“‘I was the village doctor,’ this one began, ’and I quitted the earth because I, too, fell a victim to the pestilence of which many of the poor people were dying, and against which I fought with all my powers, but with small success.  I can tell you all that you wish to know, my Master, for, during forty-five years, I devoted my humble services to the sick poor there.  When Hannele died in our Poor-house—­it happened before my time—­the misery was even greater than at present.  The weavers were ground down by the large manufacturers, until an energetic man built a factory in our village, and paid them better wages.  As the population then increased, and consequently the number of patients, space was wanting in which to house them, for the dilapidated Poor-house—­whither they were carried—­was no longer large enough to accommodate them all.  Therefore the parish, aided by the owner of the factory, built a hospital for the whole district, and the site of the old Poor-house was chosen for it.  The beautiful nut-trees which Hannele had planted had to be destroyed.  I was sorry to be obliged to give the order, but we needed the ground where they stood.  As we had to be economical in everything, big and little, we had planks sawn out of the trees for our use.’

“At this point another spirit interrupted the physician.  ’I have lain in one of the beds made from the wood.  At home I slept on a bundle of straw, and very uncomfortable it was when I was shaken by the fever.  In the hospital all was different, and when I lay in my comfortable bed, I felt as if I were already in Heaven.’

“‘And I,’ cried another broad-winged angel, ’for ten years I walked with the crutches that were made for me from the nut-tree by the Fresh Spring, and old Conrad, below on the earth, is still using them.’

“‘And mine also,’ another continued, ’were of the same wood.  I had lain for a long time on my back; but after I got them, I learned to walk with them and they enabled me to stand before the loom, and to earn bread once more for my family.  That man yonder from Hochdorf has had the same experience, and the wooden leg of William, the toll-gate keeper, who entered here shortly before me, was made of wood from the nut-tree.’

“’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.