When Spener returned from his trip of investigation he hastened immediately to the hospital, sought out poor half-dead Loretz, laid his hand on his shoulder, and said, “Come, get up:  I want you.”  And he explained his project:  “I will build a house for you, send for your wife and child, put you all together, and start you in life.  I am going into the basket business, and I want you to look after my willows.  After they are pretty well grown you shall get in some families—­Simon-Pure Moravians, you know—­and we will have a village of our own.  D’ye hear me?”

The poor fellow did hear:  he struggled up in his bed, threw his arms around Spener’s neck, tried to kiss him, and fainted.

“This is a good beginning,” said Spener to himself as he laid the senseless head upon the pillow and felt for the beating heart.  The beating heart was there.  In a few moments Loretz was looking, with eyes that shone with loving gratitude and wondering admiration, on the young man who had saved his life.

“I have no money,” said this youth in further explanation of his project—­for he wanted his companion to understand his circumstances from the outset—­“but I shall borrow five thousand dollars.  I can pay the interest on that sum out of my salary.  Perhaps I shall sell a few lots on the river, if I can turn attention to the region.  It will all come out right, anyhow.  Now, how soon can you be ready?  I will write to your wife to-day if you say so, and tell her to come on with the little girl.”

“Wait a week,” said Loretz in a whisper; and all that night and the following day his chances for this world and the next seemed about equal.

But after that he rallied, and his recovery was certain.  It was slow, however, hastened though it was by the hope and expectation which had opened to him when he had reached the lowest depth of despair and covered himself with the ashes of repentance.

The letter for the wife and little girl was written, and money sent to bring them from the place where Loretz had left them when he set out in search of occupation, to find employment as a porter, and the fever, and Albert Spener.

During the first year of co-working Loretz devoted himself to the culture of the willow, and then, as time passed on and hands were needed, he brought one family after another to the place—­Moravians all—­until now there were at least five hundred inhabitants in Spenersberg, a large factory and a church, whereof Spener himself was a member “in good and regular standing.”

Seven years of incessant labor, directed by a wise foresight, which looked almost like inspiration and miracle, had resulted in all this real prosperity.  Loretz never stopped wondering at it, and yet he could have told you every step of the process.  All that had been done he had had a hand in, but the devising brain was Spener’s; and no wonder that, in spite of his familiarity with the details, the sum-total of the activities put forth in that valley should have seemed to Loretz marvelous, magical.