touching and childlike a sadness that he felt
pained to the soul. And yet this revelation of tenderness pleased him,
for it made known to him a new phase of her amiable nature.

For a long time he continued conversing with the artless girl. Every
word she uttered, no matter how trifling, had an interest for him.
Besides her charming artlessness, he had frequent occasions to admire
the wisdom of her language and her admirable delicacy. The setting sun
had already cast a subdued crimson over the hilltops, hours had sped
away, the chickens had gone to roost, still he remained riveted to the
spot by Mechtild's grace and loveliness.

"Father is just coming," she said, pointing down the road. "How glad he
will be to find you here!"

His head bent forward. Holt came wearily plodding up the road. His
right hand was hidden in the pocket of his pantaloons, and his head was
bowed, as if beneath a heavy weight. As Mechtild's clear voice rang
out, he raised his head, caught sight of his high-hearted benefactor,
and smiled in joyful surprise.

"Welcome, Mr. Seraphin; a thousand times welcome!" he cried from the
other side of the road. "Why, this is an honor that I had not
expected!"

He stood uncovered, holding his cap in the left hand, his right hand
was still concealed. Mechtild at once noticed her father's singular
behavior, and her eye watched anxiously for the hidden hand.

"Your daughter has been so kind as to offer refreshments to a weary
wanderer," said Gerlach, "and it has been a great pleasure for me to
sit awhile. We have been chatting for several hours under this glorious
tree, and may be I am to blame for keeping her from her work."

Holt's honest face beamed with satisfaction. He entirely forgot about
his secret, he drew his hand out of his pocket, Mechtild turned pale,
and a sharp cry escaped her lips.

"For mercy's sake, father!" And she pointed to the broken chain.

"What are you screaming for, foolish girl? Don't be alarmed, Mr.
Seraphin! this chain has got on my arm in an honorable cause. I will
tell you the whole story; I know you will not inform on me."

Seating himself on the bench, he related the adventures of the day.

The mock procession passed before Mechtild's imagination with the
vividness of reality. The narration transformed her. Her mildness was
changed to noble anger. She had heard of the vicar of Christ being
insulted, of holy things being scoffed at, of the Redeemer being
derided by a h