it, above and below, were
portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Behrens' relations, some colored, some black,
some large, and some small. In the picture of our Lord, His hands were
raised in blessing, so Mrs. Behrens had hung the portraits of her
relatives beneath it that they might have the best of the blessing, for
she always regarded herself as the "nearest." She had hung her own
portrait, taken when she was a girl, and that of her husband in the
least prominent place over against the window, but God's sun, which
shone through the white window-curtains, and gilded the other pictures,
lighted up these two first of all. There was a small book-case
containing volumes of sacred and profane literature all mixed up
together, but they looked very well indeed, for they were arranged more
in accordance with the similarity of their bindings than with that of
their contents. Let no one imagine that Mrs. Behrens did not care for
reading really good standard works, because she spoke the Provincial
German of her neighborhood. Whoever took the trouble to open one of the
books, which had a mark in it, would see that she was quite able to
appreciate good writing, and her cookery-book showed that she studied
her own subjects as thoroughly as her husband did his, for the book was
quite full of the notes and emendations she had written at the sides of
the pages in the same way as Mr. Behrens made notes in his books. As for
her husband's favorite dishes she "knew them," she said, "by heart, and
had not to put in a mark to show where they were to be found."

And it, was in this quiet home that Hawermann's little daughter was to
spend her childhood, if God let him have his wish. The raised hands in
the Saviour's picture would seem to bless his little girl, and the
sunlight would shine upon her through these windows, and in those books
she would read what great and good men had written, and by their help
would gradually waken from childish dreams into the life and thoughts of
womanhood.

As he was sitting there full of alternating hopes and fears, Mrs.
Behrens came back, her eyes red with weeping: "Don't say another word,
Mr. Hawermann, don't say another word. Braesig has told me all, and
though Braesig is a heathen, he is a good man, and a true friend to you
and yours. And my pastor thinks the same as I do, I know that, for we
have always been of one mind about everything. My goodness, what
hard-hearted creatures the old Nuesslers are," she added, ta