r where rectitude leads
the way, prosperity is sure to follow. The old house was cleaned and
painted, the moat dried up, and fruit trees planted in it. The floors of
the house were polished as smoothly as a draftboard, and everything
looked bright and cheerful.

During the long winter evenings the lady of the house sat with her
maidens at the spinning wheel in the great hall. Her husband, in his old
age, had been made a magistrate. Every Sunday evening he read the Bible
with his family, for children had come to him and were all instructed in
the best manner, although they were not all equally clever--as is the
case in all families. In the meantime, the willow branch at the castle
gate had grown into a splendid tree and stood free and unrestrained.

"That is our genealogical tree," said the old people, "and the tree must
therefore be honored and esteemed, even by those who are not very wise."

A hundred years passed away, and the place presented a much-changed
aspect. The lake had been converted into moorland, and the old baronial
castle had almost disappeared. A pool of water, the deep moat, and the
ruins of some of the walls were all that remained. Close by grew a
magnificent willow tree, with overhanging branches--the same
genealogical tree of former times. Here it still stood, showing to what
beauty a willow can attain when left to itself. To be sure, the trunk
was split through, from the root to the top, and the storm had slightly
bent it; but it stood firm through all, and from every crevice and
opening into which earth had been carried by the wind, shot forth
blossoms and flowers. Near the top, where the large boughs parted, the
wild raspberry twined its branches and looked like a hanging garden.
Even the little mistletoe had here struck root, and flourished, graceful
and delicate, among the branches of the willow, which were reflected in
the dark waters beneath it. Sometimes the wind from the sea scattered
the willow leaves. A path led through the field, close by the tree.

On the top of a hill, near the forest, with a splendid prospect before
it, stood the new baronial hall, with panes of such transparent glass in
the windows that there appeared to be none. The grand flight of steps
leading to the entrance looked like a bower of roses and broad-leaved
plants. The lawn was as fresh and green as if each separate blade of
grass were cleaned morning and evening. In the hall hung costly
pictures. The chairs and so