“Hannele began anew:  ’After they had buried mother, they sent me into the country among the mountains, for they said it was not the duty of the city to care for me, but that of the village parish, where my parents were born.  So I was taken there.  The six nuts that I had saved I took with me to play with.  This I most enjoyed doing in the spring, alone on the little strip of grass behind the Poor-house, in which I was the only child.  Besides me there were but three old women ‘being fed to death,’ as the peasants used to say.  Two of my companions were blind, and the third was dull-witted and gazed ever straight before her.  Not one of them noticed anything that happened around them, but my heart used to grow light when everything about me budded, and sprouted, and burst into bloom.  My body was always aching but my pains could not lessen my enjoyment of the spring.  Wherever I looked, men were sowing and planting.  It was the first time that I had ever seen it, and the wish came over me to confide something to the good earth that would take root, and sprout, and grow green and high for me.

“’So I stuck four of my nuts into the ground.  I put them as far apart in the small space as I could, so that if big trees came from my seeds they might not stand in one another’s way, but might all enjoy the air and the sunshine that I was so thankful for.  I saw my seeds sprout, but what became of them afterwards I did not live to see.  Two years after I sowed them a famine fell upon us.  The poor weavers who lived in the mountain village had all they could do to nourish wife and child.  There was little left for the Poor-house.  As I was already ill I could not stand the misery, and I was the first to die of the dreadful fever caused by hunger.  Only one of the blind women, and the dull-witted one followed the sack in which I was buried—­for who would have paid for a coffin?  The last two nuts I divided with the old women.  Each one of us had a half, and how gladly we ate the little morsel, for even a taste of any dainty seemed good to us, after we had lived on nothing but bread and potatoes.  From here I watched the other nuts grow to be trees.  All four had straight stems and thick crowns.  Under one of them that stood near a spring, which is now called the Fresh Spring, an old carpenter who came to the Poor-house built a bench.’

“Here another angel interrupted the little narrator with the question:  ‘Do you mean the nut-tree in Dorbstadt?’ and, receiving an answer in the affirmative, he cried:  ’I, Master, I am that old carpenter, and during my last summers, I had no greater pleasure than to sit by the Fresh Spring under the nut-tree, and while I smoked my pipe to think of my old wife, whom I was soon to find again with you.  In the autumn, too, many a dry brown leaf found its way among the more expensive tobacco ones.’

“‘And I,’ cried a former peddler, breaking into the carpenter’s story, ’I assuredly have not forgotten the nut-tree, where I always set down my pack when my shoulders were nearly broken, and under whose shade I used to rest my weary limbs before entering the village.’