The cherry tree in the middle of the garden was given to Caroline for her own, and it was a greater treasure to her than were all the flowers.  She watched and admired it every day, from the moment the first bud appeared until the cherries were ripe.  She grieved when she saw the white blossoms turn yellow and drop to the earth, but her grief was changed into joy when the cherries appeared, green at first and smaller than peas, and then daily growing larger and larger, until the rich red skin of the ripe cherry at last blushed among the interstices of the green leaves.

“Thus it is,” said her father; “youth and beauty fade like the blossoms, but virtue is the fruit which we expect from the tree.  This whole world is, as it were, a large garden, in which God has appointed to every man a place, that he may bring forth abundant and good fruit.  As God sends rain and sunshine on the trees, so does he send down grace on men to make them grow in virtue, if they will but do their part.”

In the course of time war approached the quiet village which had hitherto been the abode of peace and domestic bliss, and the battle raged fearfully.  Balls and shells whizzed about, and several houses caught fire.  As soon as the danger would permit, the mayor tried to extinguish the flames, while his wife and little daughter were praying earnestly for themselves and for their neighbors.

In the afternoon a ring was heard at the door, and, looking out of the window, Madame Ehrenberg saw an officer of hussars standing before her.  Fortunately, he was a German, and mother and daughter ran to open the door.

“Do not be alarmed,” said the officer, in a friendly tone, when he saw the frightened faces; “the danger is over, and you are quite safe.  The fire in the village, too, is almost quenched, and the mayor will soon be here.  I beg you for some refreshment, if it is only a morsel of bread and a drink of water.  It was sharp work,” he added, wiping the perspiration from his brow, “but, thank God, we have conquered,” Provisions were scarce, for the village had been plundered by the enemy, but the good lady brought forth a flask of wine and some rye bread, with many regrets that she had nothing better to offer.  But the visitor, as he ate the bread with a hearty relish, declared that it was enough, for it was the first morsel he had tasted that day.

Caroline ran and brought in on a porcelain plate some of the ripest cherries from her own tree.

“Cherries!” exclaimed the officer.  “They are a rarity in this district.  How did they escape the enemy?  All the trees in the country around are stripped.”

“The cherries,” said the mother, “are from a little tree which was planted in Caroline’s flower-garden on her birthday.  It is but a few days since they became ripe; the enemy, perhaps, did not notice the little tree.”

“And is it for me you intend the cherries, my dear child?” asked the officer.  “Oh no; you must keep them.  It were a pity to take one of them from you.”