ch other dearly; for, when one is away, one feels how much
those should love each other who are privileged to be together: I would
certainly never be quarrelsome or discontented now, and dear Mag would
not need to scold me. Good-bye. Give my love to all good friends, and
believe me your loving son,

"IVO BOCK.

"P.S.--Dear mother, a new usher has just come,--Christian the tailor's
son Gregory; but his sister does not keep house for him now, it seems:
there is somebody else with him. Please get Christian the tailor to
write to him to be a little kind to me.

"Dear Nat, my best love to you, and I think of you very often. The
cattle here are almost all black; and whenever I see a farmer at work
in the fields I can hardly help running up to him to help him. The
steward has pigeons too, but he kills them all in winter.

"Bart lives in a different room from mine. He is very happy: he has
never been so well cared for in his life. Poor fellow! he hasn't such a
dear good mother and father as I have. If I only had one companion to
my liking here--

"In the evenings we are allowed to visit in families: many of
the boys do so, but I know nobody to go to. Oh, if I were only in
Nordstetten----

"Pardon my scrawling. If I were only with you! I have many things on my
heart still, but will close now: the night-bell is ringing. Think of me
often."

This letter made a great impression at home. His mother carried it in
her pocket, and read it again and again, till it fell to pieces. The
High-German dialect in which it was written came so strangely from her
child that she could hardly realize the fact: but then he was a
"scholar," and the minister preached in the same way in church. The
numerous dashes tried her patience sorely. What could the boy have been
thinking of when he made them?

[Illustration: Nat offered to walk all night to Ehingen.]

Nat at once offered to walk all night to Ehingen, to bring Ivo the
things he had asked for and news from home. Walpurgia, the pretty
seamstress, was taken into the house and set to work. Christina treated
her to the best of fare, for it seemed as if she were feeding the
jacket. Often she said, "Don't save any thing: it is for my Ivo." As it
was near Christmas, some "hutzelbrod" was baked, being kneaded with
kirschwasser and filled with dried apples, pears, and nut-kernels.
This, with a great quantity of fruit, some money, and other
knickk