y, he said,
"It was not you, but your sister, who played the robber. She has the
feathers yet. I--I thank you for the exchange." Then, as Martha handed
him the feathers, and as he held his hat out towards her, he succeeded
in touching her hand with his lips. He escorted the two girls through
the woods, and starting with the joke of having caught them
trespassing, they ended by having a merry talk. He soon begged Martha
to sing, for he said that he could see that she, like him, was in the
humor of singing. So these two began to sing their favorite songs,
which, strangely enough, were the same; and when they reached the road,
both of the sisters stretched out their hands to Julius. He held
Martha's hand in his the longest, and from that moment their fate was
fixed, and became more blissful every day.

He arranged the album while they were engaged. It was filled with the
fondest memories, and even I learned much from it that was new to me.
Each tree showed me new forms of existence, and in a little while I was
able to forget, while contemplating these minute products of nature,
the great commotion that was raging so near us. A bird is perched on
the telegraph wire, while beneath it the most stirring news is passing
silently and invisibly. I often regarded the wires that were stretched
in front of my woods. Who knows the news that is flashing through them?
We were soon to hear it.

CHAPTER VI.

"It thunders, booms, tumbles, and crashes; the mountains are falling,
the world is coming to an end!"--thus did Carl's mother cry out in the
village street. She refused to be comforted, and when she saw Martha in
mourning, she began to shriek out: "Black! black! We shall all be
charred to death!"

We succeeded at last in calming her, and then led her home, while round
about us a noise like thunder seemed to come from the hills; although
not a cloud was visible in the sky.

We knew that Strasburg was being bombarded. The fact was, that the
sound of the cannonade struck against the rock behind the spinner's
cottage, and rolled thence along the little valleys between the hills.

This lone woman, who could scarcely hear a man's voice, could
distinctly perceive the roar of the artillery which shook her cottage.

"My boy is there, my good, my brave son," she cried, when she was told
that Strasburg was being bombarded. Then she broke out into a sort of
chant: "In Strasburg is the minster; I was in