“’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.’

“’I, too!  How often have I stopped under the spreading branches of that tree on a hot summer day and found refreshment!’ cried a former post-messenger of Dorbstadt.  A porter who had also lived there added his praises.

“‘But the nut-trees were cut down many years ago,’ the latter added.

“‘I saw it,’ cried the spirit of little Hannele, and one heard from her tone how she deplored it.  ’They were felled when the Poor-house was given up.  ‘But the great Son of God has now heard what he wished to know.’

“‘No, no,’ the Saviour answered, ’I should still like to know what became of the wood of these trees.’

“The voices of several angels were heard at the same moment, for many of the poor weavers of Dorbstadt were to be found in the Heavenly Kingdom.  St. Peter, however, bade them to be quiet, and permitted only the one who had last entered the Abode of the Blessed to speak.