tiny creature in his strong arms, and covering it tenderly with his sheepskin coat, carried it to his cottage. The good Marie, who had room enough in her heart for a hundred children, was full of pity for the desolate orphan-a sweet little girl with rosy cheeks and curly hair, about half the age of her boy, then four years old-and she ministered to all the babe's wants, and pressed it to her bosom as lovingly as if it had been her very own. Martin then, with some of his neighbours, fetched the body of the poor mother and laid her in the dead-house. But no one claimed her, no clue to her identity was discovered, and after a few days she received Christian burial in the churchyard. As to the child, the question of adopting her was never so much as discussed between the locksmith and his wife; it seemed to their simple minds that Providence had bestowed her upon them by a direct gift, and they accepted the gift with grateful hearts. The babe was christened-or rechristened for none knew whether or not she had already been baptized, and received the name of Marie, and her bright face and winning ways endeared her to everybody, and made her the light of the locksmith's house.

Three years afterwards Martin's household was again increased. A neighbour's house took fire in the night, and ere the sleeping family could be roused, they were enveloped in the fierce flames; all perished save one child, who was thrown by his frantic mother into the arms of the horrified and helpless spectators. Robert, for that was the name of the rescued boy, had not a single relative left in the world, and when Martin Müller came forward and offered to adopt him there was nobody to say nay, and the boy was taken home to Fritz and Marie. The three children grew up together like brothers and sister, and neither the locksmith nor his wife ever showed by their manner that Marie and Robert were less dear to them than Fritz. When the boys were old enough they were apprenticed to Martin's trade of locksmith, and nothing occurred to mar the even tenor of the family life, until the time arrived when the young locksmiths, having completed their term of apprenticeship, must, in accordance with a law of the town, set off on their three years' travel -an indispensable preliminary to settling either as workmen or masters in their native place.

It was the month of May, the time evening, and in the shady corner of a pleasant garden full of apple-trees crowned with pink and white bloom, sat a youth and a maiden-he was tall and stalwart, blueeyed and light-haired, and of a frank and open countenance; she was slender, graceful, and rosy-cheeked, her hair brown, her eyes bright and sparkling. The one was Fritz, the other Marie.

"We are going away in the morning, Marie, as thou knowest, on our long journey; and for three years we shall not see Görlitz and our dear old Lusatia nor the father and mother, nor thee, Marie!"

"Thou art young, Fritz, and three years will soon be gone."

"Who knows," continued, Fritz without heeding the girl's remark, "who knows if I shall ever see you again? Life is uncertain, and the Rhine country many days' journey! And mayhap, Marie, thou wilt be getting thyself a fine husband, and when I return to the old house I shall find thee wedded to the burgomaster's son or a young baron! "

"And mayhap," said Marie laughingly, “thou wilt bring with thee a fine wife from Rhineland; belike, a knight's daughter!"