f he fell so deep that no man would leap in
after him, I, I, would never let him sink."

And then Ann threw herself on my neck and said: "Oh, how light is my
heart once more. Ah, Margery! now, when I long to pray, I know well
enough what for."

My aunt's dim eyes had rarely shone so brightly as at this hour, and
her voice sounded clearer and firmer than it was wont when she once more
addressed us and said: "And now the old woman will finish up by telling
you a little tale for your guidance. You knew Riklein, the spinster,
whom folks called the night-spinster; and was not she a right loving and
cheerful soul? Yet had she known no small meed of sorrows. She died but
lately on Saint Damasius' day last past, and the tale I have to tell
concerns her. They called her the night-spinster, by reason that she
ofttimes would sit at her wheel till late into the night to earn money
which she was paid at the rate of three farthings the spool. But it was
not out of greed that the old body was so keen to get money.

"In her youth she had been one of the neatest maids far and wide, and
had set her heart on a charcoal burner who was a sorry knave indeed, a
sheep-stealer and a rogue, who came to a bad end on the rack. But for
all that Riklein never ceased to love him truly and, albeit he was dead
and gone, she did not give over toiling diligently while she lived yet
for him. The priest had told her that, inasmuch as her lover had taken
the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper on the scaffold, the Kingdom of
Heaven was not closed to him, yet would it need many a prayer and many
a mass to deliver him from the fires of purgatory. So Riklein, span and
span, day and night, and stored up all she earned, and when she lay on
her death-bed, not long ago, and the priest gave her the Holy Sacrament,
she took out her hoard from beneath her mattress and showed it to him,
asking whether that might be enough to pay to open the way for Andres
to the joys of Heaven? And when the chaplain said that it would be, she
turned away her face and fell asleep. So do you spin your yarn, child,
and let the flax on your distaff be glad assurance; and, if ever your
heart sinks within you, remember old Riklein!"

"And the Farmer's daughter in 'Poor Heinrich,'" I said, "who gladly gave
her young blood to save her plighted lord from leprosy."

Thus had my aunt gained her end; but when she strove to carry Ann
away from her home and kindred, and keep her in the forest as her