To them it is a beautiful picnic, like those happy days in the grape season; but Louise can see that her mother is a little grieved at having them sleep in the wagon with no house to cover them.  And when breakfast is over she says to the father that the children must be taken back to the village to stay until the house is built.  He, too, had thought so; and the mother and children go back to the little town.

Christian alone stays with his father, working with his small axe as his father does with the large one; but to both it is very hard work to cut trees; because it is something they have never done before.  They do their best, and when he is not too tired, Christian whistles to cheer himself.

After the first day a man is hired to help, and it is not a great while before the little house is built—­built of great, rough logs, still covered with brown bark and moss.  All the cracks are stuffed with moss to keep out the rain and cold, and there is one window and a door.

It is a poor little house to come to after leaving the grand old one by the Rhine, but the children are delighted when their father comes with the great wagon to take them to their new home.

And into this house one summer night they come—­without beds, tables, or chairs; really with nothing but the trunks and linen-chests.  The dear old linen-chests, see only how very useful they have become!  What shall be the supper-table for this first meal in the new house?  What but the largest of the linen-chests, round which they all gather, some sitting on blocks of wood, and the little ones standing!  And after supper what shall they have for beds?  What but the good old chests again!  For many and many a day and night they are used, and the mother is, over and over again, thankful that she brought them.

As the summer days go by, the children pick berries in the woods and meadows, and Fritz is feeling himself a great boy when his father expects him to take care of the old horse, blind of one eye, bought to drag the loads of wood to market.

Louise is learning to love the grand old trees where the birds and squirrels live.  She sits for hours with her work on some mossy cushion under the great waving boughs, and she is so silent and gentle that the squirrels learn to come very near her, turning their heads every minute to see if she is watching, and almost laughing at her with their sharp, bright eyes, while they are cramming their cheeks full of nuts—­not to eat now, you know, but to carry home to the storehouses in some comfortable hollow trees, to be saved for winter use.  When the snow comes, you see, they will not be able to find any nuts.

One day Louise watched them until she suddenly thought, “Why don’t we, too, save nuts for the winter?” and the next day she brought a basket and the younger children, instead of her knitting-work.  They frightened away the squirrels, to be sure, but they carried home a fine large basketful of nuts.