“I understand,” answered the king, and he looked down at the child, and smiled.  “Get up, my little man,” he said in a kind voice; “I will let you stay with your Hirschvogel.  You shall stay here, and you shall be taught to be a painter, but you must grow up very good, and when you are twenty-one years old, if you have done well, then I will give you back your beautiful stove.”  Then he smiled again and stretched out his hand.  Karl threw his two arms about the king’s knees and kissed his feet, and then all at once he was so tired and so glad and hungry and happy, that he fainted quite away on the floor.

Then the king had a letter written to Karl’s father, telling him that Karl had drawn him some beautiful charcoal pictures, and that he liked them so much he was going to take care of him until he was old enough to paint wonderful stoves like Hirschvogel.  And he did take care of him for a long time, and when Karl grew older, he often went for a few days to his old home, where his father still lives.

In the little brown house stands Hirschvogel, tall and splendid, with its peacock colors as beautiful as ever,—­the king’s present to Hilda; and Karl never goes home without going into the great church and giving his thanks to God, who blessed his strange winter’s journey in the great porcelain stove.

THE BABES IN THE WOOD

“Nature and life speak very early to man.”—­Froebel.

A great many years ago three little girls lived in an old-fashioned house in the East.  They had a very lovely home, and a kind father and mother, who tried to make them happy.  All through the summer they used to roam over the hills and fields, catching butterflies, watching the birds and bees at work, and studying the flowers and trees in the beautiful meadows and woods.  Then when winter came, and the days grew cold, they went to school; and in the evening, when the fire was burning brightly, they read and studied in books about all they had seen in the summer.

Besides all these lovely things, and perhaps best of all, they had a very large yard to play in, so large that it took up a whole block, and seemed like a little farm in the middle of the town.  There was a lovely lawn and flower beds; a vegetable garden, barnyard and stable; and an orchard where all kinds of fruit trees grew, apple, peach, pear, and many others.  A cow lived down in the meadows of clover, and old Bob, the horse, was sometimes turned out to pasture there.  But nicest of all, there was the wood yard.  You must remember that every winter, where these little girls lived, the snow fell, and lay so deep on the roads that no one could bring in wood from the forest, and without it all the people would have frozen in their cold homes.

So every September the gates were thrown wide open, and into the yard load after load of wood was drawn and piled up under the shed.  Then, when it was too cold to play out on the hills, the little girls used to have a fine time in the yard, piling up the wood, making beds, tables, chairs, and stoves of the sticks that had once been the waving branches and strong, sturdy trunks of trees.