportunities of hearing them may do so, and\nbe benefited thereby.\"\n\nAnxious in any reasonable way to please their daughter, a girl not much\nolder than Frida, Sir Richard and Lady Stanford agreed to carry out her\nsuggestion; and calling their friend Herr Mueller to their assistance,\nthe private concert was arranged for, and our friend the child of the\nBlack Forest invited to play at it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe day fixed for the concert had come round, and Adeline Stanford, who\nwas more than usually well, flitted here and there, making preparations\nfor the evening. The concert-room had been beautifully decorated, and\nthe supper-table tastefully arranged. Very pretty did Ada (as she was\ncalled) look. Her finely-cut features and graceful appearance all\nproclaimed her high birth, and the innate purity and unselfishness of\nher spirit were stamped on her face. Adeline Stanford was a truly\nChristian girl whose great desire was to make those around her happy.\nOne thing she had often longed for was to have a companion of her own\nage to live with her and be as a sister to her. Her parents often tried\nto get such a one, but as yet difficulties had arisen which prevented\ntheir doing so. The very morning of the concert, Ada had said, \"O\nmother, how pleasant it would be, when we are travelling about and\nseeing so many beautiful places, to have some young girl with us who\nwould share our pleasure with us and help to cheer you and father when I\nhave one of my bad days and am fit for nothing.\" Then she added with a\nsmile, \"Not that I would like it only for your sakes, but for my own as\nwell. It would be nice to have a sister companion to share my lessons\nand duties with me, and bear with my grumbles when I am ill.\"\n\nAdeline's grumbles were so seldom heard that her parents could not help\nsmiling at her words, though they acknowledged that her wish was a\nnatural one; but then, where was the suitable girl to be found?\n\n\"Ah! here we are at last,\" said Miss Drechsler, as she and Frida drove\nup to the door of the villa where the Stanfords lived. \"How lovely it\nall is!\" said Frida, who had been in ecstasies ever since she arrived in\nBaden.\n\nEverything was so new to her--not since her father's death had she been\nin a large town; and her admiration as they drove along the streets\nbetween the rows of beautiful trees was manifested by exclamations of\ndelight.\n\nOnce or twice something in the appearance of the shops struck her as\nfamiliar. \"Surely,\" she said, \"I have seen these before, but where I\ncannot tell. Ah! look at that large toy-shop. I know I have been there,\nand some one who was with me bought me a cart to play with. I think it\nmust have been mamma, for I recollect that the purse she had in her hand\nwas like one that I often got from her to play with. Oh, I am sure I\nhave lived here before with father and mother!\"\n\nAs they neared the villa, the \"woodland child\" became more silent, and\npressed closer to her friend's side.\n\n\"Ah! here they come,\" exclaimed Adeline Stanford, as followed by her\nfather and mother she ran downstairs to welcome the strangers. Miss\nDrechsler they had seen before, but the appearance of the girl from the\nBlack Forest struck them much. They had expected to see a peasant child\n(for Herr Mueller had told them nothing of her history nor spoken of\nher appearance), and when Frida had removed her hat and stood beside\nthem in the drawing-room, they were astonished to see no country child,\nbut a singularly beautiful, graceful girl, of refined appearance and\nlady-like manners. Her slight shyness soon vanished through Ada's\nunaffected pleasant ways, and erelong the two girls were talking to each\nother with all the frankness of youth, and long ere the hour for the\nconcert came they were fast friends.\n\n[Illustration: \"Come, Frida,\" she said, \"let us play the last passage\ntogether.\" _See page 61._]\n\nAda was herself a good pianist, and could play fairly well on the\nviolin, and she found that Herr Mueller had arranged that she and the\ngirl from the Forest should perform together.\n\n\"Come, Frida,\" she said, \"let us play the last passage together; we must\nbe sure we have it perfect.\"\n\n\"Oh, how well you play!\" she said when they had finished. \"Has Herr\nMueller been your only teacher?\"\n\n\"Latterly he has,\" was the answer; \"but when I was quite little I was\nwell taught by my father.\"\n\n\"Your father!\" said Adeline; \"does he play well? He cannot have had many\nadvantages if he has to work in the woods all day.\"\n\n\"Work in the woods! why, he never did that.\" Then she added, \"Oh! I see\nyou think Wilhelm Hoerstel is my father; but that is not the case. My own\ndear father is dead, and Wilhelm found me left alone in the Black\nForest.\"\n\n\"Found in the Black Forest alone!\" said Ada. Here was indeed a romance\nto take the fancy of an imaginative, impulsive girl like Adeline\nStanford; and leaving Frida with her story unfinished, she darted off to\nher parents to tell them what she had heard. They also were much\ninterested in her story, for they had been much astonished at the\nappearance of the girl from the Forest; and telling Ada that she had\nbetter go back to Frida, they turned to Miss Drechsler and asked her to\ntell them all she knew of the child's history.\n\nShe did so, mentioning also her brown Bible and the way in which God was\nusing its words amongst the wood-cutters in the Forest.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe concert was over, but Sir Richard, Lady Stanford, and Miss Drechsler\nlingered awhile (after the girls had gone to bed), talking over the\nevents of the evening.\n\n\"How beautifully your young friend played!\" said Lady Stanford; \"her\nmusical talent is wonderful, but the girl herself is the greatest wonder\nof all. She cannot be the child of common people, she is so like a lady\nand so graceful. And, Miss Drechsler, can you tell us how she comes to\nbe possessed of such a lovely mosaic necklace as she wore to-night?\nPerhaps it belongs to yourself, and you have lent it to her for the\noccasion.\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" was the answer; \"it is not mine. It evidently belonged to\nthe child's mother, and was on her neck the night she was found in the\nForest.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Sir Richard, \"it is just possible it may be the means of\nleading to the discovery of the girl's parentage, for the pattern is an\nuncommon one. She is a striking-looking child, and it is strange that\nher face haunts me with the idea that I have seen it somewhere before;\nbut that is impossible, as the girl tells me she has never been in\nEngland, and I can never have met her here.\"\n\n\"It is curious,\" said Miss Drechsler; \"but I also have the feeling that\nI have seen some one whom she greatly resembles when I was in England\nliving in Gloucestershire with the Wardens.\"\n\n\"'Tis strange,\" said Lady Stanford, \"that you should see a likeness to\nsome one whom you have seen and yet cannot name, the more so that the\nface is not a common one.\"\n\n\"She is certainly a remarkable child,\" continued Miss Drechsler, \"and a\nreally good one. She has a great love for her Bible, and I think tries\nto live up to its precepts.\"\n\nThat evening Sir Richard and his wife talked together of the possibility\nof by-and-by taking Frida into their house as companion to Ada,\nspecially whilst they were travelling about; and perhaps afterwards\ntaking her with them to England and continuing her education there, so\nthat if her relations were not found she might when old enough obtain a\nsituation as governess, or in some way turn her musical talents to\naccount.\n\nThe day after the concert, Frida returned with Miss Drechsler to\nDringenstadt, to remain a few days with her before returning to her\nForest home.\n\nAs they were leaving the Stanfords, and Frida had just sprung into the\ncarriage which was to convey them to the station, a young man who had\nbeen present at the concert, and was a friend of the Stanfords, came\nforward and asked leave to shake hands with her, and congratulated her\non her violin-playing. He was a good-looking young man of perhaps\nthree-and-twenty years, with the easy manners of a well-born gentleman.\n\nAfter saying farewell, he turned into the house with the Stanfords, and\nbegan to talk about the \"fair violinist,\" as he termed her. \"Remarkably\npretty girl,\" he said; \"reminds me strongly of some one I have seen.\nSurely she cannot be (as I overheard a young lady say last night) just a\nwood-cutter's child.\"\n\n\"No, she is not that,\" replied Sir Richard, and then he told the young\nman something of her history, asking him if he had observed the strange\nantique necklace which the girl wore.\n\n\"No,\" he answered, \"I did not. Could you describe it to me?\" As Sir\nRichard did so a close observer must have seen a look of pained surprise\ncross the young man's face, and he visibly changed colour. \"Curious,\" he\nsaid as he rose hastily. \"It would be interesting to know how it came\ninto her possession; perhaps it was stolen, who knows?\" And so saying,\nhe shook hands and departed.\n\nReginald Gower was the only child of an old English family of fallen\nfortune. Rumour said he was of extravagant habits, but that he expected\nsome day to inherit a fine property and large fortune from a distant\nrelative.\n\nThere were good traits in Reginald's character: he had a kind heart, and\nwas a most loving son to his widowed mother, who doted on him; but a\nlove of ease and a selfish regard to his own comfort marred his whole\ncharacter, and above all things an increasing disregard of God and the\nHoly Scriptures was pervading more and more his whole life.\n\nAs he walked away from Sir Richard's house, his thoughts were occupied\nwith the story he had just heard of the child found in the Black Forest.\nHe was quite aware of the fact that the girl's face forcibly reminded\nhim of the picture of a beautiful girl that hung in the drawing-room of\na manor-house near his own home in Gloucestershire. He knew that the\nowner of that face had been disinherited (though the only child of the\nhouse) on account of her marriage, which was contrary to the wishes of\nher parents, and that now they did not know whether she were dead or\nalive; though surely he had lately heard a report that, after years of\nbitter indignation at her, they had softened, and were desirous of\nfinding out where she was, if still alive. And then what impressed him\nmost was the curious coincidence (he called it) that round the neck of\nthe girl in the picture was just such another mosaic necklace as the\nStanfords had described the one to be which the young violinist wore.\n\nWas it possible, he asked himself, that she could be the child of the\ndaughter of the manor of whom his mother had often told him? and if so,\nought he to tell them of his suspicions--the more so that he had heard\nfrom his mother that the lady of the manor was failing in health, and\nlonging, as she had long done, to see and forgive her child? If he were\nright in his surmises that this \"woodland girl,\" as he had heard her\ncalled, was the daughter of the child of the manor, then even if the\nmother was dead, the young violinist would be received with open arms by\nboth the grand-parents, and would (and here arose the difficulty in the\nyoung man's mind) inherit the estates and wealth which would have\ndevolved on her mother, all of which, but for the existence of this\nwoodland child, he, Reginald Gower, would have inherited as heir-at-law.\n\n\"Well, there is no call on you to say anything about the matter, at all\nevents at present,\" whispered the evil spirit in the young man's heart.\n\"You may be mistaken. Why ruin your whole future prospects for a fancy?\nLikenesses are so deceptive; and as to the necklace, pooh! that is\nnonsense--there are hundreds of mosaic necklaces. Let the matter alone,\nand go your way. 'Eat, drink, and be merry.'\"\n\nAll very well; but why just then of all times in the world did the words\nof the Bible, taught him long ago by the mother he loved, come so\nvividly to his remembrance--\"Do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with\nthy God;\" and those words, heard more distinctly still, which his mother\nhad taught him to call \"the royal law of love\"--\"As ye would that men\nshould do to you, do ye even so to them\"?\n\nGood and bad spirits seemed fighting within him for the mastery; but\nalas, alas! the selfish spirit so common to humanity won the day, and\nReginald Gower turned from the low, soft voice of the Holy Spirit\npleading within him, and resolutely determined to be silent regarding\nhis meeting with the child found in the Black Forest, and the strange\ncircumstance of her likeness to the picture and her possession of the\nmosaic necklace.\n\nOnce again the god of self, who has so many votaries in this world, had\ngained a great triumph, and the prince of this world got a more sure\nseat in the heart of the young man. But all unknown to him there was one\n\"climbing for him the silver, shining stair that leads to God's great\ntreasure-house,\" and claiming for her fatherless boy \"the priceless boon\nof the new heart.\"\n\nWas such a prayer ever offered in vain or unanswered by Him who hath\nsaid, \"If ye ask anything according to my will, I will do it. Ask, and\nye shall receive\"?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nCHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST.\n\n    \"Christmas, happy Christmas,\n       Sweet herald of good-will,\n     With holy songs of glory,\n       Brings holy gladness still.\"\n\n\nSummer had long passed, autumn tints had faded, and the fallen leaves\nlay thick in the Forest.\n\nFor days a strong wind had blown, bending the high trees under its\ninfluence, and here and there rooting up the dark pines and laying them\nlow. Through the night of which we are going to write, a heavy fall of\nsnow had covered all around with a thick mantle of pure white. It\nweighed down the branches of the trees in the Forest, and rested on the\npiles of wood which lay ready cut to be carted off to be sold for fuel\nin the neighbouring towns. The roll of wheels, as the heavily-laden\nwagons passed, was heard no more. The song of the birds had ceased,\nthough the print of their claws was to be seen on the snow. All was\nquiet. The silence of nature seemed to rest on the hearts of the\ndwellers in the Forest. In vain Elsie heaped on the wood; still the\nstove gave out little heat. She busied herself in the little room, but a\nweight seemed to be on her spirit, and she glanced from time to time\nuneasily at Frida, who sat listlessly knitting beside the stove.\n\n\"Art ill, Frida?\" she said at last. \"All this morning hast thou sat\nthere with that knitting on thy lap, and scarce worked a round at it.\nAnd your violin--why, Frida, you have not played on it for weeks, and\neven Hans notices it; and Wilhelm says to me no longer ago than this\nmorning, 'Why, wife, what ails our woodland child? The spirit has all\nleft her, and she looks white and tired-like.'\"\n\nFrida, thus addressed, rose quickly from her seat, a blush, perchance of\nshame, colouring her cheeks.\n\n\"O Mutter,\" she said, \"I know I am lazy; but it is not because I am ill,\nonly I keep thinking and wondering and--There! I know I'm wrong, only,\nElsie dear, Mutter Elsie, I do want to know if any of my own people are\nalive, and where they live. I have felt like this ever since I was at\nBaden-Baden; and I have not heard from Adeline Stanford for such a long\ntime, and I suppose, though she was so kind, she has forgotten me; and\nMiss Drechsler has left Dringenstadt for months; and, O Mutter, forgive\nme, and believe that I am not ungrateful for all that you and Wilhelm\nand the kind people in the Dorf have done for me. Only, only--\" And the\npoor girl laid her head on Elsie's shoulder and cried long and bitterly.\n\nElsie was much moved, she did so love the bright, fairy-like girl who\nhad been the means of letting in the light of the gospel to her dark\nheart.\n\n\"_Armes Kind_\" (poor child), she said, soothing her as tenderly as she\nwould have done her own blind Anna, had she been alive and in trouble,\n\"I understand it all, dear.\" (And her kind woman heart had taken it all\nin.) \"It is just like the little bird taken from its mother's nest, and\nput into a strange one, longing to be back amongst its like again, and\ncontent nowhere else. But, Frida, dost thou not remember that we read in\nthe little brown book that our Lord hath said, 'Lo, I am with you\nalway'? Isn't that enough for you? No place can be very desolate, can\nit, if He be there?\"\n\nIn a moment after Elsie said these words, Frida raised her head and\ndried her eyes.\n\nHad she been forgetting, she asked herself, whose young servant she was?\nWas it right in a child of God to be discontented with her lot, and to\nforget the high privilege that God had given her in allowing her to read\nHis Word to the poor people in the Forest?\n\n\"I must throw off this discontented spirit,\" she said to herself; and\nturning to Elsie she told her how sorry she was for the way in which she\nhad acted, adding, \"But with God's help I will be better now.\"\n\nFrida was no perfect character, and, truth to tell, ever since her\nreturn from Baden-Baden, a sense of the incongruity of her circumstances\nhad crept upon her. The tasteful surroundings, the cultured\nconversation, the musical evenings, the refinement of all around, had\nenchanted the young girl, and the humble lot and homely ways of her\nForest friends had on her return to them stood out in striking\ncontrast. And, alas! for the time being she refused to see in all these\nthings the guiding hand of God. But after the day we have written of,\nthings went better. The girl strove to conquer her discontent, and in\nGod's strength she overcame, and her friends in the Forest had once more\nthe pleasure of seeing her bright smile and hearing her sweet voice in\nsong.\n\nJohann Schmidt had fallen asleep in Jesus with the words of Holy\nScripture on his lips, blessing the \"wood-cutters' pet,\" as he called\nher, for having, through the reading of God's Word, led him to Jesus.\nBut though sickness had left the Forest, the severe cold and deep snow\nwere very trying to the health of all the dwellers in it, and the winter\nnights were long and dreary.\n\nOne day in December, Wilhelm Hoerstel had business in Dringenstadt, and\non his return home he gave Frida two letters which he had found lying at\nthe post-office for her. They proved, to Frida's great delight, to be\nfrom her two friends Miss Drechsler and Adeline Stanford.\n\nMiss Drechsler's ran thus:--\n\n    \"DEAR FRIDA,--I have been thinking very specially of you and\n    your friends in the Forest, now that the cold winter days have\n    come, and the snow, I doubt not, is lying thick on the trees and\n    ground. Knowing how interested you are, dear, in all your kind\n    friends there, I have thought how nice it would be for you, if\n    Elsie and Wilhelm consent, to have a Christmas-tree for a few\n    of your friends; and in order to carry this out, I enclose a\n    money order to the amount of L2, and leave it to you and Elsie\n    to spend it to the best of your power.\n\n    \"I am also going to write to Herr Steiger to send, addressed to\n    you, ten pounds of tea, which I trust you to give from me to\n    each of the householders--nine in number, I think--in the little\n    Dorf, retaining one for your friends the Hoerstels. Will you,\n    dear Frida, be my almoner and do my business for me? I often\n    think of and pray for you, and I know you do not forget me. I\n    fear I will not be able to return to Dringenstadt till the month\n    of May, as my sister is still very ill, and I feel I am of use\n    to her.--Your affectionate friend.      M. DRECHSLER.\"\n\n\"Oh, isn't it good? isn't it charming?\" said Frida, jumping about the\nroom in her glee. \"Mayn't we have the tree, Mutter? And will you not\nsome day soon come with me to Dringenstadt and choose the things for it?\nOh, I wish Hans were here, that I might tell him all about it! See, I\nhave not yet opened Adeline's letter; it is so long since I heard from\nher. I wonder where they are living now. Oh, the letter is from Rome.\"\n\nThen in silence she read on. Elsie, who was watching her, saw that as\nshe read on her cheeks coloured and her eyes sparkled with some joyful\nemotion.\n\nShe rose suddenly, and going up to Elsie she said, \"O Mutter, _was\ndenken Sie?_ [what do you think?]. Sir Richard and Lady Stanford enclose\na few lines saying they would like so much that I should, with your\nconsent, spend some months with them at Cannes in the Riviera, as a\ncompanion to Adeline; and if you and Miss Drechsler agree to the plan,\nthat I would accompany friends of theirs from Baden-Baden who propose to\ngo to Cannes about the middle of January. And, Mutter,\" continued the\ngirl, \"they say all my expenses will be paid, and that I shall have\nAdeline's masters for music and languages, and be treated as if I were\ntheir daughter.\"\n\nElsie looked up with tears in her eyes. \"Well, Frida dear,\" she said,\n\"it does seem a good thing for you, and right glad I am about it for\nyour sake; but, oh, we will miss you sorely. But there! the dear Lord\nhas told us in the book not to think only of ourselves, and I am sure\nthat He is directing your way. Of course I'll speak to Wilhelm about it,\nfor he has so much sense; but I don't believe he'll stand in your way.\"\n\nFrida, overcome with excitement, and almost bewildered with the prospect\nbefore her, had yet a heart full of sorrow at the thought of leaving the\nfriends who had helped her in her time of need; and in broken words she\ntold Elsie so, clinging to her as she spoke.\n\nMatters were soon arranged. Elsie and Wilhelm heartily agreed that Frida\nshould accept Sir Richard and Lady Stanford's invitation. They only\nwaited till an answer could be got from Miss Drechsler regarding the\nplan. And when that came, full of thankfulness for God's kindness in\nthus guiding her path, a letter of acceptance was at once dispatched to\nCannes, and the child of the Forest only remained with her friends till\nthe new year was a fortnight old.\n\nIn the meantime, whilst snow lay thick around, Christmas-eve came on,\nand Frida and Elsie were busy preparing the tree. Of the true Christmas\njoy many in the Forest knew nothing, but in some hearts a glimmer at\nleast of its true meaning was dawning, and a few of the wood-cutters\nloved to gather together and hear Frida read the story of the angelic\nhosts on the plain of Bethlehem singing of peace and good-will to men,\nbecause that night a Babe, who was Christ the Lord, was born in a\nmanger. How much they understood of the full significance of the story\nwe know not, but we _do_ know God's word never returns to Him void.\n\nThe tree was ready at last. Elsie, Frida, and Hans had worked busily at\nit for days, Miss Drechsler's money had gone a long way, and now those\nwho had prepared it thought there never had been such a beautiful tree.\nTrue, every child in the Forest had had on former occasions a tree of\ntheir own at Christmas time--none so poor but some small twig was lit\nup, though the lights might be few; but this one, ah, that was a\ndifferent matter--no such tree as this had ever been seen in the Forest\nbefore.\n\n\"Look, Hans,\" said Frida; \"is not that doll like a little queen? And\nonly see that little wooden cart and horse; won't that delight some of\nthe children in the Dorf?--And, Mutter, we must hang up that warm hood\nfor Frau Schenk, poor woman; and now here are the warm cuffs for the\nmen, and a lovely pair for Wilhelm.--And, O Hans, we will not tell you\nwhat _you_ are to have; nor you either, Mutter. No, no, you will never\nguess. I bought them myself.\"\n\nAnd so, amid chattering and laughing, the tree got on and was finished;\nand all I am going to say about it is that for long years afterwards\nthat particular Christmas-tree was remembered and spoken of, and in far\nother scenes--in crowded drawing-rooms filled with gaily-dressed\nchildren and grown-up people--Frida's eyes would fill as she thought of\nthe joy that Christmas-tree had given to the dwellers in the Forest,\nboth young and old. Ere that memorable night ended, Frida and Hans, who\nhad prepared a surprise for every one, brought out their violins, and\nsang together in German a Christmas carol; and as the assembled party\nwent quietly home through the snow-carpeted Forest, a holy influence\nseemed around them, as if the song of the angels echoed through the air,\n\"Peace on earth, and goodwill to men.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nHARCOURT MANOR.\n\n    \"Shall not long-suffering in thee be wrought\n           To mirror back His own?\n     His _gentleness_ shall mellow every thought\n           And look and tone.\"\n\n\nThree years and a half have passed since the Christmas-eve we have\nwritten of, and the golden light of a summer day was falling on the\nearth and touching the flowers in a lovely garden belonging to the old\nmanor-house of Harcourt, in the county of Gloucester in England.\n\nIn the lawn-tennis court, which was near the garden, preparations were\nmaking for a game. Young men in flannels and girls in light dresses were\npassing to and fro arranging the racquets and tightening the nets, some\ngathering the balls together and trying them ere the other players\nshould arrive. It was a pleasant scene. Birds twittered out and in the\nivy and rose covered walls of the old English manor-house, and the\nblithe laughter of the young people blended with the melodious singing\nof the choristers around.\n\nThe company was assembling quickly, kind words were passing amongst\nfriends, when there appeared on the scene an elderly lady of great\nelegance and beauty, to whom all turned with respectful greeting, and a\nhush came over all.\n\nNot that there was anything stern or severe in the lady's appearance to\ncause the hush, for a look of calmness and great sweetness was in her\ncountenance, but through it there was also an appearance of sadness that\ntouched every heart, and although it would not silence any true young\njoy, had certainly the effect of quieting anything boisterous or rude.\n\nThe \"gentle lady\" of Harcourt Manor was the name Mrs. Willoughby had\ngone by for some years. It was pretty well known that a deep sorrow had\nfallen upon her whilst still in the prime of life; and those there were\nwho said they could recall a time when, instead of that look of calm\npeace and chastened sorrow, there were visible on her face only haughty\npride and fiery temper.\n\nIt was hard to believe that that had ever been the case; but if so, it\nwas but one of many instances in which God's declaration proved true,\nthat though \"no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but\ngrievous, nevertheless _afterward_ it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of\nrighteousness.\"\n\nMr. Willoughby, a man older by some years than his wife, was a man who\nhad long been more feared than beloved; and the heavy trial, which had\naffected him no less than his wife, had apparently hardened instead of\nsoftening his whole nature, though a severe illness had greatly\nmitigated, it was thought, some of his sternness.\n\nThe party of which we are writing was given in honour of the return from\nabroad of the heir of the manor, a distant relation of the Willoughbys,\nMr. Reginald Gower, whom we have written of before. For five years he\nhad been living abroad, and had returned only a month ago to the house\nof his widowed mother, the Hon. Mrs. Gower of Lilyfield, a small though\npretty property adjoining Harcourt Manor.\n\nJust as Mrs. Willoughby entered the grounds, Reginald and his mother did\nso also, although by a different way, and a few minutes passed ere they\nmet.\n\nThe young man walked eagerly up to the hostess, a smile of real pleasure\nlighting up his handsome face at the sight of the lady he really loved,\nand who had from his boyish days been a kind friend to him. But as he\ngreeted her, the look of sadness on her countenance struck him, and some\nsecret thought sent a pang through him, and for the moment blanched his\ncheek. Was it possible, he asked himself, that he had it in his power,\nby the utterance of a few words, to dispel that look of deep sadness\nfrom the face of one of the dearest friends, next to his mother, whom he\npossessed?\n\n\"Very glad to see you back again, Reginald,\" said Mrs. Willoughby. \"But\nsurely the southern skies have blanched rather than bronzed your cheeks.\nYou were not wont to be so pale, Reggie. Ay, there you are more like\nyour old self\" (as a flush of colour spread over his face once more).\n\"We hope you have come to stay awhile in your own country, for your\ndear mother has been worrying about your long absence.--Is it not so,\nLaura?\" she said, addressing herself to Mrs. Gower, who now stood beside\nthem.\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" was the reply; \"I am thankful to have my boy home again.\nLilyfield is a dull place without him.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Willoughby; \"it is a dreary home that has no child in\nit.\" And as she spoke she turned her face away, that no one might see\nthat her eyes were full of tears.\n\nBut Reginald had caught sight of them, and turned away suddenly, saying,\n\"Farewell for the present;\" and raising his cap to the two ladies, he\nwent off to join the players in the tennis-court, to all outward\nappearance one of the brightest and most light-hearted there.\n\nBut he played badly that day, and exclamations from his friends were\nheard from time to time such as, \"Why, Reginald, have you forgotten how\nto play tennis?\" \"Oh, look out, Gower; you are spoiling the game! It was\na shame to miss that ball.\"\n\nThus admonished, Reginald drew himself together, collected his thoughts,\nconcentrated his attention on the game, and played well. But no sooner\nwas the game over than once again there rose before his eyes the face\nand figure of the beautiful foundling of the Black Forest, with her\nstrange story and her extraordinary likeness not only to the picture of\nthe young girl in the drawing-room of the manor, but also to his gentle\nfriend Mrs. Willoughby.\n\nOh, if only he had never met the young violinist; if he could blot out\nthe remembrance of her and be once more the light-hearted man he had\nbeen ere he heard her story from Sir Richard Stanford!\n\nHe had been so sure of his sense of honour, his pure morality, his good\nprinciples, his high-toned soul (\"True,\" he said to himself, \"I never\nset up to be one of your righteous-overmuch sort of people, nor a saint\nlike my noble mother and my friend Mrs. Willoughby\") that he staggered\nas he thought of what he was now by the part he was acting. Dishonest,\ncruel, unjust--he, Reginald Gower; was it possible? Ah! his\nself-righteousness, his boasted uprightness, had both been put to the\ntest and found wanting.\n\n\"Well, Reggie, had you a pleasant time at the manor to-day?\" said his\nmother to him as they sat together at their late dinner.\n\n\"Oh, it was well enough,\" was the reply; but it was not spoken in his\nusual hearty tone, and his mother observed it, and also the unsatisfied\nlook which crossed his face, and she wondered what had vexed him.\n\nA silence succeeded, broken at last by Reginald.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said, \"what is it that has deepened that look of sadness in\nMrs. Willoughby's face since I last saw her? And tell me, is the story\nabout their daughter being disinherited true? And is it certain that she\nis dead, and that no child (for I think it is said she married) survives\nher? If that were the case, and the child should turn up and be\nreceived, it would be awkward for me and my prospects, mother.\"\n\n\"Reginald,\" Mrs. Gower replied, for she had heard his words with\nastonishment, \"if I thought that there was the least chance that either\nMrs. Willoughby's daughter or any child of hers were alive, I would\nrejoice with all my heart, and do all I could to bring about a\nreconciliation, even though it were to leave you, my loved son, a\npenniless beggar. And so I am sure would you.\"\n\nA flush of crimson rose to Reginald's brow at these words. Then his\nmother believed him to be all that he had thought himself, and little\nsuspected what he really was. But then, supposing he divulged his\nsecret, what about debts which he had contracted, and extravagant habits\nwhich he had formed? No! he would begin and save, retrench his expenses,\nand if possible get these debts paid off; and then he might see his way\nto speak of the girl in the Black Forest, if she was still to be found.\n\nSo once more Reginald Gower silenced the voice of conscience with, \"At a\nmore convenient time,\" and abruptly changing the subject, began to speak\nof his foreign experiences, of the beauty of Italian skies, art, and\nscenery; and the conversation about Mrs. Willoughby's daughter passed\nfrom his mother's mind, and she became absorbed in her son's\ndescriptions of the places he had visited. And as she looked at his\nhandsome animated face, was it any wonder that with a mother's\npartiality she thought how favoured she was in the possession of such a\nchild? Only--and here she sighed--ah, if only she were sure that this\ncherished son were a true follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, and that\nthe Word of God, so precious to her own soul, were indeed a light to his\nfeet and a lamp to his path!\n\nThat evening another couple were seated also at their dinner-table, and\na different conversation was being held. The master of Harcourt Manor\nsat at the foot of the table, opposite his gentle wife; but a troubled\nlook was on his face, brought there very much by the thought that he\nnoticed an extra shade both of weariness and sadness on the face of his\nwife. What could he do to dissipate it? he was asking himself. Anything,\nexcept speak the word which he was well aware would have the desired\neffect, and, were she still alive, restore to her mother's arms the\nchild for whom she pined; but not yet was the strong self-will so broken\ndown that those words could be spoken by him, not yet had he so felt the\nneed of forgiveness for his own soul that he could forgive as he hoped\nto be forgiven.\n\nDid not his duty as a parent, and his duty towards other parents of his\nown rank in life, call upon him to make a strong stand, and visit with\nhis righteous indignation such a sin as that of his only child and\nheiress marrying a man, however good, upright, and highly educated he\nmight be, who yet was beneath her in station (although he denied that\nfact), and unable to keep her in the comfort and luxury to which she had\nbeen accustomed?\n\n\"No, no, _noblesse oblige_;\" and rather than forgive such a sin, he\nwould blight his own life and break the heart of the wife he adored.\nSuch was the state of mind in which the master of Harcourt Manor had\nremained since the sad night when his only child had gone off to be\nmarried at a neighbouring church to the young musician Heinz. But some\nmonths before Reginald Gower's return from abroad, during a severe\nillness which had brought him to the borderland, Mr. Willoughby was\naroused to a dawning sense of his own sinfulness and need of pardon,\nwhich had, almost unconsciously to himself, a softening effect on his\nmind.\n\nHis wife was the first to break the silence at the dinner-table. \"Has\nnot Reginald Gower grown more manly and older-looking since we saw him\nlast?\" she said, addressing her husband.\n\nA shade came over his face as he answered somewhat testily, \"Oh, I think\nhe looks well enough! Of course five years must have made him look\nolder. But Reginald never was the favourite with me that he is with you,\nwife; a self-indulgent lad he always seems to me to be.\"\n\n\"Well, but surely, husband\" (once she always called him father, but that\nwas years ago now), \"he is a good son, and kind to his mother.\"\n\n\"Well, well, I am glad to hear it. But surely we have some more\ninteresting subject to discuss than Reginald Gower.\"\n\nMrs. Willoughby sighed. Well she knew that many a time she had a\nconflict in her own heart to think well of the lad who was to succeed to\nthe beautiful estates that by right belonged to their own child.\n\nDinner over, she sought the quiet of her own boudoir, a room specially\nendeared to her by the many sweet memories of the hours that she and her\nloved daughter had spent together there.\n\nThe day had been a trying one to Mrs. Willoughby. Not often nowadays had\nthey parties at Harcourt Manor, and she was tired in mind and body, and\nglad to be a few minutes alone with her God. She sat for a few minutes\nlost in thought; then rising she opened a drawer, and took from it the\ncase which contained the miniature of a beautiful girl, on which she\ngazed long and lovingly. The likeness was that of the daughter she had\nloved so dearly, and of whose very existence she was now in doubt. Oh to\nsee or hear of her once more! Poor mother, how her heart yearned for her\nloved one! Only one could comfort her, and that was the God she had\nlearned to love. She put down the picture and opened a little brown\nbook, the very _fac-simile_ of the one which little Frida possessed, and\nwhich God had used and blessed in the Black Forest. Turning to the\nHundred and third Psalm, she read the words, well underlined, \"Like as a\nfather pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.\"\nThen turning to the Gospel of Matthew, she read Christ's own blessed\nword of invitation and promise, \"Come unto me, all ye that labour and\nare heavy laden, and _I_ will give you rest.\" Ah, how many weary,\nburdened souls have these words helped since they were spoken and then\nunder the inspiration of the Holy Ghost written for the comfort of weary\nones in all ages! Ere she closed the book, Mrs. Willoughby read the\nfourth verse of the Thirty-seventh Psalm: \"Delight thyself in the Lord,\nand he shall give thee the desire of thine heart.\" Then kneeling down\nshe poured out, as she so often did, the sorrows of her heart to her\nheavenly Father, and rose quieted in spirit.\n\nEre she put away the little brown book she looked at it thoughtfully,\nrecalling the day, not long before her daughter had left her, when they\nhad together bought two Bibles exactly alike as regarded binding, but\nthe one was in German, the other in English. The German Bible she had\ngiven to her daughter, who presented the English one to her mother. On\nthe fly-leaf of the one she held in her hand were written the words, \"To\nmy much-loved mother, from Hilda.\" Ah, where was that daughter now? And\nif she still possessed the little brown German Bible, had she learned to\nlove and prize its words as her mother had done her English Bible? Then\ncarefully locking up her treasured book and portraits, she went\ndownstairs, to wait in solitary grandeur for her husband's coming into\nthe drawing-room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nIN THE RIVIERA.\n\n    \"My God, I thank Thee who hast made\n           The earth so bright,\n     So full of splendour and of joy,\n           Beauty, and light;\n     So many glorious things are here,\n           Noble and right.\"\n\n\nMore than four years had elapsed since Frida had left her home in the\nBlack Forest. April sunshine was lighting up the grey olive woods and\nglistening on the dark-green glossy leaves of the orange-trees at\nCannes, and playing on the deep-blue waters of the Mediterranean there.\n\nSome of these beams fell also round the heads of two young girls as they\nsat under the shade of a palm tree in a lovely garden there belonging to\nthe Villa des Rosiers, where they were living. A lovely scene was before\ntheir eyes. In front of them, like gems in the deep-blue sea, were the\nisles of St. Marguerite and St. Honorat, and to the west were the\nbeautiful Estrelle Mountains. Around them bloomed masses of lovely\nroses, and the little yellow and white noisettes climbed up the various\ntall trees in the garden, and flung their wealth of flowers in festoons\ndown to the ground.\n\nThe two girls gazed in silence for some minutes at the lovely scene.\nThen the youngest of the two, a dark-eyed, golden-haired girl, said,\naddressing her companion, \"Is it not lovely, Adeline? The whole of\nnature seems to be rejoicing.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" answered her companion. \"And I am sure I owe much to the\nglorious sunshine, for, by God's blessing, it has been the means of\nrestoring my health. I am quite well now, and the doctor says I may\nsafely winter in England next season. Won't it be delightful, Frida, to\nbe back in dear old England once more?\"\n\n\"Ah! you forget, Adeline, that I do not know the land of your birth,\nthough I quite believe it was my mother's birthplace as well, and\nperhaps my own also. I do often long to see it, and fancy if I were once\nthere I might meet with some of my own people. But then again, how could\nI, on a mere chance, make up my mind to leave my kind friends in the\nForest entirely? It is long since I have heard of them. Do you know that\nI left my little Bible with them? I had taught Elsie and Hans to read\nit, and they promised to go on reading it aloud as I used to do to the\nwood-cutters on Sunday evenings. It is wonderful how God's Word has been\nblessed to souls in the Forest. And, Adeline, have I told you how kind\nyour friend Herr Mueller has been about Hans? He got him to go twice a\nweek to Dringenstadt, and has been teaching him to play on the violin.\nHe says he has real talent, and if only he had the means to obtain a\ngood musical education, would become a really celebrated performer.\"\n\n\"Yes, Frida,\" replied her friend; \"I know more about all that than you\ndo. Herr Mueller has been most kind, and taken much trouble with Hans;\nbut it is my own dear, kind father who pays him for so doing, and tells\nno one, for he says we should 'not let our left hand know what our right\nhand doeth.'\"\n\nA silence succeeded, broken only by the noise of the small waves of the\ntideless Mediterranean at their feet.\n\nThen Frida spoke, a look of firm resolution on her face. \"Adeline,\" she\nsaid, \"your father and mother are the kindest of people, and God will\nreward them. This morning they told me that they mean to leave this\nplace in a couple of weeks, and return by slow stages to England; and\nthey asked me to accompany you there, and remain with you as your friend\nand companion as long as I liked. Oh, it was a kind offer, kindly put;\nbut, Adeline, I have refused it.\"\n\n\"Refused it, Frida! what do you mean?\" said her friend, starting up.\n\"You don't mean to say you are not coming home with us! Are you going\nback to live with those people in the little hut in the Forest, after\nall your education and your love of refined surroundings? Frida, it is\nnot possible; it would be black ingratitude!\"\n\n\"O Adeline, hush! do not pain me by such words. Listen to me, dear, for\none moment, and do not make it more difficult for me to do the right\nthing. Your parents have given their consent to my plan, and even said\nthey think it is the right plan for me.\"\n\n\"Well, let me hear,\" said Adeline, in a displeased tone, \"what it is you\npropose to do. Is it your intention really to go back to the Forest and\nlive there?\"\n\n\"Not exactly that, Adeline. I have thought it all over some time ago,\nand only waited till your parents spoke to me of going to England to\ntell them what I thought was my duty to do. And this is what has been\nsettled. If you still wish it, as your parents do, I shall remain here\ntill you leave, and accompany you back to Baden-Baden, where your\nparents tell me they intend going for a week or so. From there I propose\nreturning to my friends in the Forest, not to live there any more, but\nfor a few days' visit to see them who are so dear to me. After that I\nshall live with Miss Drechsler. Her sister is dead, and has left her a\ngood deal of money, and she is now going to settle in Dringenstadt, and\nhave a paid companion to reside with her. And, Adeline, that situation\nshe has offered to me.\"\n\n\"Well, Frida,\" interrupted her friend, \"did not I wish you to be my\ncompanion? and would not my parents have given you any sum you\nrequired?\"\n\n\"O Adeline dear, hush, I pray of you, and let me finish my story. You\n_know_ that it is not a question of money; but you are so well, dear,\nthat you do not really _need_ me. You have your parents and friends.\nMiss Drechsler is alone, and I can never forget all she has done for me.\nThen I am young, and cannot consent to remain in dependence even on such\ndear friends as you are. I intend giving lessons in violin-playing at\nDringenstadt and its neighbourhood. Miss Drechsler writes she can\nsecure me two or three pupils at once, and she is sure I will soon get\nmore, as the new villas near Dringenstadt are now finished, and have\nbeen taken by families. And then, Adeline, living there I shall be near\nenough to the Forest to carry on the work which I believe God has called\nme to, in reading to these poor people the words of life. And at Miss\nDrechsler's I mean to live, as long as she requires me, _unless_ I am\nclaimed by any of my own relations, which, as you know, is a most\nunlikely event. I believe I am right in the decision I have come to. So\nonce again I pray of you, dear Adeline, not to dissuade me from my\npurpose. You know how much I love you all, and how grateful I am to you.\nOnly think how ignorant I would have been had not your dear parents\ntaken me and got me educated, as if I had been their own child. Oh, I\ncan never, never forget all that you have done for me!\"\n\nAdeline's warm heart was touched, and her good sense convinced her, in\nspite of her dislike to the plan, that her friend was right. \"Well,\nFrida,\" she said, after a minute or two's silence, \"if you feel it\nreally to be your duty, I can say no more. Only you must promise me that\nyou will come sometimes, say in the summer time, and visit us.\"\n\nFrida smiled. \"That would be charming, Adeline; but we will not speak of\nthat at present. Only say you really think I am right in the matter. I\nhave not forgotten to ask God's guidance, and you know it is written in\nthe Word of God which we both love so well, 'In all thy ways acknowledge\nhim, and he shall direct thy paths.' But come; we must go now and get\nready, for we are to go to-day to the Cap d'Antibes.\"\n\nAnd in the delights of that lovely drive, and in strolling amongst the\nrocks honeycombed till they look almost like lacework, the two friends\nforgot the evils of the impending separation.\n\nIn the meantime Frida was warmly remembered by her friends in the\nForest, and their joy when they heard that she was once more coming to\nlive near them was unbounded.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Elsie, as she bent her head over a sweet little year-old girl\nwhom she held on her lap, \"now I shall be able to show her my little\nGretchen, and she will, I know, sing to her some of the sweet hymns she\nused to sing to my little Annchen, and she will read to us again,\nWilhelm, out of the little brown book which I have taken great care of\nfor her.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" put in Hans, \"and Muetterchen, she will bring her violin, and she\nand I will play together some of the music you and father love; and she\nwill, I know, be glad to hear that through Sir Richard Stanford and Herr\nMueller I am to become a pupil in the Conservatorium of Leipsic. I can\nhardly believe it is true.\"\n\n\"Ay, my son, thou art a lucky one, and ye owe it all to Frida herself.\nWas it not she who told Sir Richard about your love of music, and got\nHerr Mueller to promise to hear you play? Ah! under the good God we owe\nmuch to the 'woodland child.'\"\n\nAnd so it fell out that after a few more happy weeks spent at Cannes and\nGrasse, Frida found herself once more an inmate of Miss Drechsler's\npretty little house at Dringenstadt, and able every now and then to\nvisit and help her friends in the Forest.\n\n\"Ah, Muetterchen,\" she said as she threw herself into Elsie's arms, \"here\nI am again your foundling child, come to live near you, and so glad to\nsee you all once more.--And Hans, why, Hans, you look a man now; and oh,\nI am so pleased you are to go to Leipsic! You must bring down your\nviolin now and then to Miss Drechsler's, and let us play together. I am\nsure you will be a great musician some day, Hans.\"\n\nThe young man (for such he now was) looked much gratified at his\nfriend's hopeful words, and said, \"If I do turn that, I shall owe it all\nto you, Frida.\"\n\nBut the girl interrupted his speech by saying, \"Now, Mutter, let me see\nlittle Gretchen;\" and next minute she was stooping over the bed where\nlay the sleeping child--the very bed whence the spirit of the blind\nchild whom she had loved so dearly had taken its flight to the heavenly\nland.\n\n\"What a darling she looks, Elsie! Oh, I am glad God has sent you this\nlittle treasure! She will cheer you when Hans has gone away and her\nfather is all day in the Forest.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Elsie, \"she is indeed a gift from God; and you, Frida, must\nteach her, as you taught her parents and Anna, the 'way of life.' And O\nFrida, thou must go down to the Dorf, for all the people there are so\neager to see thee once more. And now that thou hast grown a young lady,\nthey all wonder if thou still beest like the woodland child, and wilt\ncare about the like of them, or if perchance thou hast forgotten them.\"\n\n\"Forgotten them! O Elsie, how could they think so? Could I ever forget\nhow they and you gave of their little pittance to maintain the child\nfound in the Black Forest, and how you all lavished kindness on her who\nhad neither father nor mother to care for her? I must go at once and ask\nthem what I have done that they should have thought so badly of me even\nfor a minute. Don't you know, Mutter, that I have given up the going to\nEngland to live with Miss Drechsler at Dringenstadt, in order that I may\noften see my dear friends in the Forest; and that shall be my life-work,\nunless\"--and here the girl looked sad--\"any of my own friends find me\nout and claim me.\"\n\n\"Hast had any clue to them, Frida?\" asked Elsie.\n\n\"Alas, no!\" said the girl, \"none whatever; and yet I have seen a great\nnumber of people during these few years. And I have always worn my\nnecklace, which, being such a peculiar one, might have attracted\nattention and led to the discovery of my parentage; but except one\nEnglishman, whom I met at the Stanfords', who said I reminded him of\nsome one whom he had seen, there has been nothing to lead me to suppose\nthat any one thought of me except as a friend of the Stanfords. But,\nElsie, though I am not discontented, still at times there is the old\nyearning for my own people. But God knows best, and I am not going to\nwaste my life in useless longings. I have got five pupils in\nDringenstadt already, and several more applications, and next week I\nbegin my life-work as a teacher of the violin.--Don't you envy me,\nHans?\"\n\n\"That is what I do, Fraeulein Frida,\" said Hans. Somehow as he looked at\nthe fair young lady the old familiar name of Frida seemed too familiar\nto use. Frida turned quickly round on him as he uttered the word\n\"Fraeulein.\"\n\n\"Why, Hans--for I will not call thee Herr--to whom did you speak? There\nis no Fraeulein here--just your old sister playmate Frida; never let me\nhear you address me again by such a title. Art thou not my brother Hans,\nthe son of my dear friends Elsie and Wilhelm?\" and a merry laugh\nscattered Hans's new-born shyness.\n\nAnd to the end of their lives Frida and Hans remained as brother and\nsister, each rejoicing in the success of the other in life; and in after\nyears they had many a laugh over the day that Hans began to think that\nhe must call his sister friend, the companion of his childhood, his\ninstructor in much that was good, by the stiff title of Fraeulein Frida.\n\nEre Frida left the hut that day, they all knelt together and thanked God\nfor past mercies, and it was Elsie's voice that in faltering accents\nprayed that Frida might still be used in the Forest to lead many to the\nknowledge of Christ Jesus through the reading of the Word of God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nIN THE GREAT METROPOLIS.\n\n    \"There are lonely hearts to cherish\n       While the days are going by,\n     There are weary souls who perish\n       While the days are going by.\n         If a smile we can renew,\n         As our journey we pursue,\n         Oh, the good we all may do\n       While the days are passing by!\"\n\n\nThe London season was at its height, but though the pure sunshine was\nglistening on mountain-top and green meadow, and beginning to tinge the\ncorn-fields with a golden tint in country places, where peace and\nquietness seemed to reign, and leafy greenery called on every one who\nloved nature to come and enjoy it in its summer flush of beauty, yet the\ngreat city was still filled not only by those who could not leave its\ncrowded streets, but by hundreds who lingered there in the mere pursuit\nof pleasure, for whom the beauties of nature had no charm.\n\nOn one peculiarly fine day a group of people were gathered together in\nthe drawing-room of a splendid mansion in one of the West End crescents.\n\nThere was evidently going to be a riding party, for horses held by\ngrooms stood at the door, and two at least of the ladies in the\ndrawing-room wore riding habits.\n\nIn conversation with one of these--a pretty fair-haired girl of some\ntwenty years--stood Reginald Gower. \"Will your sister ride to-day, do\nyou know?\" he was asking, in somewhat anxious tones.\n\n\"Gertie? No, I think not; she has a particular engagement this morning.\nI don't exactly know what it is, but she will not be one of the party.\nSo, Mr. Gower, you and Arthur Barton will have to put up with only the\ncompany of myself and Cousin Mary.\"\n\nEre the young man could reply, the door opened, and a girl dressed in a\ndark summer serge and light straw hat entered. She carried a small\nleather bag in her hand, and was greeted with exclamations of dismay\nfrom more than one of the party.\n\n\"Are you going slumming to-day, Gertie? What a shame! And the sun so\nbright, and yet a cool air--just the most delightful sort of day for a\nride; and we are going to call on your favourite aunt Mary.\"\n\n\"Give her my love then,\" replied Gertie, \"and tell her I hope to ride\nover one of those days and see her. No, I cannot possibly go with you\nto-day, as I have an engagement elsewhere.\"\n\n\"An engagement in the slums! Who ever heard of such a thing?\" said her\nsister and cousin together.\n\n\"I am sorry to disappoint you, Lily dear, and my cousin also; but I had\npromised two or three poor people to see them to-day before I knew\nanything of this riding party, and I am sure I am right not to\ndisappoint them.--And, Mr. Gower, I know your mother at least would not\nthink I was wrong.\"\n\n\"That is true, Miss Warden. My mother thinks far more about giving\npleasure to the poor than she does about the wishes of the rich. But\ncould you not defer this slumming business till to-morrow, and give us\nthe pleasure of your company to-day?\"\n\nBut she shook her head, and assuring them they would get on very well\nwithout her, she turned to leave the room, saying as she did so, \"O\nLily, do find out if it is true that Aunt Mary's old governess, Miss\nDrechsler, of whom we have all heard so much, is coming to visit her\nsoon, and is bringing with her the young violinist who lives with her,\nand who people say was a child found in the Black Forest. I do so want\nto know all about her. We must try and get her to come here some\nevening, and ask Dr. Heinz, who plays so well upon the violin, to meet\nher; and you also, Mr. Gower, for I know you dearly love music.\"\n\nHad Lily not turned quickly away just then, she would have noticed the\nuneasy, startled look which crossed Reginald Gower's face at her words.\nWas this woodland child, he asked himself, to be always crossing his\npath?\n\nHe had hoped he had heard the last of her long ago, and some years had\nelapsed since he had seen her. The circumstance of the likeness to the\npicture in Harcourt Manor, and the coincidence of the necklace, had\n_almost_ (but as he had not yet quite killed his conscience), not\n_altogether_, escaped his memory; and still, as at times he marked the\nincreasing sadness on Mrs. Willoughby's countenance, he felt a sharp\npang of remorse; and since he had known and begun to care for Gertie\nWarden, her devoted Christian life and clear, truthful spirit were\nmaking him more conscious than ever of his own selfishness and sin.\n\nTrue, he had no reason to suppose that she cared for him in any way\nexcept as the son of his mother, whom she dearly loved, but his vanity\nwhispered that perhaps in time she might do so; and if that came to\npass, and he found that his love was returned, _then_ he would tell her\nall, and consult with her as to what course he should follow.\n\nLately, however, he had become uneasy at the many references which Lily\nWarden made to a Dr. Heinz, who seemed to be often about the house, and\nof whom both sisters spoke in high terms as a Christian man and pleasant\nfriend. What if he should gain the affection of Gertie? Heinz! something\nin the name haunted him. Surely he had heard it before, and in\nconnection with the young violinist. And now was it possible that that\nbeautiful girl was really coming amongst them, and that his own mother\nmight meet her any day? for she was often at the house, not only of the\nWardens, but also of their aunt Mary, with whom the girl was coming to\nstay.\n\nNo wonder that during the ride Lily Warden thought Mr. Gower strangely\npreoccupied and silent. She attributed it all to his disappointment at\nher sister's absence, and felt vexed that such should be the case, as\nwell she knew that in the way he wished Gertie would never think of\nReginald Gower; but she felt sorry for him, and tried to cheer him up.\n\nThrough that long ride, with summer sunshine and summer beauties around\nhim, Reginald saw only one face, and it was not that of Gertie Warden,\nbut that of the young girl whom he had heard play on the violin at the\nhouse of the Stanfords at Baden-Baden.\n\nOh, if he had only had courage then to write home and tell all that he\nhad heard about her! And in vivid colours there rose before his mind all\nthe disgrace that would attach to him when it became known that he knew\nof the girl's existence and kept silence. The reason of his so doing\nwould be evident to many. And what, oh, what, he was asking himself,\nwould his loved, high-souled mother think of her son? Surely the words\nof the Bible he heeded so little were true, \"The way of transgressors is\nhard,\" and his sin was finding him out.\n\nAs soon as the first greetings were over, and the party were seated at\nthe lunch-table in Miss Warden's pretty cottage situated on the banks of\nthe Thames, Lily said, \"O Aunt Mary, is it true what Gertie has\nheard--that Miss Drechsler and a beautiful young violinist with a\nromantic story are coming to visit you? Gertie is so anxious to know all\nabout her, for neither she nor any of us can believe that she can excel\nDr. Heinz in violin-playing; and, indeed, you know how beautifully\nGertie herself plays, and she often does so now with Dr. Heinz himself.\"\n\n\"Yes, Lily dear, I am glad to say it is all true. I expect both Miss\nDrechsler and her young _protege_ next week to visit me for a short\ntime, after which they propose to go to the Stanfords at Stanford Hall,\nwho take a great interest in the young violinist--in fact, I believe she\nlived for three or four years with them, and was educated along with\ntheir own daughter.--By the way, Mr. Gower, you must tell your mother\nthat her old friend Miss Drechsler is coming to me, and I hope she will\nspend a day with me when she is here.\"\n\n\"I am sure she will be delighted to do so, Miss Warden,\" replied the\nyoung man; but even as he spoke his cheek blanched as he thought of all\nthat might come of his mother meeting the young violinist.\n\nReginald rode back with his friends to their house, but could not be\ninduced to enter again, not even to hear how Gertie had got on with her\nslumming. \"Not to-day,\" he said; \"I find I must go home. I don't doubt\nyour sister has been well employed--more usefully than we mere\npleasure-seekers have been,\" he added, in such a grave tone that Lily\nturned her head to look at him, as she stood on the door-steps, and\ninquire if he were quite well. \"Quite so, thanks,\" he replied, in his\nusual gay tone; \"only sometimes one does think there is a resemblance\nbetween the lives the butterflies live and ours. Confess it now,\" he\nsaid laughingly; but Lily was in no thoughtful mood just then, so her\nonly reply was,--\n\n\"Speak for yourself, Mr. Gower. I have plenty of useful things to do,\njust as much so as making a guy of myself and going a-slumming, only I\nam often too lazy to do them,\" and with a friendly nod she followed her\ncousin into the house.\n\nReginald rode slowly homeward, and, contrary to his usual custom, went\nto his own room to try to collect his thoughts and make out in what form\nhe would deliver Miss Warden's message to his mother. It was very\nevident to him that the meshes into which his own sins had brought him\nwere tightening around him. Turn which way he liked, there was no\nescape. At least only one that he could see, and that was, that if the\nsecret came out, and the young violinist of the Black Forest were proved\nto be the grandchild of the Willoughbys, he should keep silence as to\nhis ever having known anything of the matter.\n\nThe more he thought of it, the more that seemed his wisest course; and\neven if it should come out that he had heard her play, that would tell\nnothing. Yet his conscience was ill at ease. Suppose he did so, what of\nhis own self-respect? Could he ever regain it? Fortune would be lost,\nand all ease of mind gone for ever. Then again, if he told his story\nnow, it would only be because he knew that in any case it would be\ndisclosed, and shame would await him.\n\nHow could he ever bear the reproaches of his kind friends the\nWilloughbys, and more than all, the deep grief such a disclosure would\ncause to his loved mother? In that hour Reginald Gower went through a\nconflict of mind which left a mark on his character for life. But, alas!\nonce more evil won the day, and he resolved that not _yet_ would he tell\nall he knew; but some day _soon_ he might. But once again, as he rose to\ngo downstairs, Bible words came into his mind: \"_To-day_, while it is\ncalled to-day, harden not your hearts.\"\n\nO happy mother, to have so carefully stored the young heart with the\nprecious words of God! Long they may be as the seed under ground,\napparently forgotten and useless, yet surely one day they will spring\nup and bear fruit. True even in this application are the words of the\npoet,--\n\n    \"The vase in which roses have once been distilled\n     You may break, you may shiver the vase if you will,\n     But the scent of the roses will cling to it still.\"\n\nWell may we thank God for all mothers who carefully teach the words of\nHoly Scripture to their children.\n\nThat day Reginald delivered Miss Warden's message to his mother, but did\nnot mention the young girl who was to accompany her.\n\n\"Oh, I will be delighted to see Miss Drechsler again,\" said his mother.\n\"I liked her so much when she was governess at the Wardens'. We all did;\nindeed, she was more companion than governess, and indeed was younger\nthan I was, and just about Mary Warden's own age. I remember well going\none day with Mrs. Willoughby's daughter, Hilda, to a musical party at\nthe Wardens', and how charmed Miss Drechsler was at the way Hilda played\nthe violin, which was not such a common thing then as it is now.\"\n\n\"The violin?\" queried Reginald. \"Did Miss Willoughby play on the\nviolin?\"\n\n\"Oh yes! she was very musical, and that was one of the great attractions\nto her in the man she married. He, too, was a wonderful violinist--Herr\nHeinz they called him. He was, I believe, a much-respected man and of\ngood family connections, but poor, and even taught music to gain a\nlivelihood.\"\n\n\"Heinz!\" Reginald was repeating to himself. Then he had heard that name\nbefore first in connection with the child of the Black Forest; but he\nonly said, \"It is curious that I have lately heard that name from the\nyoung Wardens, who speak a great deal of a Dr. Heinz. He also is a good\nviolinist. Can he be any relation, do you think, of the one you allude\nto?\"\n\n\"Possibly he may; but the name is not at all an uncommon German one. By\nthe way, I heard a report (probably a false one) that Gertie Warden is\nengaged to be married to a Dr. Heinz--a very good man, they say. Have\nyou heard anything of it?\"\n\n\"I never heard she was engaged, nor do I think it is likely; but I have\nheard both her and her sister speak of this Dr. Heinz, and I know it is\nonly a Christian man that Gertie would marry.\"\n\nHaving said so much, he quickly changed the subject and talked of\nsomething else. The mother's eye, however, was quick to notice the shade\non his brow as he spoke, and she was confirmed in the opinion she had\nformed for some time that the very idea of Gertie Warden's engagement\nwas a pain to him. As he rose to go out he turned to say, \"Remember,\nmother, that I have given you Miss Warden's message.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nIN THE SLUMS.\n\n    \"In dens of guilt the baby played,\n     Where sin and sin _alone_ was made\n     The law which all around obeyed.\"\n\n\nThe summer sunshine, of which we have written as glistening among the\n\"leafy tide of greenery,\" and on the ripening corn-fields and\ngaily-painted flowers in the country, was penetrating also the close\nstreets of one of the poorest parts of London, cheering some of the\nhearts of the weary toiling ones there, into whose lives little sunshine\never fell, and for a while, it may be, helping them to forget the misery\nof their lot, or to some recalling happier days when they dwelt not in a\nnarrow, crowded street, but in a country village home, amidst grassy\nmeadows and leafy trees, feeling, as they thought of these things,\nthough they could not have put the feeling into words, what a poet gone\nto his rest says so beautifully,--\n\n    \"That sorrow's crown of sorrow\n     Is remembering happier things.\"\n\nBut the very light that cheered revealed more clearly the misery, dirt,\nand poverty around.\n\nIn one such street, where little pale-faced children, without the\nmerriment and laughter of childhood, played in a languid, unchildlike\nway, sickness prevailed; for fever had broken out, and indoors suffering\nones tossed on beds, if they could be so called, of sickness.\n\nAt the door of a small room in one of the houses stood a girl of some\nten or eleven years old, looking out anxiously as if in expectation of\nsome one, turning every now and then to address a word to her mother,\nwho lay in the small room on a bed in the corner.\n\n\"He baint a-comin' yet,\" she said, \"'cos I knows his step; but he'll be\n'long soon--ye see if he don't! I knows as how he will, 'cos he's that\nkind; so don't ye fret, mother--the doctor 'ill be here in no time.\nThere now! Susan Keats giv' me some tea for ye, and I'll get the water\nfrom her and bring you some prime and 'ot--ye see if I don't!\" So\nsaying, the child ran off and went into a room next door, and entering\nbegged for some \"'ot water.\" \"Ye see,\" she said, addressing a woman\npoorly clad like herself, \"she be a-frettin', mother is, for the doctor,\nfor she's badly, is mother, to-day, and she thinks mayhap he'll do her\ngood.\"\n\nWhen the child returned to her mother's room, she found Dr. Heinz (for\nit was he) sitting by her mother's side and speaking kindly to her. He\nturned round as the child entered. \"Come along, Gussie,\" he said;\n\"that's right--been getting mother some tea. You'll need to tend her\nwell, for she's very poorly to-day.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" muttered the woman, \"that's true, that's true. Be kind to\nGussie, poor Gussie, when I am gone, doctor. The young lady--Miss\nWarden be her name--she said she'd look after her, she did.\"\n\nThe doctor bent over the dying woman and said some comforting words, at\nwhich the woman's face brightened. \"God bless ye,\" she said, \"for\npromising that. Oh, but life's been weary, weary sin' I came 'ere--work,\nwork, and that not always to be 'ad. But it's true, sir, what ye told\nme. He says even to the like o' me, 'Come unto me, and I will give you\nrest;' and He's done it, I think. Ye'll come again, sir, won't ye?\"\n\nAfter a few moments of prayer with the poor woman, and giving her some\nmedicine to allay her restlessness, Dr. Heinz left the room. From house\nto house in the fever-stricken street he went, ministering alike to body\nand soul, often feeling cast down and discouraged, overwhelmed at times\nby the vice and poverty of all around. The gospel had never reached\nthese poor neglected ones. The very need of a Saviour was by the great\nmajority of them unfelt. Love many of them had never experienced. The\nevil of sin they did not comprehend. Brought up from babyhood in the\nmidst of iniquity, they were strangers to the very meaning of\nrighteousness and virtue. No wonder that the heart of the doctor was\noppressed as he went out and in amongst them. Yet he felt assured that\nby love they could be won to the God of love, and that only the simple\ngospel of Jesus Christ dying in their room and stead, told in the power\nof the Holy Ghost, could enlighten their dark souls and prove the true\nlever to raise them from their sin and misery. And so, whilst\nalleviating pain, he tried when possible to say a word from the\nbook--God's revealed will, which alone \"maketh wise unto salvation.\"\nMore than once on the day we write of, as he went from house to house,\nthe vision of a young girl whom he had often met going about doing good\nflitted before his eyes.\n\nGertie Warden and Dr. Heinz had first met in one of those abodes of\nwretchedness, where she stood by a bed of sickness trying to comfort and\nhelp a dying woman.\n\nOnly two years before that and Gertie was just ready to throw herself\ninto the vortex of the gay society in which the other members of her\nfamily mingled; but ere she did so the voice of the Holy Ghost spake to\nher as to so many others, and showed her how true life was only to be\nfound in Christ and lived in Him. Henceforth she lived no longer a life\nof mere worldliness, but a life spent in the service of Him who had\nloved her and given Himself for her; and then her greatest joy was found\nin visiting the poor, the afflicted, the tried--ay, and often the\noppressed ones of earth.\n\nIn her own family she found great opposition to her new mode of life;\nbut the Lord raised up a kind helpful friend to her in the person of the\ngentle, sorely-tried Mrs. Willoughby of Harcourt Manor. To her Gertie\nconfided all her difficulties as regarded her district visiting (or, as\nher sister called it, her slumming), and many a word of sympathy and\nwise counsel she got from her friend.\n\nOne day she spoke of Dr. Heinz.\n\n\"You cannot think how much the people love him,\" she said, \"and trust\nhim. 'Ah!' I heard a poor woman say the other day, 'if only all were\nlike him, it's a better world it would be than it's now.' And do you\nknow,\" she went on, \"he is actually interesting my father and Aunt Mary\nin some of his poor patients. And he likes to come to our house\nsometimes in the evenings and play on the violin along with us; and he\ndoes play beautifully. I wish you knew him, dear Mrs. Willoughby, for I\nknow you would like him. But, dear friend, are you not well?\"\n\nFor at the name of Heinz a deadly faintness had overcome Mrs.\nWilloughby. Was not that the name of her daughter's husband? and if he\nshould prove to be in any way related to him, might he not be able to\ngive some information regarding her loved one? But she composed herself,\nand in answer to Gertie's question she replied,--\n\n\"It is nothing, dear, only a passing weakness. I am all right now. Tell\nme something more of this Dr. Heinz and the Christian work he is engaged\nin. He must be a German, I fancy, from his name.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is,\" replied Gertie; \"he was speaking to me lately about his\nrelations. He was born in Germany, and lived there till he was a boy of\nseven years old. Then his parents died, and he came to this country with\nan older brother who was a wonderful violinist, and he taught him to\nplay; but many years ago this brother married and returned to Germany,\nleaving him here in the charge of some kind friends; and though at first\nhe heard from him from time to time, he has ceased to write to him for\nsome years, and he fears he is dead. He knows he had a child, for his\nlast letter mentioned her, but he knows nothing more.\"\n\nAgain that terrible pallor overcame Mrs. Willoughby, but this time she\nrose and said in an excited tone,--\n\n\"I must see this Dr. Heinz. Could you bring him to see me, Gertie, and\nsoon? Say to him that I think, although I am not sure, that I knew a\nrelation of his some years ago.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Mrs. Willoughby; I will gladly ask him to come and see you.\nIndeed, I was just going to ask if you would allow him to call--\" Here\nthe girl hesitated a moment, then said, \"You see, it was only last\nnight, but I am engaged to be married to Dr. Heinz, and do wish you to\nknow and love him for my sake.\"\n\nLove one of the name of Heinz! Could she do so, the gentle lady was\nasking herself. What if he should prove to be the brother of the man who\nhad caused her such bitter sorrow? But at that moment there rose to her\nremembrance the words of Scripture, said by Him who suffered from the\nhand of man as never man suffered, \"Forgive, as ye would be forgiven,\"\nand who illustrated that forgiveness on the cross when He prayed for His\ndeadly enemies, \"Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.\"\nThe momentary struggle was over. Mrs. Willoughby raised her head, and\nsaid in a calm, quiet tone,--\n\n\"God bless you, Gertie; and may your union be a very happy one. I should\nlike to see Dr. Heinz.\"\n\nAnd so it came to pass that ere many days had elapsed, Dr. Heinz was\nushered into Mrs. Willoughby's drawing-room in the London house which\nthey had taken for the season. He was hardly seated before she said,--\n\n\"Yes, oh yes--there can be no mistake--you certainly are the brother of\nthe man who married my daughter. Tell me, oh tell me,\" she added, \"what\nyou know of her and of him!\"\n\nDr. Heinz was strongly moved as he looked on the face of the agitated\nmother.\n\n\"Alas!\" he said, \"I grieve to say I can tell you nothing. I have not\nheard for several years from my brother, and at times I fear he must be\ndead. My poor brother, how I loved him! for, Mrs. Willoughby, a gentler\nor more kind-hearted man never lived. You may be sure, however much your\ndaughter was to blame in marrying any one against her parents' wishes,\nshe found in my brother a truly loving, kind husband.\"\n\n\"Thank God for that!\" she replied. \"But now tell me, was there a child?\nGertie spoke as if you knew there was one.\"\n\n\"Certainly there was. In the last letter I had from my brother, he spoke\nof the great comfort their little girl (who was the image of her mother)\nwas to them--his little Frida he called her, and at that time she was\nthree or four years old. Oh yes, there was a child. Would that I could\ngive you more particulars! but I cannot; only I must mention that he\nsaid, 'I am far from strong, and my beloved wife is very delicate.'\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the mother, \"she was never robust; and who knows what a life\nof hardship she may have had to live! O Hilda, Hilda! Dr. Heinz, is\nthere no means by which we may find out their whereabouts? I have\nlately had some advertisements put into various papers, praying them to\nlet us know where they are; but no answer has come, and now I am losing\nall hope.\"\n\n\"Would that I could comfort you!\" he said; \"but I also fear much that we\nhave lost the clue to their whereabouts. I will not cease to do all I\ncan to trace them; but, dear Mrs. Willoughby, we believe that there is\nOne who knows all, whose eyes are everywhere, and we can trust them to\nHim. If I should in any way hear of our friends, you may be sure I shall\nnot be long of communicating with you. In the meantime it has been a\ngreat pleasure to me to have made the acquaintance of one whom my dear\nGertrude has often spoken to me of as her kindest of friends.\"\n\nThen Dr. Heinz told of the work in which he was engaged amongst the\npoor, sorrowful, and also too often sinful ones, in the East End of\nLondon.\n\nBefore Dr. Heinz left, Mrs. Willoughby showed him the little brown\nEnglish Bible which her daughter had given to her not long before her\nmarriage, and told him about the German one, which looked exactly the\nsame outwardly, which she had given to her daughter.\n\n\"Strange,\" said Dr. Heinz, as he held the little brown book in his hand,\n\"that in the last letter I ever received from my brother, he told me of\nthe blessing which he had got through reading God's Word in a brown\nBible belonging to his wife, adding that she also had obtained blessing\nthrough reading it.\"\n\n\"Praise God!\" said Mrs. Willoughby; \"then my prayers have been\nanswered, that Hilda, like her mother, might be brought to the knowledge\nof God. Now I know that if we meet no more on earth we shall meet one\nday in heaven.--I thank Thee, O my God!\"\n\nIt was with a heart full of emotion that Dr. Heinz found himself leaving\nMrs. Willoughby's house. Oh, how he longed that he could hear tidings of\nhis brother and his wife, and so be able to convey comfort to the heart\nof the sorrowful lady he had just left!\n\nAs he was walking along, lost in thought, he came suddenly face to face\nwith Reginald Gower, whom he had lately met several times at the\nWardens', and to whom he suspected the news of his engagement to\nGertrude Warden would bring no pleasure; but from the greeting which\nReginald gave him he could not tell whether or not he knew of the\ncircumstance.\n\nHe accosted him with the words: \"What are you doing, doctor, in this\npart of the town? I thought it was only in the narrow, dirty slums, and\nnot in the fashionable part of the west of London, that you were to be\nfound; and that it was only the sick and sorrowful, not the gay, merry\ninhabitants of Belgravia that you visited.\"\n\n\"Do you think then,\" replied Dr. Heinz, \"that the sick, sad, and\nsorrowful are only to be found in the narrow, dark streets of London?\nWhat if I were to tell you that although there is not poverty, there are\nsorrowful, sad, unsatisfied hearts to be found in as great numbers in\nthese fashionable squares and terraces as in the places you speak of;\nand that the votaries of fashion, whom you style gay and merry, are too\noften the most wretched of mankind, and that beneath the robes of silk\nand satin of fashionable life there beats many a breaking heart? You see\nthat splendid square I have just left. Well, in one of the handsomest\nhouses there dwells one of the sweetest Christian ladies I have ever\nmet. She has everything that wealth and the love of friends can give\nher, yet I believe she is slowly dying of a broken heart, longing to\nknow if a dearly-loved daughter, who made a marriage which her parents\ndid not approve of, years ago, is still alive; and no one can tell her\nwhether she or any child of hers still survives. I know all the\ncircumstances, and would give a great deal to be able to help her. He\nwould be a man to be envied who could go to that sweet mother, Mrs.\nWilloughby, and say, I can tell you all about your daughter, or, if she\nis not alive, of her child. O Reginald Gower, never say that there are\nnot sad hearts in the west part of London, though you may see only the\nsmiling face and dry eyes. You remember the words of the gifted\npoetess,--\n\n    'Go weep with those who weep, you say,\n       Ye fools! I bid you pass them by,\n     Go, weep with those whose hearts have bled\n       What time their eyes were dry.'\n\nBut I must go. Have you not a word of congratulation for me, Reginald?\"\n\n\"Why?\" was the amazed reply; \"and for what?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Dr. Heinz, somewhat taken aback, \"do you not know that I am\nengaged to be married to Gertrude Warden?\"\n\n\"You are?\" was the reply, with a look of amazement that Dr. Heinz could\nnot fail to notice; \"well, I rather think you are a lucky fellow.\nBut\"--and a look of deep sorrow crossed his face as he spoke--\"I do\nbelieve you are worthy of her. Tell her I said so. And would you mind\nsaying good-bye to her and her sister from me, as I may not be able to\nsee them before starting for America, which I shall probably do in a\nweek; and should you again see the Mrs. Willoughby you have been\nspeaking of, and whom I know well, please tell her I could not get to\nsay farewell to her, as my going off is a sudden idea. Good-bye, Dr.\nHeinz. May you and Miss Gertrude Warden be as happy as you both deserve\nto be;\" and without another word he turned away.\n\nDr. Heinz looked after him for a moment, then shook his head somewhat\nsadly, saying to himself, \"There goes a fine fellow, if only he had\nlearned of Him 'who pleased not himself.' Reginald is a spoiled\ncharacter, by reason of self-pleasing. I must ask Gertrude how he comes\nto know Mrs. Willoughby, and why he is going off so suddenly to America,\nalthough I may have my suspicions as to the reason for his so doing.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nTHE OLD NURSE.\n\n    \"It chanced, eternal God, that chance did guide.\"\n\n\n\"How are you getting on with your packing, Frida?\" said Miss Drechsler,\nas the girl, wearing a loose morning-dress, looked into the room where\nher friend was sitting.\n\n\"Oh, very well,\" was the answer; \"I have nearly finished. When did you\nsay the man would come for the trunks?\"\n\n\"I expect him in about an hour. But see, here comes the post; look if\nthere is one for me from Miss Warden. I thought I would get one to tell\nme if any of her friends would meet us at Dover.\"\n\nFrida ran off to meet the postman at the door, and returned in triumph,\nbearing two letters in her hand.\n\n\"One for you, auntie\" (she always now addressed Miss Drechsler by that\nname), \"and one for myself. Mine is from Ada Stanford, and yours, I am\nsure, is the one you are expecting.\"\n\nA few minutes of silence was broken by Frida exclaiming,--\n\n\"O auntie, Ada has been very ill again, and is still very weak, and she\nasks, as a great favour, that I would come to visit them before going to\nthe Wardens; and adds, 'If Miss Drechsler would accompany you, we would\nbe so delighted; but in any case,' she writes to me, 'you would not lose\nyour London visit, as my doctor wishes me to see a London physician as\nsoon as I can be moved, specially as to settling whether or not I should\ngo abroad again next winter. So in perhaps another month we may go to\nLondon, and then you can either remain with us or join your friend at\nMiss Warden's.'\"\n\n\"What do you think about it, auntie? Of course it is a great\ndisappointment to me not to go with you; but do I not owe it to the\nStanfords to go to them when I may be of use during Ada's\nconvalescence?\"\n\nMiss Drechsler looked, as she felt, disappointed, she had anticipated so\nmuch pleasure in having Frida with her in London; but after a few\nminutes' thought she said, \"You are right, Frida: you must, I fear, go\nfirst to the Stanfords. We cannot forget all that they have done for\nyou, and as they seem to be so anxious for you to go there, I think you\nmust yield to their wishes; but I must go at once to Miss Warden, who is\nexpecting me. You had better write at once and tell them we hope to be\nat Dover in four days. They live, as you know, not so far from there. I\nthink that the train will take you to the station, not above a couple of\nmiles from Stanford Hall, where I doubt not they will meet you; but I\nmust write at once and let Miss Warden know that you cannot accompany\nme, and the reason why, though I hope that erelong, if convenient to\nher, you may join me there. Ah, Frida! 'man's heart deviseth his way:\nbut God directeth his steps.'\"\n\nAnd so it came to pass that Miss Drechsler arrived alone at Miss\nWarden's, whilst Frida went to Stanford Hall.\n\nWhen it became known in the Forest that the woodland child, as they\nstill called her, was again about to leave them for some undefined time,\nthere was great lamentation.\n\n\"How then are we to get on without you?\" they said. \"_Ach!_ shall we\nhave to do without the reading of the book again? True, Hans Hoerstel\nreads it well enough; but what of that? He too has left us. _Ach!_ it is\nplain no one cares for the poor wood-cutters and charcoal-burners who\nlive in the Forest, and some grand English gentleman will be getting our\nwoodland child for a wife, and she will return to us no more.\"\n\nBut Frida only laughed at these lamentations. \"Why, what nonsense you\nspeak!\" she said. \"It is only for a little while that I am going away. I\nhope to come back in about three months. And many of you can now read\nthe Bible for yourselves. And as to the grand gentleman, that is all\nfancy; I want no grand gentleman for a husband. The only thing that\nwould detain me in England would be if any of my relations were to find\nme out and claim me; but if that were to be the case, I am sure none of\nmy friends in the Forest would grudge their child to her own people, and\nthey may be assured she would never forget them, and would not be long\nin revisiting them.\"\n\n\"_Ach!_ if the child were to find her own friends, her father or her\nmother's people, that would be altogether a different matter,\" they said\nsimultaneously. \"We would then say, 'Stay, woodland child, and be happy\nwith those who have a right to you; but oh, remember the poor\nwood-cutters and workers in the Forest, who will weary for a sight of\nthe face of the fair girl found by one of them in the Black Forest.'\"\n\nVery hearty was the welcome which awaited Frida at Stanford Hall. Ada\nreceived her with open arms.\n\n\"Ah, Frida, how glad I am to see you once again; and how good of you to\ngive up the pleasure of a month in London to come to see and comfort\nus!--You will see how quickly I will get well now, mother.--And erelong,\nFrida, we shall take you to London ourselves, and father will show you\nall the wonders there.\"\n\nFrida answered merrily, but she felt much shocked to see how\ndelicate-looking Ada had become.\n\nThe girls had much to tell each other of all that had happened since\nlast they met; and when dinner was over, and Frida went to see Ada as\nshe lay on her couch in her prettily-fitted-up boudoir, Ada roused\nherself to have, as she said, \"a right down delightful chat.\"\n\n\"See, Frida, here is a charming easy-chair for you; please bring it\nquite close to my couch, and now tell me all about your Forest friends.\nHow are Elsie and Wilhelm, and their little Gretchen and Hans? But,\nindeed, I believe I know more about them than you do; for only two days\nago my father received a letter from Hans's music-teacher in Leipsic,\ngiving him unqualified praise, and predicting a successful musical\ncareer for him.\"\n\n\"Oh, I am glad!\" said Frida. \"How pleased his parents will be, and how\ngrateful to Sir Richard Stanford for all he has done for him!\"\n\nAnd so in pleasant talk the evening of the first day of Frida's visit to\nStanford Hall drew to a close. As time passed on, Ada's health rapidly\nimproved, and together the girls went about the beautiful grounds\nbelonging to the Hall--Ada at first drawn in an invalid chair, and Frida\nwalking by her side. But by-and-by Ada was able to walk, and together\nthe girls visited in some of the cottages near the Hall--Frida finding\nout that Ada in her English home was conveying comfort and blessing to\nmany weary souls by reading to them from her English Bible the words of\nlife, even as she had done from her German one in the huts of the\nwood-cutters, carters, and charcoal-burners in the Black Forest.\n\n\"Have you heard, Ada,\" said Lady Stanford one morning at breakfast,\n\"that the old woman who has lately come to the pretty picturesque\ncottage at the Glen is very ill? I wish you and Frida would go and see\nher, and take her some beef-tea and jelly which the housekeeper will\ngive you. I understand she requires nourishing food; and try and\ndiscover if there is anything else she requires.\"\n\n\"Certainly, mother,\" answered Ada; \"we will go at once and see what can\nbe done for her.--That Glen is a lovely spot, Frida, and you have never\nbeen there. What say you--shall we set off at once? The poor woman is\nvery old, and her memory is a good deal affected.\"\n\n\"I shall be pleased to go, Ada; but I have a letter from Miss\nDrechsler, received this morning, which I must answer by the first post.\nShe tells me that her friend Miss Warden is in great distress about the\nillness of a friend of hers. She wishes to know how soon I can join her\nin London; and now that you are so well, Ada, I really think I ought to\ngo.\"\n\n\"Ah, well,\" said Ada with a laugh, \"time enough to think of that, Frida.\nWe are not prepared to part with you yet; but seriously, mother talks of\ncarrying us all off to London by another fortnight, and that must\nsuffice you. But after you have written your letter we will set off to\nthe Glen.\"\n\nIt was a lovely walk that the girls took that summer day through green\nlanes and flowery meadows, till they came to a beautiful glen\novershadowed with trees in their fresh summer foliage of greenery,\nthrough which the sunbeams found their way and touched with golden light\nthe green velvety moss and pretty little woodland flowers which so\nrichly carpeted the ground.\n\n\"How beautiful it is here!\" said Frida, \"and yet how unlike the sombre\nappearance of the trees in the dear Black Forest!\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Ada, \"that Forest, where I do believe your heart still is,\nFrida, always seemed to me to be so gloomy and dark, so unlike our\nlovely English woods with their 'leafy tide of greenery.'\"\n\nAs they spoke they neared the cottage where dwelt the old woman they\nwere going to see. It was thatch-covered and low, but up the walls grew\nroses and ivy, which gave it a bower-like appearance.\n\n\"She is a strange old woman,\" said Ada, \"who has only lately come here,\nand no one seems to know much about her. A grandchild of fourteen or\nfifteen years old lives with and takes care of her. Her memory is much\nimpaired, but she often talks as if she had friends who if they knew\nwhere she lived and how ill-off she was would help her; but when\nquestioned as to their name, she shakes her head and says she can't\nremember it, but if she could only see the young lady she would know\nher. They fancy the friends she speaks of must have been the family with\nwhom she lived as nurse, for her grandchild says she used often to speak\nof having had the charge of a little girl to whom she was evidently much\nattached. But here we are, Frida, and yonder is little Maggie standing\nat the door.\"\n\nWhen they entered the room, Frida was amazed to see how small it was and\nhow dark; for the ivy, which from the outside looked so picturesque,\ndarkened the room considerably. Ada, who had seen the old woman before,\nwent forward to the bed where she lay and spoke some kind words to her.\nThe old woman seemed as if she hardly understood, and gave no answer.\n\n\"Ah, madam,\" said the grandchild, \"she knows nothing to-day, and when\nshe speaks it is only nonsense.\"\n\nFrida now came forward and laid her hand kindly on the poor woman,\naddressing a few words of sympathy to her. The invalid raised her eyes\nand looked around her, giving first of all a look of recognition to Ada,\nand holding out her thin hand to her, but her eyes sought evidently to\ndistinguish the face of the stranger who had last spoken. \"She knows,\"\nexplained Maggie, \"yours is a strange voice, and wishes to see you,\nwhich she can't do, miss, for you are standing so much in the shade.\"\n\nFrida moved so that the glimmer of light which entered the little room\nfell on her face. As she did so, and the old woman caught a glimpse of\nher, a look of joy lit up the faded face, and she said in a distinct\nvoice: \"'Bless the Lord, O my soul;' my dear has come to see me. Oh, but\nI am glad! It's a long time since I saw you, Miss Hilda--a long, long\ntime. I thought you were dead, or you would never have forgotten your\nold nurse you loved so dearly; but now you've come, my lamb, and old\nnurse can die in peace.\" And seizing Frida's hand, the old woman lay\nback as if at rest, and said no more.\n\nFrida was startled, and turning to her friend, said, \"O Ada, whom does\nshe take me for? Can it be that she knew my mother, whose name was\nHilda, and that she takes me for her? Miss Drechsler says I am\nstrikingly like the picture I have of her. Perhaps she can tell me where\nmy mother lived, and if any of her relations are still alive;\" and\nbending over the bed, she said in a low tone, \"Who was Hilda, and where\ndid she live? Perhaps she was my mother, but she is dead.\"\n\nThe old woman muttered to herself, but looked up no more, \"Dead, dead;\nyes, every one I loved is dead. But not Miss Hilda; you are she, and you\nhave come to see your old nurse. But listen, Miss Hilda: there is the\nmaster calling on us to go in, and you know we must not keep the master\nwaiting for even a minute;\" and then the old woman spoke only of things\nand people of whom no one in the room knew anything. But through all\nFrida distinctly heard the words, \"Oh, if only you had never played on\nthat instrument, then he would never have come to the house. O Miss\nHilda, why did you go away and break the heart of your mother, and old\nnurse's also? Oh, woe's the day! oh, woe's the day!\"\n\n\"Was his name Heinz?\" asked Frida in a trembling voice.\n\n\"Oh yes, Heinz, Heinz. O Miss Hilda, Miss Hilda, why did you do it?\" and\nthen the old woman burst out crying bitterly.\n\n\"O miss, can you sing?\" said Maggie, coming forward; \"for nothing quiets\ngrandmother like singing.\"\n\n\"Yes, I can,\" replied Frida.--\"And you, I am sure, Ada, will help me. I\nknow now the woman, whoever she is, knows all about my mother.\"\n\nTogether the two young girls sang the hymn, \"Jesus, Lover of my soul.\"\n\nAs they sang the dying woman became quieter, her muttering ceased, and\npresently she fell into a quiet sleep; the last words she uttered before\ndoing so were, \"Jesus, Lover of my soul.\" Much moved in spirit, Frida\nquitted the house; she felt as if now she stood on the verge of\ndiscovering the name and relations of her mother. She and Ada hastened\ntheir return home to confide to Lady Stanford all that had passed. She\nwas much interested, and, as Sir Richard entered the room just then, she\nrepeated the story to him. He listened eagerly, and said he would at\nonce find out all he could about the woman and her friends; and so\nsaying he left the house.\n\nHe returned home cast down and discouraged. The woman had become quite\ndelirious, and the names of Hilda and Heinz were often on her lips, but\nhe could, of course, get nothing out of her. The grandchild could tell\nnothing of her former life; she never remembered hearing where she had\nbeen nurse, but her father, who was now in Canada, might know. Sir\nRichard could write and ask him. She had his address, and sometimes got\nletters from him. The doctor said he did not think that grandmother\nwould live over the night. The only thing that had quieted her was the\nsinging of the young lady whom she had called Miss Hilda, and who had\ncome to the cottage that day with Miss Stanford. Maybe if she could come\nagain and sing grandmother would be quieter.\n\nOn hearing this Frida rose, and said if Lady Stanford would allow her,\nshe would go and remain all night with the old woman, who she felt sure\nmust have been her mother's nurse. She often, she said, watched a night\nby dying beds in the Black Forest, and had comforted some on their\ndeath-beds by reading to them portions of God's Word.\n\nThe Stanfords could not refuse her request; and when Lady Stanford had\nherself filled a basket with provisions for Frida herself and little\nMaggie, the girl set off, accompanied by Sir Richard, who went with her\nto the door of the cottage.\n\nFinding the poor woman still delirious, Frida took off her cloak and\nbonnet and prepared to spend the night with her, and sitting down beside\nthe bed she once more began to sing some sweet gospel hymns. In low and\ngentle tones she sang of Jesus and His love, and again the sufferer's\nrestlessness and moaning ceased, and she seemed soothed.\n\nHours passed, and the early summer morn began to dawn, and still the old\nwoman lived on. Every now and then she muttered the name of Miss Hilda,\nand once she seemed to be imploring her not to vex her mother; and more\nthan once she said the name of Heinz, and whenever she did so she became\nmore excited, and moaned out the words, \"Woe's me! woe's me!\" Frida\nwatched anxiously every word, in the hope that she might hear the name\nof Hilda's mother or the place where they lived; but she watched in\nvain. It was evident that though there was a look of returning\nconsciousness, life was fast ebbing. A glance upward seemed to indicate\nthat the dying woman's thoughts had turned heavenward. Frida opened her\nBible and read aloud the words of the \"shepherd psalm,\" so precious to\nmany a dying soul, \"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow\nof death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.\"\n\nTo her amazement the sick woman repeated the words, \"_thou_ art with\nme;\" and as she finished the last word the soul fled, and Frida and\nMaggie were alone with the dead. The story of Frida's birth was still\nundisclosed, but God's word, as recorded in Holy Scripture, had again\nbrought peace to a dying soul. Neighbours came in, and Frida turned away\nfrom the death-bed with a heart full of gratitude to the Lord that she\nhad been allowed with His own words to soothe and comfort the old\nnurse, who she felt sure had tended and loved her own mother.\n\nWhen she returned to the Hall, the Stanfords were truly grieved to hear\nthat the old woman was dead, and that there had been no further\nrevelation regarding Frida's relations. Lady Stanford and Ada had just\npersuaded Frida to go to bed and rest awhile after her night of\nwatching, when the door opened, and the butler came in bearing a\ntelegram to Miss Heinz. Frida opened it with trembling hands, saw it was\nfrom Miss Drechsler, and read the words, \"Come at once; you are needed\nhere.\"\n\nWhat could it mean? Was Miss Drechsler ill? It looked like it, for who\nelse would require her in London? Fatigue was forgotten; she could rest,\nshe said, in the train; she must go at once. In a couple of hours she\ncould start. Ada was disconsolate. Nevertheless, feeling the urgency of\nthe case, she assisted her friend to pack her boxes; and erelong Frida\nwas off, all unaware of what might be awaiting her in the great city.\nBut ere we can tell that, we must turn for a while to other scenes, and\nwrite of others closely linked, although unknown to herself, with the\nlife and future of the child found in the Black Forest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE POWER OF CONSCIENCE.\n\n    \"Being convicted by their own conscience.\"\n\n\nThe day on which Reginald Gower met Dr. Heinz on the street, and sent\nthrough him a farewell message to Gertrude Warden, found him a couple of\nhours afterwards seated in his mother's boudoir, communicating to her\nhis suddenly-formed plan of starting in a few days for America.\n\nIt was no easy thing to do. The bond between mother and son was a very\nstrong one, and her pleasure in having had him with her for some little\ntime had been great. Her look of pleasure when he entered the room made\nit more difficult for him to break the news to her.\n\n\"Earlier back to-day than usual, Reggie,\" she said, \"but never too early\nfor your old mother. But is anything amiss?\" she said in a voice of\nalarm, as she noticed the grave look on his face. \"Have you heard any\nbad news, or are you ill?\"\n\n\"No, mother, it is neither of these things--there is nothing the matter;\nonly I fear, mother dear, that what I am going to say will vex you, but\nyou must not let it do so. I am not worth all the affection you lavish\non me. Mother, I have made up my mind to go to America, and to remain\nthere for some time. I cannot stop here any longer. I am tired--not of\nmy dear mother,\" he said, as he stooped over her and kissed her fondly,\n\"but of the idle life I lead here; and so I mean to go and try and get\nwork there, perhaps buy land if I can afford it, and see if I can make\nanything of my life as a farmer. Nay, mother, do not look so sad,\" he\npleaded; \"you do not know how hard it is for me to come to this\nresolution, but I must go. I cannot continue to live on future prospects\nof wealth that may--nay, perhaps ought never to be mine, but must act\nthe man--try and earn my own living.\"\n\n\"Your own living, Reginald!\" interposed his mother; \"surely you have\nenough of your own to live comfortably on even as a married man, and\nyour prospects of succeeding to Harcourt Manor are, I grieve to say for\none reason, almost certain. O Reginald, don't go and leave me so soon\nagain!\"\n\nBut the young man, usually so easily led, fatally so indeed, stood firm\nnow, and only answered, \"Mother, it must be, and if you knew all you\nwould be the first to advise me to go. Mother, you will soon hear that\nGertie Warden is engaged to be married to a man worthy of her--a noble\nChristian doctor of the name of Heinz; but don't think that that\ncircumstance is the reason of my leaving home. Fool though I have been\nand still am, I was never fool enough to think I was worthy of gaining\nthe love of a high-principled girl like Gertie Warden. But, mother, your\nunselfish, God-fearing life, and that of Gertie and Dr. Heinz, have led\nme to see my own character as I never saw it before, and to wish to put\nright what has been so long wrong, and which it seems to me I can do\nbest if I were away from home. Ask me no more, mother dear; some day I\nwill tell you all, but not now. Only, mother, I must tell you that the\nwords of the Bible which you love so well and have so early taught to me\nhave not been without their effect, at least in keeping my conscience\nawake. And, mother, don't cease to pray for me that I may be helped to\ndo the right. Oh, do not, do not,\" he entreated, as his mother began to\nurge him to remain, \"say that, mother; say rather, 'God bless you,' and\nlet me go. Believe me, it is best for me to do so.\"\n\nAt these words Mrs. Gower ceased speaking. If, indeed, her loved son was\nstriving to do the right thing, would she be the one to hold him back?\nAh no! she would surrender her will and trust him in the hands of her\nfaithful God. So with one glance upward for help and strength, she laid\nher hand on his head and said, \"Go then, my son, in peace; and may God\ndirect your way and help you to do the right thing, and may He watch\nbetween us when we are separate the one from the other.\"\n\nJust as Reginald was leaving the room Miss Drechsler entered. She\ngreeted Mrs. Gower cordially, remembering her in old times; and she\nrecognized Reginald as the young man who had spoken to Frida the day\nafter the concert, though then she had not heard his name.\n\nAs Reginald was saying good-bye, he heard his mother ask Miss Drechsler\nwhere her friend the young violinist was. \"I thought you would have\nbrought her to see me,\" she added. Her answer struck Reginald with\ndismay.\n\n\"Oh! she did not accompany me to London after all. A great friend of\nhers was ill, and she had to go to her instead. It was a great\ndisappointment to me.\"\n\nReginald went to his room feeling as if in a dream. Then it might never\ncome to pass, after all, that Frida's parentage would be found out; and\nSatan suggested the thought that therefore he need not disclose all he\nknew, but let things go on as they were.\n\nHe hugged the idea, for not yet had he got the victory over evil; at all\nevents he thought he would still wait a bit, but he would certainly\ncarry out his intention of leaving the country for a while at least; and\ntwo days after the time we write of, his mother sat in her own room with\na full heart after having parted from her only son. Well for her that\nshe knew the way to the mercy-seat, and could pour out her sorrow at the\nfeet of One who has said, \"Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I\nwill deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nTHE STORM.\n\n    \"More things are wrought by prayer\n       Than the world dreams of.\"\n\n\nAfter Mrs. Willoughby's interview with Dr. Heinz of which we have\nwritten, her thoughts turned more than ever to the daughter she loved so\nwell.\n\nIt seemed certain from what Dr. Heinz had said that there had been a\nchild; and if so, even although, as she feared, her loved daughter were\ndead, the child might still be alive, and probably the father also. The\ndifficulty now was to obtain the knowledge of their place of residence.\n\nMrs. Willoughby quite believed that if any news could be obtained of\neither mother or child, Mr. Willoughby's heart was so much softened that\nhe would forgive and receive them thankfully. Once more advertisements\nwere inserted in various papers, and letters written to friends abroad,\nimploring them to make every inquiry in their power.\n\nMore than once Dr. Heinz called to see his new-made friend; but as Mr.\nWilloughby had returned to Harcourt Manor, whither his wife was soon to\nfollow him, he never met him; and as Dr. Heinz was leaving town to take\na much-needed holiday in the west Highlands of Scotland, nothing more\ncould be done for the present to obtain information regarding the lost\nones. It thus happened that although Dr. Heinz was a frequent visitor at\nMiss Warden's, he never met Miss Drechsler; but he heard from Gertie\nthat she had not been able to bring the young girl violinist with her.\n\nIt was to Mrs. Willoughby that Mrs. Gower went for sympathy and\nconsolation at the time of her son's departure. Mrs. Willoughby heard of\nhis sudden departure with surprise and deep sorrow for her friend's\nsake.\n\n\"Reginald gone off again so soon!\" she said. \"Oh, I am sorry for you,\ndear friend! And does he speak of remaining long away? Making his own\nliving, you say? Has he not enough to live comfortably on in the\nmeantime? And then, you know,\" and her eyes filled with tears as she\nspoke, \"his future prospects are very good, unless--\"\n\nBut here Mrs. Gower interrupted her. \"Dear friend, from my heart I can\nsay, if only dear Hilda or any child of hers could be restored to you,\nthere is no one would more truly rejoice than I would; and I believe\nReginald would do so also.\" But even as she said these words a pang of\nfear crossed her mind as to Reginald's feeling on the subject; but the\nmother's belief in her child refused to see any evil in him, and she\nadded, \"I am sure he would. But in any case the day of his succession as\nheir-at-law to Harcourt Manor is, we trust, far off, and so perhaps it\nis best for him that he should make his way in life for himself. I have\nbeen able now to trust him in God's hands, who doeth all things well.\"\n\nFrom that visit Mrs. Gower returned to her home comforted and\nstrengthened. Alone she might be, yet, like her Saviour, \"not alone, for\nthe Father was with her.\" And ere many days had elapsed she was able to\nbusy herself in making preparations for her return to her pleasant\ncountry home, which she had only left at Reginald's special request that\nfor once they might spend the season together in London.\n\nOne thing only she regretted--that she would be for some weeks separated\nfrom her friend Mrs. Willoughby, who was not to return to Harcourt Manor\nfor some weeks.\n\nAh! truly has it been said, \"Man proposes, but God disposes.\" The very\nday that Mrs. Gower started for her home, Mrs. Willoughby received a\ntelegram telling her that Mr. Willoughby was very ill at the Manor, and\nthat the doctor begged she would come at once; and so it turned out\nthat, unknown to each other, the friends were again near neighbours, and\nMrs. Willoughby in her turn was to receive help and comfort from her\nfriend Mrs. Gower.\n\nLong hours of suspense and anxiety followed the gentle lady's arrival at\nher country home. It soon became evident that Mr. Willoughby's hours\nwere numbered, but his intellect remained clear. His eyes often rested\nwith great sadness on his wife, and as he thought of leaving her alone\nand desolate, his prayer was that he might hear something definite\nregarding the child ere he died. Could he but have obtained that boon,\nhe would have felt that that knowledge had been granted to him as a\npledge of God's forgiveness.\n\nNot always does our all-wise God grant us signs even as an answer to our\nprayers. Still, He is a God who not only forgives as a king, royally,\nbut also blesses us richly and fully to show the greatness of His\nforgiving power. And such a God He was to prove Himself in the case of\nMr. Willoughby.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhilst he lay on that bed of death, watched over and tended by loving\nfriends, Reginald Gower was tossing on a stormy sea, a fair emblem of\nthe conflict between good and evil, right and wrong, that was still\nraging within his breast. But that night, when the waves of the Atlantic\nwere wellnigh overwhelming the vessel in which he sailed, when fear\ndwelt in every heart, when the captain trod the deck with an anxious\ngravity on his face, light broke on Reginald's heart. So his mother's\nprayers were answered at last. The Holy Spirit worked on his heart, and\nshowed him as it were in a moment of time his selfishness and his sin;\nand from the lips of the self-indulgent young man arose the cry never\nuttered in vain, \"God be merciful to me a sinner.\" And when the morning\nlight dawned, and it was seen they were nearing in safety the harbour\nwhither they were bound, Reginald Gower looked out on the sea, which was\nfast quieting down, and gave thanks that the conflict in his soul was\nended, and that clear above the noise of the waters he heard the voice\nof Him who, while He tarried here below, had said, \"Peace, be still,\"\nto the raging billows, say these same words to his soul.\n\n\"Safe in port,\" rang out the captain's voice; and \"Safe in port, through\nthe merits of my Saviour,\" echoed through the soul of the young man.\n\n\"Now,\" he said to himself, \"let house, lands, and fortune go. I will do\nthe just, right thing, which long ago I should have done--write to Mrs.\nWilloughby, and tell all I know about the child found in the Black\nForest.\"\n\nAt that resolution methinks a song of rejoicing was heard in heaven,\nsung by angel voices as they proclaimed the glad news that once more\ngood had overcome evil--that the power of Christ had again conquered the\npower of darkness--that in another heart the Saviour of the world had\nseen of the travail of His soul and was satisfied.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the meantime, the events we have written of were transpiring in\nHarcourt Manor. Mr. Willoughby still lay on a bed of sickness, from\nwhich the doctor said he would never rise, although a slight rally made\nit possible that life might yet be spared for a few days or even weeks.\n\nHe was wonderfully patient, grieving only for the sorrow experienced by\nhis wife, and the sad thought that his own unforgiving spirit was in\ngreat part the reason why now she would be left desolate without a child\nto comfort her.\n\nDaily Mrs. Gower visited her friend, and often watched with her by the\nbed of death.\n\nDr. Heinz, at Mrs. Willoughby's request, came to see Mr. Willoughby, and\nobtained from his lips a message of full forgiveness if either his\ndaughter, her husband, or any child should be found after his death; and\ntogether they prayed that if it were God's will something might be heard\nof the lost ones ere Mr. Willoughby entered into rest. \"'Nevertheless,'\"\nadded the dying man, \"'not my will but thine be done.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTHE DISCOVERY.\n\n    \"All was ended now--the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow.\"\n\n\nOne day shortly after Dr. Heinz's visit, Mrs. Gower came to Harcourt\nManor accompanied by Miss Drechsler, who had arrived from London the\nnight before to remain with her for a couple of days.\n\n\"You will not likely see Mrs. Willoughby,\" she said as they neared the\nmanor-house, \"as she seldom leaves her husband's room; but if you do not\nobject to waiting a few minutes in the drawing-room whilst I go to see\nher, I would be so much obliged to you, as I am desirous of knowing how\nMr. Willoughby is to-day. He seemed so low when I last saw him.\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly,\" answered Miss Drechsler. \"Don't trouble about me; I can\neasily wait. And don't hurry, please; I am sure to get some book to\nwhile away the time.\"\n\nThey parted in the hall, Mrs. Gower turning off to the sick-room, while\nMiss Drechsler was ushered by the butler into the drawing-room. The room\nwas a very fine one, large and lofty. It had been little used for some\nweeks, and the venetian blinds were down, obscuring the light and\nshutting out the summer sunshine.\n\nAt first Miss Drechsler could hardly distinguish anything in the room,\ncoming into it as she did from a blaze of light; but as her eyes became\naccustomed to the gloom, she made out first one object and then another\nclearly, and rising from the place where she had been seated, she began\nto look around her, turning to the pictures, which she had heard were\nconsidered very fine. She looked attentively at some of them. Then her\neyes rested on a full-sized portrait of a beautiful girl, and with a\nstart of astonishment Miss Drechsler uttered the word, \"Frida! and with\nher curious necklace on, too. What does it mean?\" she queried.\n\nIn a moment the whole truth flashed on her mind. That, she felt sure,\nmust be a picture of Frida's mother, and she must have been the missing\nchild of Harcourt Manor.\n\nShe sat down a moment, feeling almost stunned by the discovery she had\nmade. What a secret she had to disclose! Oh, if Mrs. Gower would only\ncome back quickly, that she might share it with her! Oh, if Frida had\nonly been with her, and she could have presented her to her grandparents\nas the child of their lost daughter!\n\nAt last the door opened, and her friend appeared, but much agitated.\n\"Excuse me, dear Miss Drechsler, for having kept you so long waiting;\nbut I found Mr. Willoughby much worse, and I must ask you kindly to\nallow me to remain here for a short time longer. Perhaps you would like\nto take a stroll about the beautiful grounds, and--\"\n\nBut Miss Drechsler could no longer keep silence. \"O dear friend, do not\ndistress yourself about me! Listen to me for a moment. I have made such\na discovery. I know all about Mrs. Willoughby's daughter; but, alas, she\nis dead! She died some years ago; but her only child, the very image of\nthat picture on the wall yonder, is living, and is now residing within a\nfew hours of London. She is my _protege_, my dearly-loved young\nviolinist, Frida Heinz, the child I have told you of found in the Black\nForest!\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" replied Mrs. Gower. \"What a discovery you have made!\nthank God for it. Can she be got at once, I wonder, ere the spirit of\nher grandfather passes away? Oh, this is indeed an answer to prayer! The\ncry of the poor man's heart for days has been, 'Oh, if God has indeed\nforgiven me, as I fully believe He has, I pray He may allow me to know\nere I go hence if my child, or any child of hers, is alive to come and\ncomfort my dear wife in the sorrow that is awaiting her!'\"\n\n\"A telegram must be sent at once to Stanford Hall, where she is now\nliving,\" said Miss Drechsler; \"and another to Miss Warden, asking her to\nsend off Frida, after she arrives at her house, at once to Harcourt\nManor.\"\n\nAnd without loss of time the telegram was dispatched which summoned\nFrida to London, and from thence to the manor-house.\n\nThe first sense of surprise having passed, Mrs. Gower's thoughts\ninvoluntarily turned to Reginald. How would he like this discovery? But\nagain the mother's partiality, which already had too often blinded her\nto his faults, suggested the impossibility that he would receive the\nnews with aught but pleasure, though there might be a momentary feeling\nof disappointment as regarded his future prospects. But now she must\nreturn to the sick-room, and try to see her friend for a minute or two\nalone, and tell her the glad tidings; also, if possible, let her hear\nthe particulars of the story from the lips of Miss Drechsler herself.\n\nIt was no easy matter now, under any pretence, to get Mrs. Willoughby to\nleave her husband's side even for a moment. The doctors had just told\nher that at most her husband had not more than two days to live, perhaps\nnot so long, and every moment was precious; but Mrs. Grower's words,\nspoken with calm deliberation, \"Dear friend, you must see me in another\nroom for a few minutes about a matter of vital importance,\" had their\neffect. And she rose, and after leaving a few orders with the nurse, and\ntelling her husband she would return immediately, she quietly followed\nMrs. Gower into another room.\n\nShe listened as if in a dream to the story which Miss Drechsler told.\nIncident after incident proved that the child found in the Forest was\nindeed her grand-daughter; and as she heard that her own child, her\nloved Hilda, was indeed dead, the mother's tears fell fast.\n\nThe necklace which Frida still possessed, the same as that worn by the\ngirl in the picture, the small portrait which had been found in her bag\nthe night that Wilhelm Hoerstel had discovered her in the Black Forest,\nall confirmed the idea that she was indeed the grandchild of the Manor;\nbut it was not until Mrs. Willoughby heard the story of the \"brown\nGerman Bible\" that she sobbed out the words, \"Oh, thank God, thank God,\nshe is the child of my darling Hilda. Now, dear friend, this discovery\nmust be communicated by me to my husband, and he will know that his last\nprayer for me has been granted.\"\n\nMr. Willoughby was quite conscious, and evidently understood the fact\nthat at last a child of his daughter's had been found. As regarded the\ndeath of the mother, he merely whispered the words, \"I shall see her\nsoon;\" then said, \"I thank thee, O my Father, that Thou hast answered\nprayer, and that now my sweet wife will not be left alone.--Give my fond\nlove to the girl, wife, for I feel my eyes shall not see her. That is my\npunishment for so long cherishing an unforgiving spirit.\"\n\nAnd if God could act as a man, such might have been the case; but our\nGod is fully and for ever a promise-keeping God, and He has declared,\n\"If any man confess his sins, He is faithful and just to forgive him,\nand to cleanse him from all iniquity.\" And so it came to pass that ere\nthe spirit of Mr. Willoughby passed away, he had pressed more than one\nkiss on the lips of his grandchild, and whispered the words, \"Full\nforgiveness through Christ--what a God we have! Comfort your\ngrandmother, my child, and keep near to Jesus in your life. God bless\nthe kind friends who have protected and loved you when you were\nhomeless.--And now, Lord, let Thy servant depart in peace.--Farewell,\nloved and faithful wife, who, by the reading to me God's word of life,\nhast led my soul to Christ.\" One deep-drawn breath, and his spirit fled,\nand his wife and grandchild were left alone to comfort each other.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"And now, Frida, my loved child, come and tell me all about those\nfriends who were so kind to you in the Forest,\" said Mrs. Willoughby\nsome days after Mr. Willoughby's funeral. \"Ah, how little we thought\nthat we had a grandchild living there, and that our darling Hilda was\ndead! When I look upon you, Frida, it almost seems as if all these long\nyears of suffering had been a dream, and my daughter were again seated\nbeside me, work in hand, as we so often sat in the years that have gone.\nYou are wonderfully like her, and I believe that during the last four\nhours of his life, when his mind was a little clouded, my dear husband\nthought that Hilda really sat beside him, and that it was to her he said\nthe words, 'I fully forgive, as I hope to be forgiven.' But comfort\nyourself, Frida; at the very last he knew all distinctly, and told us to\nconsole each other.--But now tell me what I asked you to do, and also if\nyou ever met any one who recognized you as your mother's daughter.\"\n\n\"Not exactly,\" replied Frida. \"Still, one or two people were struck with\nmy likeness to some one whom they had seen, but whose name they could\nnot recall. Miss Drechsler was one of those, and now she says she\nwonders she did not remember that it was Miss Willoughby, although she\nhad only seen her twice at the Wardens', and then amongst a number of\npeople. And then a young man, a Mr. Gower (the same name as your\nfriend), who had heard me play on the violin at the Stanfords' concert,\ntold them that he was much struck with my resemblance to a picture he\nhad seen. I wonder if he could be any relation to your Mrs. Gower?\"\n\n\"Was his name Reginald?\" Mrs. Willoughby asked hurriedly.\n\n\"Yes. Sir Richard Stanford used to call him Reginald Gower; but I seldom\nsaw him. But, grandmother, is there anything the matter?\" for as Frida\nspoke, Mrs. Willoughby's face had blanched. Was it possible, she asked\nherself, that Reginald Gower had known, or at least suspected, the\nexistence of this child, and for very evident reasons concealed it from\nhis friends? A terrible fear that it was so overcame her; for she liked\nthe lad, and tenderly loved his mother. She felt she must betray\nherself, and so answered Frida's question by saying,--\n\n\"Oh, it is nothing, dear, only a passing faintness; but I shall lie on\nthe sofa, and you shall finish your talk. Now tell me about the Forest.\"\n\nAnd Frida, well pleased to speak of the friends she loved so well, told\nof her childhood's life in the Forest, and the kindness shown to her by\nElsie and Wilhelm, not forgetting to speak of Hans and the little blind\nAnna so early called to glory. \"And, O grandmother, all the wood-cutters\nand charcoal-burners were so kind to me, and many amongst them learned\nto love the words of this little book;\" and as she spoke she took from\nher pocket the little brown German Bible, her mother's parting legacy to\nher child. \"It was no words of mine that opened their eyes (I was too\nyoung to have said them); but I could read the Word of God to them, and\nthey did the deed.\"\n\nMrs. Willoughby took the little book in her hands and pressed it to her\nlips. \"It was often in the hands of my darling Hilda, you say? and those\nwords in a foreign language became as precious to her as did the English\nones to her mother in the little Bible she gave her ere they parted?\nBlessed book, God's own inspired revelation of Himself, which alone can\nmake us 'wise unto salvation.'\"\n\nMrs. Willoughby listened with great pleasure to Frida's tale, glancing\nevery now and again at the fair girl face, which was lit up as with\nsunshine as she spoke of her happy days and dear friends in the Forest.\n\n\"I must write to a friend in Dringenstadt,\" she said, \"to go to the\nForest and tell them all the good news,--of how good God has been to me\nin restoring me to my mother's friends, and in letting me know that a\nbrother of my father's was alive. But see, here comes the postman. I\nmust run and get the letters.\"\n\nIn a minute she re-entered bearing a number of letters in her hand.\n\n\"Ah! here are quite a budget,\" she said. \"See, grandmother, there is one\nfor you bearing the New York mark, and another for myself from\nFrankfort. Ah! that must be from the uncle you spoke of, Dr. Heinz. You\nsaid he had gone there, did you not?\"\n\nWhilst Frida was talking thus, her grandmother had opened her American\nletter, and saw that it was from Reginald Gower. \"He has heard, of\ncourse, of my dear husband's death, and writes to sympathize with me.\nBut no; he could hardly have heard of that event, nor of the discovery\nof our grandchild, and replied to it. He must be writing about some\nother subject.\"\n\nShe then read as if in a dream the following words:--\n\n    \"DEAR FRIEND--if indeed I may still dare to address you thus--I\n    write to ask forgiveness for a sore wrong which I have done to\n    you and Mr. Willoughby. I confess with deep shame that for some\n    years I have had a suspicion, nay, almost a certainty, that a\n    child of your daughter was alive. Miss Drechsler, now living\n    with Miss Warden, can tell you all. I met the girl, who plays\n    charmingly on the violin, at a concert in the house of Sir\n    Richard Stanford. Her face reminded me of a picture I had seen\n    somewhere, but at first I could not recall where, until the\n    fact, told me by the Stanfords, of a peculiar necklace which the\n    girl possessed, and which they described to me, brought to my\n    remembrance the picture of your daughter at Harcourt Manor with\n    a _fac-simile_ of the necklace on. Added to this, I had heard\n    that the girl had been found by a wood-cutter in the Black\n    Forest, and that of her birth and parentage nothing was known.\n    It is now with deep repentance that I confess to having\n    concealed these facts (though I had no doubt as to whose child\n    she was), because I knew that by disclosing the secret my right\n    to succeed to the property of Harcourt Manor would be done away\n    with. I felt even then the shame and disgrace of so doing, and\n    knew also the trouble and grief I was causing to you, whom\n    (although you may find it difficult to believe) I really loved,\n    and who had ever been such a kind friend to me. I now see that\n    it was a love of self-indulgence which led me to commit so foul\n    a sin. Conscience remonstrated, and the words of the Bible, so\n    early instilled into my mind by my mother, constantly reproached\n    me; but I turned from and stifled the voice of conscience, and\n    deliberately chose the evil way. All these years I have\n    experienced at times fits of the deepest remorse, but\n    selfishness prevailed; and when I heard that Frida Heinz was\n    coming to England, and that probably ere-long all might be\n    disclosed, I resolved to leave my native land and begin a better\n    life here. Ere I left I had reason to believe that she was\n    unable to come to England, so even now I may be the first to\n    reveal the secret of her existence. I do not know if even yet I\n    would have gained strength to do this or not, had not God in His\n    great mercy opened my eyes, during a fearful storm at sea, when\n    it seemed as if any moment might be my last, to see what a\n    sinner I was in His sight, and led me to seek forgiveness\n    through the merits of Christ for all my past sins. _That_ I\n    believe I have obtained, and now I crave a like forgiveness from\n    you whom I have so cruelly wronged. Should you withhold it, I\n    dare not complain; but I have hopes that you, who are a follower\n    of our Lord Jesus Christ, will not do so. One more request, and\n    I have done. Comfort, I beg of you, my mother when she has to\n    bear the bitter sorrow of knowing how shamefully the son she\n    loves so dearly has acted. By this post I write also to her. I\n    trust to prove to both of you by my future life that my\n    repentance is sincere.      REGINALD GOWER.\"\n\nMrs. Willoughby's grief on reading this letter was profound. To think\nthat the lad whom she had loved, and whom in many ways she had\nbefriended, had acted such a base, selfish part, overwhelmed her; and\nthe thought that if he had communicated even his suspicions to her so\nlong ago the child would have been found, and probably have gladdened\nher grandfather's life and heart for several years ere he was taken\nhence, was bitter indeed. But not long could any unforgiving feeling\nlinger in her heart, and ere many hours were over she was able fully to\nforgive.\n\nOf Mrs. Gower's feelings we can hardly write. The shame and grief she\nexperienced on reading the letter, which she received from her son by\nthe same post as that by which Mrs. Willoughby received hers, cannot be\nexpressed; but through it all there rang a joyful song, \"This my son was\ndead, and is alive again.\" The prayers--believing prayers--of long years\nwere answered, and the bond between mother and son was a doubly precious\none, united as they now were in Christ. It was for her friend she felt\nso keenly, and to know how she had suffered at the hand of Reginald was\na deep grief to her. Could she, she queried, as she set out letter in\nhand to Harcourt Manor--could she ever forgive him? That question was\nsoon answered when she entered the room and met her friend. Ere then\nMrs. Willoughby had been alone with her God in prayer, and had sought\nand obtained strength from her heart to say, \"O Lord, as Thou hast\nblotted out my transgressions as a thick cloud, and as a cloud my sins,\nso help me to blot out from my remembrance the sorrow which Reginald has\ncaused to me, and entirely to forgive him.\" After two hours spent\ntogether the two friends separated, being more closely bound together\nthan ever before; Mrs. Willoughby saying she would write to Reginald\nthat very night, and let him know that he had her forgiveness, and that\nwithout his intervention God had restored her grandchild to her arms.\n\nIn the meantime letters had reached Dr. Heinz telling that the search\nfor the missing ones was at an end. His short holiday was drawing to a\nclose, and erelong Frida was embraced by the brother of the father she\nhad loved so much and mourned so deeply.\n\nAnd ere another summer had gone she was present at her uncle's marriage\nwith Gertie Warden, and was one of the bridesmaids. And a few days after\nthat event it was agreed, with her grandmother's full consent--nay, at\nher special request--that she should accompany them on their marriage\njaunt, and that that should include a visit to Miss Drechsler and a\nsight of her friends in the Black Forest.\n\nMany were the presents sent by Mrs. Willoughby to Elsie, Wilhelm, and\nothers who had been kind to her grandchild in the Forest.\n\n\"O grandmother,\" said Frida, as she was busy packing up the things, \"do\nyou know that I have just heard that my kind friend the German pastor\nhas returned to Dringenstadt and settled there. He was so very kind to\nme when I was a little child, I should like to take him some small\nspecial remembrance--a handsome writing-case, or something of that\nkind.\"\n\n\"Certainly, Frida,\" was the answer. \"You shall choose anything you think\nsuitable. I am glad you will have an opportunity of thanking him in\nperson for all his kindness to you, and, above all, for introducing you\nto Miss Drechsler. And look here, Frida. As you say that Wilhelm and\nElsie can read, I have got two beautifully-printed German Bibles, one\nfor each of them, as a remembrance from Frida's grandmother, who,\nthrough the reading of those precious words, has got blessing to her own\nsoul. See, I have written on the first page the words, 'Search the\nscriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they\nwhich testify of me.'\"\n\nIt was settled that during Frida's absence Mrs. Gower should live at\nHarcourt Manor, and together Mrs. Willoughby and she bid adieu to Frida\nas she set off three days after the marriage to meet her uncle and his\nbride at Dover, from whence they were to start for the Continent. Tears\nwere in Frida's eyes--tears of gratitude--as she thought of the goodness\nof God in restoring her, a lonely orphan, to the care of kind relations\nsince she had crossed the Channel rather more than a year before.\n\nFrida endeared herself much to her uncle and his wife, and after a trip\nwith them for some weeks, they left her with regret at Miss Drechsler's,\npromising to return soon and take her home with them after she had seen\nher friends in the Forest.\n\n\"Ah, Frida,\" said Miss Drechsler, when they were seated in the evening\nin the pretty little drawing-room, \"does it not seem like olden days? Do\nyou not remember the first time when Pastor Langen brought you here a\nshy, trembling little child, and asked me to see you from time to time?\"\n\nEre Frida could reply, the door opened, and Pastor Langen entered, and\nMiss Drechsler introduced him to his _protege_.\n\n\"Frida Heinz! Is it possible? I must indeed be getting _ein Alter_ if\nthis be the little girl who was found in the Black Forest.\"\n\nHe listened with interest whilst Miss Drechsler told him the history of\nher past years, much of which was new to him, although he had heard of\nFrida's gift as a violinist; but when she told of the wonderful way in\nwhich her relations had been discovered, he could refrain himself no\nlonger, but exclaimed,--\n\n\"_Lobe Herrn_, He is good, very good, and answers prayer.\"\n\nAnd ere they parted the three knelt at the throne of grace and gave\nthanks to God.\n\nOn the next day it was settled that Frida should go to the Forest and\nsee her old friends, taking her grandmother's present with her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nOLD SCENES.\n\n    \"God's world is steeped in beauty,\n       God's world is bathed in light.\"\n\n\nIt was in the leafy month of June that Frida found herself once more\ntreading the Forest paths. The smaller trees were clothed in their\nbright, fresh, green lining--\n\n    \"Greenness shining, not a colour,\n       But a tender, living light;\"\n\nand to them the dark, gloomy pines acted as a noble background, and once\nagain the song of birds was heard, and the gentle tinkle, tinkle of the\nforest streams.\n\nMemory was very busy at work as the girl--nay, woman now--trod those\nfamiliar scenes. Yonder was the very tree under which Wilhelm found her,\na lonely little one, waiting in vain for the father she would see no\nmore on earth.\n\nThere in the distance were the lonely huts of the wood-cutters who had\nso lovingly cared for the orphan child. And as she drew nearer the hut\nof the Hoerstels, she recognized many a spot where she and Hans had\nplayed together as happy children, to whom the sighing of the wind amid\nthe tall pines had seemed the most beautiful music in the world.\n\nAs she recalled all these things, her heart filled with love to God, who\nhad cared for and protected her when her earthly friends had cast her\noff. The language of her heart might have been expressed in the words of\nthe hymn so often sung in Scottish churches:--\n\n    \"When all Thy mercies, O my God!\n       My rising soul surveys,\n     Transported with the view, I'm lost\n       In wonder, love, and praise.\"\n\nWords cannot depict the joy of Elsie and Wilhelm at the sight of their\ndear woodland child. They had already heard of her having found her\nEnglish relations, and heartily they rejoiced at the good news, although\nwell they knew that they would seldom see the child they loved so well.\n\nMany were the questions asked on both sides. Frida, on her part, had to\ndescribe Harcourt Manor and her gentle grandmother and her father's\nbrother, Dr. Heinz, and his beautiful bride. She told also of the\nfull-sized picture (which hung on the walls of Harcourt Manor) of her\nmother, which had been the means of the discovery of her birth, from her\nextraordinary likeness to it.\n\nWhen the many useful presents sent by Mrs. Willoughby were displayed,\nthe gratitude of those poor people knew no bounds, and even the little\ngirl looked delighted at the bright-coloured, warm frocks and cloaks\nfor winter wear which had been sent for her. Hans was by no means\nforgotten: some useful books fell to his share when he returned home in\na few weeks from Leipsic for a short holiday.\n\nIt was with difficulty that Frida tore herself away from those kind\nfriends, and went to the Dorf to see her friends there, and take them\nthe gifts she had brought for them also. It was late ere she reached\nDringenstadt, and there, seated by Miss Drechsler, related to her the\ndoings of the day.\n\nTo Pastor Langen was entrusted a sum of money to be given to the\nHoerstels, and also so much to be spent every Christmas amongst the\nwood-cutters and charcoal-burners in the Dorf. The two Bibles Frida had\nherself given to the Hoerstels, who had been delighted with them.\n\nWhen, soon after that day, Dr. Heinz and his bride, accompanied by\nFrida, visited the Forest, they received a hearty welcome. Many of the\nwood-cutters recognized the resemblance Dr. Heinz bore to his brother\nwho had died in the cottage in the Forest.\n\nMany a story did Dr. Heinz hear of the woodland child and her brown\nbook.\n\nThe marriage trip over, the Heinzes, accompanied by Frida, returned to\ntheir homes--they to carry on their work of love in the dark places of\nthe great metropolis, taking with them not only comforts for the body,\nbut conveying to them the great and only treasures of the human mind,\nthe gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. And to many and many a sin-sick,\nweary soul the words of Holy Scripture spoken by the lips of those two\nfaithful ambassadors of the Lord Jesus Christ brought peace and rest and\ncomfort. And Frida, on her part, found plenty of work to do for the\nMaster in the cottages near Harcourt Manor, in which her grandmother\nhelped her largely.\n\nThree years had passed since Frida had become an inmate of her\ngrandmother's home, and they had gone for the winter to London in order\nto be near Frida's relations the Heinzes, and at Frida's request Ada\nStanford, who was now much stronger, had come to pay her a visit. Many a\ntalk the two friends had about the past, recalling with pleasure the\nplaces they had visited together and the people they had seen. The\nbeauties of Baden-Baden and the sunny Riviera were often dwelt on, and\ntogether they loved to review God's wonderful love as regarded them\nboth. They spoke also of their visit to the dying woman in the Glen,\nwhom Frida had long before found out to have been a faithful nurse to\nher mother, and for whose little grand-daughter Mrs. Willoughby had\nprovided since hearing from Frida of the old woman's death.\n\nThen one day the girls spoke of a musical party which was to take place\nin Mrs. Willoughby's house that day, and in the arranging for which Ada\nand Frida had busied themselves even as they had done years before in\nBaden-Baden for the party at which Frida had played on the violin. A\nlarge party assembled that night, and Dr. Heinz and Frida played\ntogether; but the great musician of the night was a young German\nviolinist who had begun to attract general attention in the London\nmusical world. He was no other than Hans Hoerstel, the playmate of\nFrida's childhood.\n\nVery cordial was the meeting between those two who had last seen each\nother in such different circumstances.\n\nAnd Sir Richard Stanford, who was also present, felt he was well repaid\nfor what he had spent on young Hoerstel's education by the result of it,\nand by the high moral character which the young man bore.\n\nIt was a happy night. Frida rejoiced in the musical success of the\ncompanion of her early years, and together they spoke of the days of the\npast, and of his parents, who had been as father and mother to her.\n\nLong after the rest of the company had gone, Hans, by Mrs. Willoughby's\ninvitation, remained on; and ere they parted they together gave thanks\nfor all God's kindness towards them.\n\nAll hearts were full of gratitude, for Mrs. Gower was there rejoicing in\nthe news she had that day received from Reginald, that he was about to\nbe married to a niece of Sir Richard Stanford's, whom he had met whilst\nvisiting friends in New York; and she was one who would help in the work\nfor Christ which he carried on in the neighbourhood of his farm. He was\nprospering as regarded worldly matters, and he hoped soon to take a run\nhome and introduce his bride to his loved mother and his kind friend\nMrs. Willoughby. He added, \"I need hardly say that ere I asked Edith to\nmarry me I told her the whole story of my sin in concealing what I knew\nof the birth of Frida Heinz; but she said, what God had evidently\nforgiven, it became none to refuse to do so likewise.\"\n\nSo after prayer was ended, it was from their hearts that all joined in\nsinging the doxology,--\n\n    \"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!\"\n\nAnd with this scene we end the story of the child found in the Black\nForest, and the way in which her brown German Bible was used there for\nthe glory of God.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\nPRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.\n\n\n\n\nNelson's \"Royal\" Libraries.\n\n\nTHE TWO SHILLING SERIES.\n\n    RED DICKON.                                    Tom Bevan.\n    LAST OF THE SEA KINGS.                         David Ker.\n    IN TAUNTON TOWN.                        E. Everett-Green.\n    IN THE LAND OF THE MOOSE.                 Achilles Daunt.\n    TREFOIL.                           Margaret P. Macdonald.\n    WENZEL'S INHERITANCE.                        Annie Lucas.\n    VERA'S TRUST.                       Evelyn Everett-Green.\n    FOR THE FAITH.                      Evelyn Everett-Green.\n    ALISON WALSH.                           Constance Evelyn.\n    BLIND LOYALTY.                          E. L. Haverfield.\n    DOROTHY ARDEN.                            J. M. Callwell.\n    FALLEN FORTUNES.                    Evelyn Everett-Green.\n    FOR HER SAKE.                                 Gordon Roy.\n    JACK MACKENZIE.                      Gordon Stables, M.D.\n    IN PALACE AND FAUBOURG.                          C. J. G.\n    ISABEL'S SECRET; or, A Sister's Love.\n    IVANHOE.                                Sir Walter Scott.\n    KENILWORTH.                             Sir Walter Scott.\n    LEONIE.                                      Annie Lucas.\n    OLIVE ROSCOE.                       Evelyn Everett-Green.\n    QUEECHY.                                  Miss Wetherell.\n    SCHONBERG-COTTA FAMILY.                     Mrs. Charles.\n    \"SISTER.\"                           Evelyn Everett-Green.\n    THE CITY AND THE CASTLE.                     Annie Lucas.\n    THE CZAR.                                 Deborah Alcock.\n    THE HEIRESS OF WYLMINGTON.              E. Everett-Green.\n    THE SIGN OF THE RED CROSS.              E. Everett-Green.\n    THE SPANISH BROTHERS.                     Deborah Alcock.\n    THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE.                        Harold Avery.\n    THE UNCHARTED ISLAND.                    Skelton Kuppord.\n    THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.                     Miss Wetherell.\n    THE BRITISH LEGION.                       Herbert Hayens.\n    THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON.\n    SALE'S SHARPSHOOTERS.                       Harold Avery.\n    A TRUSTY REBEL.                           Mrs. H. Clarke.\n    BEGGARS OF THE SEA.                            Tom Bevan.\n    HAVELOK THE DANE.                         C. W. Whistler.\n\n\nTHE EIGHTEENPENCE SERIES.\n\n    TOM TUFTON'S TOLL.                      E. Everett-Green.\n    NEW BROOM.                                Charles Turley.\n    STAR.                                 Mrs. L. B. Walford.\n    A SON OF ODIN.                            C. W. Whistler.\n    PRESTER JOHN.                                John Buchan.\n    SECRET CHAMBER AT CHAD.                 E. Everett-Green.\n    SONS OF FREEDOM.                            Fred Whishaw.\n    SONS OF THE VIKINGS.                           John Gunn.\n    STORY OF MADGE HILTON.                 Agnes C. Maitland.\n    IN LIONLAND.                                  M. Douglas.\n    MARGIE AT THE HARBOUR LIGHT.                  E. A. Rand.\n    ADA AND GERTY.                            Louisa M. Gray.\n    AFAR IN THE FOREST.                    W. H. G. Kingston.\n    A GOODLY HERITAGE.                            K. M. Eady.\n    BORIS THE BEAR HUNTER.                      Fred Whishaw.\n    \"DARLING.\"                           M. H. Cornwall Legh.\n    DULCIE'S LITTLE BROTHER.                E. Everett-Green.\n    ESTHER'S CHARGE.                        E. Everett-Green.\n    EVER HEAVENWARD.                           Mrs. Prentiss.\n    FOR THE QUEEN'S SAKE.                   E. Everett-Green.\n    GUY POWER'S WATCHWORD.                     J. T. Hopkins.\n    IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.                W. H. G. Kingston.\n    IN THE WARS OF THE ROSES.               E. Everett-Green.\n    LIONEL HARCOURT, THE ETONIAN.                G. E. Wyatt.\n    MOLLY'S HEROINE.                          \"Fleur de Lys.\"\n    NORSELAND TALES.                           H. H. Boyesen.\n    ON ANGELS' WINGS.                       Hon. Mrs. Greene.\n    ONE SUMMER BY THE SEA.                    J. M. Callwell.\n    PARTNERS.                                   H. F. Gethen.\n    ROBINETTA.                                L. E. Tiddeman.\n    SALOME.                                    Mrs. Marshall.\n    THE LORD OF DYNEVOR.                    E. Everett-Green.\n    THE YOUNG HUGUENOTS.                      \"Fleur de Lys.\"\n    THE YOUNG RAJAH.                       W. H. G. Kingston.\n    WINNING THE VICTORY.                    E. Everett-Green.\n    TRUE TO THE LAST.                       E. Everett-Green.\n    WON IN WARFARE.                             C. R. Kenyon.\n\n\nNelson's \"Royal\" Shilling Library.\n\n    THE KINSMEN OF BRITHRIC'S HAM.              H. Elrington.\n    THE WATCH TOWER.                        William A. Bryce.\n    LITTLE FRIDA.\n    THE GIRL WHO HELPED.                     Annie Swan, etc.\n    THE GOLD THREAD, & WEE DAVIE.             Norman Macleod.\n    FEATS ON THE FIORD.                    Harriet Martineau.\n    ACADEMY BOYS IN CAMP.                        S. F. Spear.\n    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.                     Miss Gaye.\n    ESTHER REID.                                       Pansy.\n    TIMOTHY TATTERS.                          J. M. Callwell.\n    AMPTHILL TOWERS.                            A. J. Foster.\n    IVY AND OAK.\n    ARCHIE DIGBY.                                G. E. Wyatt.\n    AS WE SWEEP THROUGH THE DEEP.         Dr. Gordon Stables.\n    AT THE BLACK ROCKS.                          Edward Rand.\n    AUNT SALLY.                             Constance Milman.\n    CYRIL'S PROMISE. A Temperance Tale.          W. J. Lacey.\n    GEORGIE MERTON.                      Florence Harrington.\n    GREY HOUSE ON THE HILL.                 Hon. Mrs. Greene.\n    HUDSON BAY.                             R. M. Ballantyne.\n    JUBILEE HALL.                           Hon. Mrs. Greene.\n    LOST SQUIRE OF INGLEWOOD.                    Dr. Jackson.\n    MARK MARKSEN'S SECRET.                  Jessie Armstrong.\n    MARTIN RATTLER.                         R. M. Ballantyne.\n    RHODA'S REFORM.                              M. A. Paull.\n    SHENAC. The Story of a Highland Family in Canada.\n    SIR AYLMER'S HEIR.                      E. Everett-Green.\n    SOLDIERS OF THE QUEEN.                      Harold Avery.\n    THE CORAL ISLAND.                       R. M. Ballantyne.\n    THE DOG CRUSOE.                         R. M. Ballantyne.\n    THE GOLDEN HOUSE.                       Mrs. Woods Baker.\n    THE GORILLA HUNTERS.                    R. M. Ballantyne.\n    THE ROBBER BARON.                           A. J. Foster.\n    THE WILLOUGHBY BOYS.                    Emily C. Hartley.\n    UNGAVA.                                 R. M. Ballantyne.\n    WORLD OF ICE.                           R. M. Ballantyne.\n    YOUNG FUR TRADERS.                      R. M. Ballantyne.\n    MARTIN'S INHERITANCE.\n    OUR SEA-COAST HEROES.                     Achilles Daunt.\n    GIBRALTAR AND ITS SIEGES.\n    THE SECRET CAVE.                      Emilie Searchfield.\n    LIZZIE HEPBURN.\n    VANDRAD THE VIKING.                   J. Storer Clouston.\n\n\n\n\n\"THE\" BOOKS FOR BOYS.\n\nAT TWO SHILLINGS. Coloured Plates.\n\n\nBy R. M. BALLANTYNE.\n\n    =FREAKS ON THE FELL.=\n\n    =ERLING THE BOLD.=\n\n    =DEEP DOWN.=\n\n    =WILD MAN OF THE WEST, THE.=\n\n    =GOLDEN DREAM, THE.=\n\n    =RED ERIC.=\n\n    =LIGHTHOUSE, THE.=\n\n    =FIGHTING THE FLAMES.=\n\n    =CORAL ISLAND, THE.= The author of \"Peter Pan\" says of \"The Coral\n    Island\": \"For the authorship of that book I would joyously swop\n    all mine.\"\n\n    =DOG CRUSOE AND HIS MASTER.= A tale of the prairies, with many\n    adventures among the Red Indians.\n\n    =GORILLA HUNTERS, THE.= A story of adventure in the wilds of\n    Africa, brimful of exciting incidents and alive with interest.\n\n    =HUDSON BAY.= A record of pioneering in the great lone land of the\n    Hudson's Bay Company.\n\n    =MARTIN RATTLER.= An excellent story of adventure in the forests\n    of Brazil.\n\n    =UNGAVA.= A tale of Eskimo land.\n\n    =WORLD OF ICE, THE.= A story of whaling in the Arctic regions.\n\n    =YOUNG FUR TRADERS, THE.= A tale of early life in the Hudson Bay\n    Territories.\n\n\nBy W. H. G. KINGSTON.\n\n    \"The best writer for boys who ever lived.\"\n\n    =WITH AXE AND RIFLE.=\n\n    =CAPTAIN MUGFORD.=\n\n    =SNOW-SHOES AND CANOES.=\n\n    =HEIR OF KILFINNAN, THE.=\n\n    =BEN BURTON.=\n\n    =DICK CHEVELEY.= A stirring tale of a plucky boy who \"ran away to\n    sea.\"\n\n    =IN THE EASTERN SEAS.= The scenes of this book are laid in the\n    Malay Archipelago.\n\n    =IN THE WILDS OF AFRICA.= The adventures of a shipwrecked party on\n    the coast of Africa.\n\n    =IN THE WILDS OF FLORIDA.= A bustling story of warfare between Red\n    Men and Palefaces.\n\n    =MY FIRST VOYAGE TO SOUTHERN SEAS.= A tale of adventure at sea and\n    in Cape Colony, Ceylon, etc.\n\n    =OLD JACK.= An old sailor's account of his many and varied\n    adventures.\n\n    =ON THE BANKS OF THE AMAZON.= A boy's journal of adventures in the\n    wilds of South America.\n\n    =SAVED FROM THE SEA.= The adventures of a young sailor and three\n    shipwrecked companions.\n\n    =SOUTH SEA WHALER, THE.= A story of mutiny and shipwreck in the\n    South Seas.\n\n    =TWICE LOST.= A story of shipwreck and travel in Australia.\n\n    =TWO SUPERCARGOES, THE.= An adventurous story full of \"thrills.\"\n\n    =VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD.= A young sailor's account of his\n    adventures by land and sea.\n\n    =WANDERERS, THE.= The adventures of a Pennsylvanian merchant and\n    his family.\n\n    =YOUNG LLANERO, THE.= A thrilling narrative of war and adventure.\n\n\nT. NELSON AND SONS, LTD., London, Edinburgh, and New York.","title":"Little Frida: A Tale of the Black Forest","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":40224}