l strife brooded an infinite fatherly love,
and "the peace of God that passeth all understanding." He had never a
doubt but that Heaven was very near to their prison-pen,--that the
"many mansions" of the Father would be all open to those martyrs of
freedom,--that there rest and sweet refreshment awaited them,--that
there pitiless hate and cruel wounds, hunger and fierce heat and bitter
cold, would torture them no more forever.

From the time of his capture, nothing more was heard of poor Heinrich
in his sad home on the Lake shore, and he was at last given up as dead
by all his friends, except little Bertha. She had a "feeling," she
said, that he was living still, and would come back one day, if only
she could keep up heart for him. He might be so weak and ill, she
thought, that he would die if she once should give him up,--but not
till then. O little woman, great was thy faith! Bertha knew not that
she was already called by neighbors and friends "the little widow."
She would have passionately rejected the title. She "could not make
him dead."

She had little time for fretting about her absent friend. Her mother's
brave spirit had bent under the successive burdens of sorrow, and her
bodily strength for a while gave way. Carl, the invalid soldier, had
much difficulty in managing the affairs of the farm, and nearly all the
cares of the household came upon Bertha. O, nobly she bore herself
under them. She so completely took the place of her sick mother, that
all went well in that humble and peaceful home, till the bitterest
trouble was past, and the good mother rallied and was able to take part
of the burden of labor and care, which, however cheerfully borne, was
quite too heavy for such young shoulders.

Bertha's wise little head was perplexed. There was to be a great
Sanitary fair in the city near by, and she felt a passionate desire to
contribute something towards the great and good work. What could she
do? She was not rich enough to give money; she could not paint nor
embroider; she had not the skill to manufacture elegant trifles; she
was not old or pretty or fashionable enough to stand behind one of the
tables. What could she do?

At last it occurred to her that she could contribute to the refreshment
department a roll of butter of her own churning, from the milk of her
own little snow-white cow. So, with her good mother's consent, she
saved all the cream off the rich milk of her pet for a week, and