reat. His friendly feelings for the firm of T. O. Schroeter had been so
quickened by the late occurrences, that they had to be on their guard,
and to decline some weighty commercial transactions on which he was most
anxious that they should enter with him. The natural consequence of
their shyness was to impress Tinkeles with their wisdom, and he
continued to frequent the counting-house, without, by any further
audacious speculations, hazarding its favor. Pinkus's house was sold to
a worthy dyer, and blue and black wool were seen hanging down from the
gallery over which Veitel's haggard form had so often leaned.

After long discussions with the attorney and the humbled Ehrenthals,
Anton received the notes of hand and the last mortgage in return for
payment of twenty thousand dollars.

Meanwhile the sale of the family property came on. A purchaser sought
out Anton even before the term, and arrangements were made which more
than insured the covering of all mortgages.

The day after the term Anton wrote to the baroness, inclosing the
baron's notes of hand. He sealed up the letter with the cheerful feeling
that out of all the wreck and ruin he had saved for Lenore a dowry of
about thirty thousand dollars.

The white snow again lay heavy on the Polish castle, and the crows left
the print of their feet on its roof. Winter's holiday robes were spread
over wood and field, the earth was hushed in deepest slumber, no
sheep-dog barked in the meadows, the farming implements were all laid
by, and yet there was life and animation on the estate, and workmen were
busy in the second story with foot-rule and saw. The ground was uneven
in the farm-yard, for the foundation of a new building had been dug; and
in the rooms around, and even out in the sunshine, workmen from the
town--- joiners, wheelwrights, and cabinet-makers--were busily employed.
They whistled cheerily at their work, and the yellow shavings flew far
and wide. New energies, in short, are visible in all directions, and
when spring comes, a colony of laborers will spread over the country,
and force the long-dormant soil to yield the fruits of industry.

Father Sturm sat in his warm room; hammering away.

Opposite him, in the only cushioned chair, reclined the blind baron,
staff in hand, listening intently.

"You must be tired, Sturm," said the baron.

"Nay," cried the giant, "my hands are as strong as ever, and this is
only a small barrel for rain-water--mere child's w