he border of pine trees on
the crest of the lofty western heights; to-day it was invisible, and the
occasional, quickly interrupted twittering of the birds seemed more in
harmony with the threatening clouds and sultry atmosphere than the lad's
gay laughter.

Every living creature seemed to be holding its breath in anxious
suspense, but Ulrich once more laughed joyously, then bracing his bare
knee against a bundle of faggots, cried:

"Give me that stick, Ruth, that I may tie it up. How dry the stuff is,
and how it snaps! A word! To sit over books all day long for one stupid
word--that's just nonsense!"

"But all words are not alike," replied the girl.

"Piff is paff, and paff is puff!" laughed Ulrich. "When I snap the twigs,
you always hear them say 'knack, knack,' and 'knack' is a word too. The
juggler Caspar's magpie, can say twenty."

"But father said so," replied Ruth, arranging the dry sticks. "He toils
hard, but not for gold and gain, to find the right words. You are always
wanting to know what he is looking for in his big books, so I plucked up
courage to ask him, and now I know. I suppose he saw I was astonished,
for he smiled just as he does when you have asked some foolish question
at lessons, and added that a word was no trifling thing and should not be
despised, for God had made the world out of one single word."

Ulrich shook his head, and after pondering a few minutes, replied.

"Do you believe that?"

"Father said so," was the little girl's only answer. Her words expressed
the firm, immovable security of childish confidence, and the same feeling
sparkled in her eyes. She was probably about nine years old, and in every
respect a perfect contrast to her companion, her senior by several
summers, for the latter was strongly built, and from beneath his
beautiful fair locks a pair of big blue eyes flashed defiance at the
world, while Ruth was a delicate little creature, with slender limbs,
pale cheeks, and coal-black hair.

The little girl wore a fashionably-made, though shabby dress, shoes and
stockings--the boy was barefoot, and his grey doublet looked scarcely
less worn than the short leather breeches, which hardly reached his
knees; yet he must have had some regard for his outer man, for a red knot
of real silk was fastened on his shoulder. He could scarcely be the child
of a peasant or woodland laborer--the brow was too high, the nose and red
lips were too delicately moulded, the bearing was too p