hy? Who are you?" asked the fellow.

"I'm of the same religion," answered Huerlin entreatingly--"my father
was a locksmith too, and I've been one in my time. Give it me, won't
you?"

The workman picked up the sign and looked at it. "The arm is still
good," he decided. "For its time it was not a bad piece of work. But if
you want the tin thing, that's no use to anybody ..."

He tore away the green tin wreath in which, with long since dimmed and
lumpy rays about it, the golden sun had hung, and gave it to him. The
old man thanked him and made off with his prize, to hide it in the
elder-bushes further up with a strange greed and pleasure in the
thought of contemplating it. So, after a lost battle, a paladin might
have hidden the insignia of fallen royalty, to preserve them for other
days and new glories. When he returned, to recommence his inspection of
the carpenters' work, the house struck him as changed and desolate
because the sun was gone, and in its place over the door there
was nothing but an ugly hole in the plaster.

A few days later, without much pomp or ceremony, the opening of the
scantily-furnished poorhouse took place. A few beds had been put up;
the rest of the furniture was the product of the tavern-keeper's sale,
except that a supporter of the scheme had decorated each of the three
bedrooms with a Bible text surrounded by wreaths of flowers painted on
cardboard. For the position of manager, when it was put up to
competition, there had not been many applicants; and the choice had
fallen upon Herr Andreas Sauberle, a widowed weaver of good repute, who
brought his loom with him and continued to work at his trade--the
position was not very remunerative, and he had no desire to become a
Sun-Brother himself in his old age.

When old Huerlin had his room assigned to him, he at once began a minute
examination of it. He found a window looking on the small courtyard,
two doors, a bed, a chest, two chairs, a jar, a broom and duster;
further, a shelf in the corner covered with oilcloth, on which stood a
glass, a tin basin, a clothesbrush and a New Testament. He felt the
stout bedclothes, tried the brush on his hat, held up glass and basin
critically to the light, sat down experimentally on both the chairs,
and decided that all was satisfactory and in order: Only the impressive
text on the wall failed to meet with his approval. He contemplated it
for awhile with a scornful expression, read the words, "Little
chil