r, at least, not in my breast;" replied Peter Munk.
"But tell me, as you know what I mean, how will it be with our hearts?"

"Why does that concern you, my good fellow?" answered Hezekiel,
laughing. "Why you have plenty here upon earth, and that is
sufficient. Indeed, the comfort of our cold hearts is that no fear at
such thoughts befals us."

"Very true, but still one cannot help thinking of it, and though I know
no fear now, still I well remember how I was terrified at hell when yet
an innocent little boy."

"Well, it will not exactly go well with us," said Hezekiel; "I once
asked a schoolmaster about it, who told me that the hearts are weighed
after death to ascertain the weight of their sins. The light ones
rise, the heavy sink, and methinks our stone hearts will weigh heavy
enough."

"Alas, true," replied Peter; "I often feel uncomfortable that my heart
is so devoid of sympathy, and so indifferent when I think of such
things." So ended their conversation.

But the following night Peter again heard the well-known voice
whispering into his ear five or six times, "Peter, get a warmer heart!"
He felt no repentance at having killed his wife, but when he told the
servants that she had gone on a journey, he always thought within
himself, where is she gone to? Six days had thus passed away, and he
still heard the voice at night, and still thought of the sylvan spirit
and his terrible menace; but on the seventh morning, he jumped up from
his couch and cried, "Well, then, I will see whether I can get a warmer
heart, for the cold stone in my breast makes my life only tedious and
desolate." He quickly put on his best dress, mounted his horse, and
rode towards the Tannenbuehl.

Having arrived at that part where the trees stand thickest, he
dismounted, and went with a quick pace towards the summit of the hill,
and as he stood before the thick pine he repeated the following verse:

"Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine:
Thine is the tall pine's dwelling place--
Those born on Sunday see thy face."

The glass-mannikin appeared, not looking friendly and kindly as
formerly, but gloomy and sad; he wore a little coat of black glass, and
a long glass crape hung floating from his hat, and Peter well knew for
whom he mourned.

"What do you want with me, Peter Munk?" asked he with a stern voice.

"I have one more wish, Mr. Schatzhauser," replied Peter, with his look
cast d