When the children returned from their out of doors sports, they would sit on the floor near Carl’s chair, and listen to the many tales of fairies, nymphs, and sea gods, that he told them in a pleasant but weak voice, while he as formerly made willow whistles and repaired their little boats.

The neighbors’ children also visited the cottage that they might hear his last stories, and they all brought with them many little gifts that their mothers had prepared for poor Carl.  At a later period the mothers came themselves, bringing their own presents, which they carried in large baskets, for there was not one in the entire neighborhood for whom Carl had not performed a service, and without a solitary exception they all loved him.

Then who was to take his place, after he should be taken from his friends.  In fact perfect pilgrimages were made to Carl, who always received the pilgrims with pleasant words and cheerful smiles.  Carl was not insensible to the pleasure he derived from being able in turn to present to Magde the gifts he received from his friends.

“Ah,” Nanna often said, “how pleasant it is to be beloved,” and she would sigh as she thought of the absent one who had vowed to love her forever, and whose word was her creed of life.  How much happiness Nanna derived from this creed!  It solaced her in many lonely hours, and produced a favorable effect upon her every action and thought.  She no longer was oppressed, as formerly, with dreaming indolence.  Her cheeks were roses now.

Old Mr. Lonner and Magde were much gratified at this unexpected change in Nanna’s deportment, and they could account for it only by supposing that she was much wiser than other girls of her age.

Carl, however, had peculiar views upon this subject, and when Nanna would exclaim, “O, how pleasant it is to be beloved!” he would reply: 

“You know right well that there is some one who loves you, or else you would not be so light hearted.”

When Carl thus spoke Nanna would blush with confusion.

“You must not speak so when any one can hear you,” she would reply.

Carl would then nod his head pleasantly, and one day he learned the secret, for he felt he could not remain long on this earth, and he wished to know all, and aside from that Nanna was anxious to discover whether he believed as firmly as she did in Gottlieb’s vows.

“Do you think, Carl,” said she, as she concluded her recital, “do you think he will return?”

“As certainly as I shall never see the sun rise on St. John’s day, for I saw that in his eye, which assured me he would not break his promises.”

“Why do you use such an ominous comparison, Carl?  Why do you think you will not see the sunrise on St. John’s day?”

The pain caused by the beginning of Carl’s remark, clouded the pure joy which his concluding words would have otherwise created.

“I am waiting,” said he, “only that I may see the lilacs bloom once more.  In those beautiful flowers I have found my greatest joy.”