ean, seated on his crutches, was making him a collar
of eglantine berries. A little further on, in the first room, the farmer
was clinking glasses with a beggar who had come to collect his weekly
tithe; Dorothee was holding his wallet, which she was filling.

"Come, old Henri, one more draught," said the peasant, refilling the
beggar's glass; "if you mean to finish your round you must take
courage."

"That one always finds here," said the beggar with a smile; "there are
not many houses in the parish where they give more, but there is not one
where they give with such good will."

"Be quiet, will you, Pere Henri?" interrupted Moser; "do people talk of
such things? Drink and let the good God judge each man's actions. You,
too, have served; we are old comrades."

The old man contented himself with a shake of the head and touched his
glass to the farmer's; but one could see that he was more moved by the
heartiness that accompanied the alms than the alms itself.

When he had taken up his wallet again and bade them good-by, Moser
watched him go until he had disappeared around a bend in the road. Then
drawing a breath, he said, turning to his guest:

"One more poor old man without a home. You may believe me or not,
monsieur, but when I see men with shaking heads going about like that,
begging their bread from door to door, it turns my blood. I should like
to set the table for them all and touch glasses with them all as I did
just now with Pere Henri. To keep your heart from breaking at such a
sight, you must believe that there is a world up there where those who
have not been summoned to the ordinary here will receive double rations
and double pay."

"You must hold to that belief," said Arnold; "it will support and
console you. It will be long before I shall forget the hours I have
passed in your house, and I trust they will not be the last."

"Whenever you choose," said the old soldier; "if you don't find the bed
up there too hard and if you can digest our bacon, come at your
pleasure, and we shall always be under obligations to you."

He shook the hand that the young man had extended, pointed out the way
that he must take, and did not leave the threshold until he had seen his
guest disappear in the turn of the road.

For some time Arnold walked with lowered head, but upon reaching the
summit of the hill he turned to take a last backward look, and seeing
the farm-house chimney, above which curled a light wreath of