ie,
the eldest, had reached that pinnacle of childish ambition--she was
"grown up."

A very good Marie she was, and always had been; from the days when she
ran to school with a little knapsack on her back, and her fair hair
hanging down in two long plaits, to the present time, when she
tenderly fastened that same knapsack on to the shoulders of a younger
sister; and when the plaits had for long been reclaimed from their
vagrant freedom, and coiled close to her head.

"Our Marie is not clever," said one of the children, who flattered
himself that _he was_ a bit of a genius; "our Marie is not clever, but
also she is never wrong."

It is with this same genius that our story has chiefly to do.

Friedrich was a child of unusual talent; a fact which, happily for
himself, was not discovered till he was more than twelve years old. He
learnt to read very quickly; and when he was once able, read every
book on which he could lay his hands, and in his father's house the
number was not great. When Marie was a child, the school was kept by a
certain old man, very gentle and learned in his quiet way. He had been
fond of his fair-haired pupil, and when she was no longer a scholar,
had passed many an odd hour in imparting to her a slight knowledge of
Latin, and of the great Linnaeus' system of botany. He was now dead,
and his place filled by a less sympathizing pedagogue; and Friedrich
listened with envious ears to his more fortunate sister's stories of
her friend and master.

"So he taught you Latin--that great language! And botany--which is a
science!" the child would exclaim with envious admiration, when he had
heard for the thousandth time every particular of the old
schoolmaster's kindness.

And Marie would answer calmly, as she "refooted" one of the father's
stockings, "We did a good deal of the grammar, which I fear I have
forgotten, and I learnt by heart a few of the Psalms in Latin, which I
remember well. Also we commenced the system of Mr. Linnaeus, but I was
very stupid, and ever preferred those plates which pictured the flower
itself to those which gave the torn pieces, and which he thought most
valuable. But, above all, he taught me to be good; and though I have
forgotten many of his lessons, there are words and advice of his which
I heeded little then, but which come back and teach me now. Father
once heard the Burgomaster say he was a genius, but I know that he was
good, and that is best of all;" with which, havin