n ought not to carry so heavy a
burden.

In the meantime the man had staggered and panted up, and when he was
opposite Lisbeth, he almost fell down under the sack. "Alas, take pity
on me, madame, and hand me a glass of water," said the little man; "I
can not go another step, and I fear I shall faint."

"But at your age you ought not to carry such a heavy load," said
Lisbeth.

"Yes, if I was not forced by poverty to serve as a messenger," answered
he. "Alas, a rich lady like you does not know how poverty pinches, and
how refreshing a drink of water would be on such a hot day."

On hearing this Lisbeth rushed into the house, took a pitcher from the
shelf and filled it with water; but when she returned with it, and had
come within a few feet of the man, she saw how miserable he appeared as
he sat on the sack, and, remembering that her husband was not at home,
she set the pitcher of water to one side, got a goblet and filled it
with wine, laid a slice of rye bread on top of it, and brought it out
to the old man. "There; a sip of wine, at your age, will do you more
good than water," said she. "But don't drink it so hastily, and eat
your bread with it."

The little man looked at her in astonishment, while tears gathered in
his eyes. He drank the wine and then said: "I have grown old, but I
have seen few people who were so merciful, and who knew how to make
gifts as handsomely and heartily as you do, Frau Lisbeth. And for this
your life on earth shall be a happy one; such a heart will not remain
without a reward."

"No, and she shall have her reward on the spot!" shouted a terrible
voice; and as they turned, there stood Peter with an angry face.

"So you were pouring out my best wine for beggars, and giving my own
goblet to the lips of a vagrant? There, take your reward!"

Lisbeth threw herself at his feet and begged his forgiveness; but the
heart of stone felt no pity; he turned the whip he held in his hand,
and struck such a blow with the butt of it on her beautiful forehead,
that she sank lifeless into the arms of the old man. When Peter saw
this, he seemed to regret it on the instant, he bent down to see
if there was still life in her, but the little man said to him in a
well-known voice: "Don't trouble yourself. Charcoal Peter! It was the
sweetest and loveliest flower in the Black Forest; but you have
destroyed it, and it will never bloom again."

The blood left Peter's cheeks, as he said: "It is you then, Herr