ough he
had gone it but the day before. Except a chance caution about the road,
he never spoke,--his heart was full of "home." The fatigue of a long
day's journey, and the cold of the night air, had made Andy querulous
and discontented, and it was all Nelly could do to answer the fretful
questions and soothe down the irritation of the old man; but Hans heard
nothing of either. At last they reached a little open space formed by a
bend in the river, and came in sight of the old tower, at the foot of
which, and abutting against it, stood a small cottage. A light gleamed
from a little window, and no sooner had Hans seen it than he
exclaimed,----

"Gott sey dank! Fraeulein, she is well. That is the Fraeu Mutter."

Poor Nelly's lip quivered as she tried to speak, for, humble as it
was, what would she have given to have had even such a "home"? And now,
passing through a little garden, Hans halted, and assisted Andy from the
cart.

"Where are we, at all? Sure this is n't a place to stop the night in!"
cried the old man, querulously.

"Hush, Andy, hush!" whispered Nelly.

"'Tis thieves and vagabonds, maybe, lives here, Miss Nelly," said he, in
a low voice.

"No, Andy, no; it is a kind welcome that awaits us."

"Ayeh!" exclaimed he, "I know betther than that!"

Hans by this time had approached the door and raised the latch,--for in
the Tyrol the night rarely calls for other fastening. Nelly heard
the sharp, clear sound of an old woman's voice above the hum of a
spinning-wheel, and then the glad burst of joy as the mother recognized
her son. Unwilling to interrupt their happiness, Nelly moved away out of
hearing, when Hanserl came running out, followed by the old woman.

"This is the Fraeulein, mother," cried he, with a burst of delight; and
the old woman, taking Nelly's hand, kissed it with deep respect.

With native courtesy she welcomed Nelly, and, as she entered her house,
pointed with pride to a Madonna of Nelly's own carving, which stood on a
bracket against the wall.

"You see, Fraeulein," said she, "how I have known you for many a day
back; and there is your Saint Christopher, and there the 'Blessed Agnes
at the Well.'" And so was it. The groups and figures which she believed
to have been sold by Hanserl, were all stored up here and treasured
like household gods. "Many a traveller has come here just to see these,"
continued the old peasant-woman, "and many a tempting sum have they
offered if I would sell them