“It is a perfect shame!” she murmured.  “I have never noticed that it was so untidy here.”

She hurried around, and set the room to rights, and, when that was done, she washed the dirty floor.  She scrubbed it so hard that her hands smarted as if she had burned them in the fire; she did not stop until every spot was white.

It was evening; the husband came home from work.  The wife sat mending the girl’s ragged dress.  The man stopped in the door.  It looked so strange to him within, and the look his wife gave him was brighter than ever before, he thought.

“Go—­God’s peace!” he stammered.  It was a long time since such a greeting had been heard in here.

“God’s peace!” answered she; “wel—­welcome home!” She had not said this for many years.

The smith stepped forward to the window; on the bed beside it the two children lay sleeping.  He looked at them, then he looked out on the mound where the little plant stood.  After a few minutes he went out.

A deep sigh rose from the woman’s breast.  She had hoped that he would stay home that evening.  Two great tears fell on the little dress.

In a few minutes she heard a noise outside.  She went to the window to see what it could be.  Her husband had not gone away!  He was out in the yard clearing up the brush-heaps and rubbish.

She became more happy than she had been for a long time.  He glanced in through the window and saw her.  Then she nodded, he nodded back, and they both smiled.

“Be careful, above all, of the little plant!” said she.

Warm and sunny days came.  The smith stayed at home now every evening.  It was green and lovely round the little cottage, and outside the window there was a whole flower-bed, with many blossoms; but in the midst stood the little plant the autumn wind had brought thither.

The smith’s family stood around the flower-bed, and talked about the flowers.

“But the plant that brother and I found is the most beautiful of all,” said the girl.

“Yes, indeed it is,” said the parents.

The smith bent down and took one of the leaves in his hand, but very carefully, because he was afraid he might hurt it with his thick, coarse fingers.

Then a bell was heard ringing in the distance.  The sound floated out over field and lake, and rang so peacefully in the eventide, just as the sun sank behind the tree-tops in the forest.  And every one bowed the head, because it was Saturday evening, and it was a sacred voice that sounded.

In a little while all was silent in the cottage; the inmates slumbered, more tired, perhaps, than before, after the week’s toils, but also much, much happier.  And round about, all was calm and peaceful.

But when Sunday’s sun came up, the plant opened its bud,—­and it bore but a single one.  When the cottage folks passed the little flower-garden, they all stopped and looked at the beautiful, fragrant blossom.