“Why, I only want to get wood out of the shed,” answered Frederick.  When both boys had gone Margaret sank down in a chair and clasped her hands with an expression of the deepest grief.  Her face was as white as a sheet.  “A false oath, a false oath!” she groaned.  “Simon, Simon, how will you acquit yourself before God!”

Thus she sat for a while, motionless, with her lips shut tight, as if completely unconscious.  Frederick stood before her and had already spoken to her twice.

“What’s the matter?  What do you want?” she cried, starting up.

“I have some money for you,” he said, more astonished than frightened.

“Money?  Where?” She moved and the little coin fell jingling to the floor.  Frederick picked it up.

“Money from Uncle Simon, because I helped him work.  Now I can earn something for myself.”

“Money from Simon!  Throw it away, away!—­No, give it to the poor.  But no, keep it!” she whispered, scarcely audibly.  “We are poor ourselves; who knows whether we won’t be reduced to begging!”

“I am to go back to Uncle Monday and help him with the sowing.”

“You go back to him?  No, no, never!” She embraced her child wildly.  “Yet,” she added, and a stream of tears suddenly rushed down her sunken cheeks, “go; he is the only brother I have, and slander is great!  But keep God before your eyes, and do not forget your daily prayers!” Margaret pressed her face against the wall and wept aloud.  She had borne many a heavy burden—­her husband’s harsh treatment, and, worse than that, his death; and it was a bitter moment when the widow was compelled top give over to a creditor the usufruct of her last piece of arable land, and her own plow stood useless in front of her house.  But as badly as this she had never felt before; nevertheless, after she had wept through an evening and lain awake a whole night, she made herself believe that her brother Simon could not be so godless, that the boy certainly did not belong to him; for resemblances can prove nothing.  Why, had she not herself lost a little sister forty years ago who looked exactly like the strange peddler!  One is willing to believe almost anything when one has so little, and is liable to lose that little by unbelief!

From this time on Frederick was seldom at home.  Simon seemed to have lavished on his nephew all the more tender sentiments of which he was capable; at least he missed him greatly and never ceased sending messages if some business at home kept him at his mother’s house for any length of time.  The boy was as if transformed since that time; his dreamy nature had left him entirely; he walked firmly, began to care for his external appearance, and soon to have the reputation of being a handsome, clever youth.  His uncle, who could not be happy without schemes, sometimes undertook important public works—­for example, road building, at which Frederick was everywhere considered one of his best workmen and his right-hand