, the nights were glorious.

The air was pure, the view was clear, and all troubled thoughts seemed
to have lingered below in the crowded dwellings of men.

"I think you could now sing again," said the little pitchman to Irma;
"your voice isn't so hoarse as it was. But you need more sleep. When
one is old, sleep runs away of itself. Don't drive it away, as long as
it wants to stay with you."

The little pitchman now seemed doubly careful of her, and Irma
perceived that her voice was hoarse. She would sit down and rest
oftener than she had previously done. She would still roam through the
woods and valleys, wherever huntsmen or woodcutter dared venture, but
she would so often stop to rest herself that her wanderings resembled
the flight of some young bird which, at every short distance, is
obliged to stop. She now remembered that this weariness had been upon
her ever since her return from the capital. During the winter she had
paid no attention to it; but now she thought she could understand
Walpurga's motive in urging her to go up to the shepherd's hut. It was
because she was ill, and in the hope that she might become well again.
And yet she felt no pain. One day, while in the heart of the forest,
she tried to sing a scale, but found that she could not. Her head sank
upon her breast; and thus, after all--

On Sunday morning Franz came, bringing joy with him.

"Oh, how nice it is," said Gundel, as soon as she found herself alone
with Franz. Irma was quite near, however, and heard every word of what
she said. "Oh, how nice it is! I used to think my arms were only for
work, but now I can do something else with them; I can throw them
around somebody's neck and hug and kiss him!"

Gundel, who was usually dull and sullen, had become active and
sprightly. She was bustling about all day, scrubbing, washing, milking
the cows, making butter and cheese, and was always singing or humming a
tune to herself. With her, singing filled the place of thinking. She
was just like a bird that flutters about, singing all day long. Love
had awakened her soul, and the self-dependent position in which she now
found herself afforded a vent to her native cheerfulness of
temperament.

Irma regarded all that environed her as if she were a mere looker-on,
taking no part in the life about her.

Tradition tells us of good genii who descend to the earth, remain there
long enough to look about them and put things to rights, and then
return to h