“’I owe it a debt of gratitude, too, but for an entirely different service,’ said a beautiful angel, as it bowed its crowned head reverently before the Son of God.  ’My lot below was a very hard one.  I was early left a widow, and I supported my children entirely by the work of my hands.  By dint of great effort I brought them up well, and my three sons grew to be brave men, who took care of themselves, and helped their mother.  But all three, my Master, were lost to me, taken away by the unfathomable wisdom of the Father.  Two fell in war, the third was killed by the machinery while at his work.  That broke my strength, and when they brought me to the hospital I was on the verge of despair, and life seemed a greater burden than I could bear.  Your image, my Saviour, had just been finished by a sculptor, who had carved it from the wood of the nut-tree by the Fresh Spring.  They put it up opposite to my bed.  It represented you, my Lord, on the cross, and your head bowed in agony, with its crown of thorns, was a very sorrowful sight.  Yet I paid but small heed to it.  One morning, however—­it was the anniversary of the death of my two dear sons, who had lost their lives, fighting bravely side by side for their Fatherland—­on that morning the sun fell upon your sad face, and bleeding hands pierced by the nails, and then I reflected how bitterly you had suffered, though innocent, that you might redeem us, and how your mother must have felt to lose such a child.  Then a voice asked me if I had any right to complain, when the Son of God himself had willingly endured such torments for our sake, and I felt compelled to answer no, and determined then to bear patiently whatever might be laid upon me, a poor, sinful woman.  Thenceforth, my Lord, was your image my consolation and, since the wood of which it was made came from the tree planted by Hannele near the Fresh Spring, I owe beyond doubt the better years that followed, and the joy of being with you in Paradise, my Saviour, to the nuts which that condemned woman gave to the child.’

“Humbly she bowed her head again.  The Son of God turned to St. Peter, saying:  ‘Well, Peter?’

“The latter called to the guardians of Hell:  ’Let her go free, the gates of Heaven are open to her.  How rich and manifold, O Lord! is the fruit that springs from the smallest gift offered in true love!’

“‘You are right,’ answered the Saviour, gently, and turned away.”

The colonel had talked for a longer time than was allowed him by his doctor, and he needed rest.  When he appeared again at supper time, in order to help us eat our Christmas carps, he found little Hermy standing with Karl and Kurt before the fire, and he noticed how his favourite’s eyes rested with pleasure on the nuts which he had bought for his grandmother; and how the older boys, who were only too prone to tease their younger brother, treated him with a certain tenderness, as if they had something to make up for.