ny a bit of bread from his thin slice for Bessie. It
is pitiable. Yet the proverb says: 'Stretch yourself towards the ceiling,
or your feet will freeze--'Necessity knows no law,' and 'Reserve to
preserve.' Day before yesterday, like the rest, we again gave of the
little we still possessed. To-morrow, everything beyond what is needed
for the next fortnight, must be delivered up, and Peter won't allow us to
keep even a bag of flour, but what will come then--merciful Heaven!--"

The widow sobbed aloud as she uttered the last words and continued,
weeping: "Where do you get your strength? At your age this miserable
scrap of meat is a mere drop of water on a red-hot stone."

"Herr Van Aken gives me what he can, in addition to my ration. I shall
get through; but I witnessed a terrible sight to-day at the tailor's, who
mends my clothes."

"Well?"

"Two of his children have starved to death."

"And the weaver's family opposite," added Barbara, weeping. "Such nice
people! The young wife was confined four days ago, and this morning
mother and child expired of weakness, expired, I tell you, like a lamp
that has consumed its oil and must go out. At the cloth-maker
Peterssohn's, the father and all five children have died of the plague.
If that isn't pitiful!"

"Stop, stop!" said Georg, shuddering. "I must go to the court-yard to
drill."

"What's the use of that! The Spaniards don't attack; they leave the work
to the skeleton death. Your fencing gives an appetite, and the poor
hollow herrings can scarcely stir their own limbs."

"Wrong, Frau Barbara, wrong," replied the young man. "The exercise and
motion sustains them. Herr von Nordwyk knew what he was doing, when he
asked me to drill them in the dead fencing-master's place."

"You're thinking of the ploughshare that doesn't rust. Perhaps you are
right; but before you go to work, take a sip of this. Our wine is still
the best. When people have something to do, at least they don't mutiny,
like those poor fellows among the volunteers day before yesterday. Thank
God, they are gone!"

While the widow was filling a glass, Wilhelm's mother came into the
kitchen and greeted Barbara and the young nobleman. She carried under her
shawl a small package clasped tightly to her bosom. Her breadth was still
considerable, but the flesh, with which she had moved about so briskly a
few months ago, now seemed to have become an oppressive burden.

She took the little bundle in her right han