nothing better than
to be good to a man who deserves it, and who is himself so kind, and
pure, and brave, that a poor fellow like myself feels ashamed, and looks
down when the soft eyes are fixed upon him. I tell you what, Charles
Henry, there is a power in your eyes, and they have subdued me. I think
the angels in heaven have just such eyes as yours, and when you look
upon me so softly and kindly, my heart bounds with delight. I have
dreamed of your eyes, Charles Henry; I have blushed in my sleep when
I thought I had uttered a coarse curse, and you looked upon me
sorrowfully. I know you cannot endure cursing, or drink, or even
tobacco."

"My father was a poor schoolmaster," said Charles Henry; "we lived
quietly together, and he could not bear cursing. He used to say, 'When
men cursed, it hurt God like the toothache.' He said--'God had not made
the corn to grow, that men might make brandy, but bread.' We were too
poor to buy beer and wine, so we drank water, and were content."

"Your father was right," said Fritz, thoughtfully. "I believe, myself,
corn was not intended to make brandy, and I don't care for it; I will
give it up altogether. If we live through this war, and receive good
bounty money, we will buy a few acres, and build us a little house,
and live together, and cultivate our land, and plant corn; and, in the
evening, when our work is done, we will sit on the bench before the
door, and you will relate some of your beautiful little stories; and so
we will live on together till we are old and die."

"But you have forgotten one thing, Fritz."

"What is that, Charles Henry?"

"You have forgotten that you will take a wife into your little house,
and she will soon cast me out."

"Let her try it!" cried Fritz, enraged, and doubling his flat
threateningly. "Let her try only to show the door to Charles Henry, and
I will shut her out, and she shall never return--never! But," said he,
softly, "it is not necessary to think of this; I will never take a wife.
We will live together; we need no third person to make strife between
us."

Charles said nothing. He looked smilingly into the glowing fire, and
then at his comrade, with an amused but tender expression.

If Fritz had seen it, his heart would have bounded again, but he was too
much occupied then with his own thoughts to look up.

"Listen, Charles. If nothing comes of our little piece of ground and our
house--if my last ball comes to-morrow and carries me of