“Do so, and I will have a good memory, I assure you.”

“One word more, uncle.  You must promise me to trouble the worthy Mrs. Lonner no longer.  She will never submit to your desires.”

As he thus spoke, an ashy paleness o’erspread Mr. Fabian’s countenance, and with a shudder he glanced fearfully around the room.

“O, the walls have no ears,” said Gottlieb; “but uncle you will promise me this, will you not.”

“Most assuredly,” replied his uncle.  “That woman has driven me almost mad; but I think that last night’s fright has entirely cured me.  I shall not go there again under any circumstances.”

* * * * *

The songs of the birds of the valley were more melodious than ever before, the perfume of the roses and lilacs were sweeter than formerly, at least so thought the occupants of the little cottage when Gottlieb visited them that afternoon.  Certainly, however, the feast which was given on that day had never been equalled before, except perhaps on the day of the arrival of Ragnar after a long absence from his wife and home.

It was a splendid dinner—­roasted spare ribs, and fish, and cakes.  The old man occupied the seat at the head of the table.  Gottlieb, who had provided this repast from the money he had received from his uncle for travelling expenses, was seated beside Nanna.  The children ate so rapidly and heartily that it appeared as though they intended to swallow a sufficient supply to last them for a year to come.  Carl, wearing his Sunday vest, a vest that Magde had made, and with a rose in his jacket button-hole, a rose that Magde had plucked, was seated in his usual place at the table, cheerful and contented.  Magde attended almost solely to the old man’s wants, filling his plate, and replenishing his cup.  And lastly, little Christine, who trotted from place to place, taking care of the cow, dog, sheep, goats, and the ancient cat, was as happy and cheerful as the others.  Altogether the scene was beautiful and harmonious.

“And for all this happiness,” said the old man, looking tearfully upon the youth, “for all this happiness, Mr. Gottlieb, next to God, we are indebted to you.  Happy must be the parents of such a son!”

“Father Lonner,” said Gottlieb glancing around the table, with a friendly smile, “you have no reason to be envious.”

“That is true,” replied the old man nodding his head pleasantly to the circle of beloved ones.

In the afternoon, after the old man had retired to his comfortable bed, now doubly comfortable to him, to rest himself awhile, and Magde was seated by his bedside pleasantly chatting with him, while Carl was busy making little boats for the children, Nanna and Gottlieb were seated near the spring beneath the tree, in the meadow.

It could easily be believed that the young couple were not very talkative, for Nanna was busily engaged in searching in the grass for a four leaved clover, and Gottlieb was amusing himself, according to his childish custom, by blowing shrill blasts upon a thick blade of grass.