"Will you not look at your Christmas present, master Dorn?" asked Katharine of the book-keeper, who kept himself apart in serious silence.

He turned toward the designated place with a melancholy smile, and as he cast his eyes upon the rich present, a complete and splendid dress-suit with a full complement of the finest linen, he turned again with deep emotion to Katharine, who was pointing out their places to the rest of the household. "This is too much, madam Katharine," he cried. "How may you thus favour the stranger beyond the children of your house?"

"The stranger?" asked Katharine resentfully. "In our hearts it has been a long time since you were so, and we should much regret to have you consider yourself one. Believe me, we are sensible what a faithful companion and assistant my husband has acquired in you, and that everything we can do you is but honestly discharging our obligations."

for

Ah, see, master Dorn, you also have got a sword!" cried Martin, holding up this essential part of the dress of a burgher in those times, which lay by Dorn's present.

Dorn suddenly approached the boy and taking the magnificent sword from his hands gazed upon it with secret pleasure. At length he could no longer resist the desire to draw and try the temper of the blade.

"You are not angry," asked Katharine, "that a lady should presume to arm you? Really your old sword with its hacked hilt and notched and rusty blade, would not have become your new suit."

"You have done well, worthy lady," said Dorn, proving the blade by pressing its point against the floor and bending it in every direction. "The old sword had indeed become dear to me, like an old friend who had always remained true in times of necessity and danger; but I never reflect upon the deeds I have performed with it without shuddering. It seems to me that it is possessed by an evil spirit which impels my hand to deeds of blood against my will, and I therefore do not like to touch it. This has as yet drank no blood, and I will preserve it unstained, unless I am compelled to draw it in defence of the hearth where I, a friendless stranger, have been so hospitably received."

"Or in defence of religion," added the parson.

"The true religion, most worthy sir," answered Dorn, "needs not the aid of the sword!"

The reverend man had already opened his mouth to refute

this bold proposition, when the master of the house entered with a clouded countenance, holding two open letters in his hand. He briefly greeted the parson, gently put aside the children who gathered about him in their noisy joy, and handed one of the letters to his wife.

"From your mother, at Sagan," said he; and while she proceeded to read it with visible terror, he drew the bookkeeper to a window.

"I have a sudden and disagreeable business for you," said he to Dorn. "The terrible Wallenstein conducts himself in his new dukedom with a tyranny almost unheard of among Christians. He has determined to send all the orphan sons of burghers of Sagan to the school he has recently established at Gitschin. Those whom he has found in the place, have been forcibly sent to Bohemia. Their property and relatives are held answerable for the absent. As you already know, my mother-in-law's nephew, young Engelmann, is at present studying at the gymnasium in this city; and the tyrant has thrown his uncle and guardian into prison until the pupil shall be forthcoming. No other course remains, but to send the poor boy home as soon as possible; and, that he may, in these dangerous times, reach Sagan with safety, it is my wish that you would accompany him. When there, you may also be able to assist me in another affair. I have loaned a thousand gilders upon the two houses of the joiner Eckebrect. My debtor now informs me that the houses are among those the duke has caused to be demolished for the purpose of opening a better view for his palace. Nothing has yet been said respecting indemnification. I therefore wish you, while on the spot, to obtain all the information you can upon the subject."

"I am very willingly at your service," modestly answered Dorn. "When shall I set out?".

"Did I not fear the sin of keeping you from church on Christmas night," said Fessel, "I would beg of you to start this very evening. Sagan is distant, and old Engelmann is a very worthy man, whose release from prison I should be glad to effect as soon as possible."

"The performance of duty is God's service!" cried Dorn. "I will go immediately and prepare for the journey." He left the room, followed by the boys, who lamented the loss of their best Christmas enjoyment in his departure.

"Your book-keeper is indeed no papist," said the parson to Katharine after a long pause; "but there may also be some doubt of his Lutheranism; for he appears to sustain

the doctrine of good works. He may be tinctured with Calvinism."

"If he were, he would still be our protestant colabourer and brother in Christ," answered Fessel in the name of his consort. who was busily reading.

"Calvin, Zuinglius, and the pope-all are heretics alike!" grumbled the parson.

The weeping Katharine now folded the letter, handed it to her husband, and in a soft, submissive voice asked him : "What have you decided upon, Tobias?"

"I wished to advise with you upon the matter first, my Kitty," he answered, in a friendly manner. "They are your nearest relatives who now seek a refuge with us, and I would not willingly leave them in the claws of those fiends; but at all events their coming would increase your domestic cares, and I know not whether you would like to have your mother and sister reside in the family."

"As I know my beloved ones," she joyfully answered, "I have only relief, consolation and joy, to expect from them; and, if my opinion is to decide the matter, I beg you with all my heart to have them brought here."

Dorn now entered the room in his travelling dress, with his rusty sword by his side. He was followed by Martin and Ulrich, and the young Engelmann with his travelling bag in his hand, much grieved at being compelled to leave his dear Schweidnitz for a strange school where he was unknowing and unknown.

"The carriage is ready," said the book-keeper. "I come to take my leave, and ask if you have any further commands for me."

"I have yet one more request, my dear friend," answered the merchant. "A captain of Wallenstein's body guards is quartered in the house of my mother-in-law at Sagan, who plays the duke of Friedland on a small scale in the quiet residence of the widow; and, what is still more unfortunate, woos the favour of my sister-in-law after the fashion of a wild Tartar. She very naturally rejects the monster, who has already served under four different masters, has four times changed his religion, and is now, by accident, a Catholic; but the refusal has brought her no relief, and he only, who knows how much a bad man may afflict a family upon whom he is quartered, can imagine what the poor women must suffer. On this account they wish to leave all behind them and flee to me

at Schweidnitz; and after having delivered up your scholar, you can bring them with you on your return. This writing may serve as your credential."

66

I beg of you to be especially careful that you suffer no injury on the way from the marauding soldiers, who render the public roads unsafe," said Katharine with anxious solicitude.

"I take with me my faithful old battle-companion," said Dorn, striking the hilt of his sword with a glance in which all his former military spirit shone forth. "Do not be concerned for me, madam Katharine. We have a hard frost-I shall let the horses travel at a round pace-and with God's blessing, I will be here to partake of the Christmas supper, which I should have eaten now, with you and your dear relatives on new year's eve."

He raised the sorrowing children, whom even the ingeniously constructed manger could not console for his departure, one after the other to his lips, bowed to the others, disappeared with his protégé, and the wheels of his carriage were soon heard rattling over the hard-frozen ground.

*

*

It was the evening of the third Christmas holiday. The snow-flakes were merrily whirling about out of doors; and in a well-warmed room at Sagan sat the merchant's widow, Prudentia Rosen, with her daughter, the lovely Faith. Both of them were industriously winding the fine spun thread upon the twirling spindles. The impudent captain of the guards had planted himself in the matron's arm-chair, at the table, and was afflicting the poor women by a recital of his terrible warlike deeds, while he emptied the silver goblet standing before him, and directed love-glances, which made him look even more disagreeable, at poor Faith, who, sighingly and reluctantly replenished it from time to time.

The servant announced a stranger who wished to speak with madam Rosen alone.

The widow rose to go out in obedience to the summons; but the captain sneeringly observed that as she could have no motive for a secret interview with the stranger, she could give the required audience in his presence.

The widow nodded to the servant, with a slight shrug of the shoulders at this new exhibition of insolence. The latter immediately ushered in a young man, who greeted the ladies with modest friendliness, and the Captain with cold courtesy. "I am the book-keeper of your son-in-law," said he.

"I

have the honour to hand you this letter as my credential, and to inform you, that, if agreeable, yourself and daughter can accompany me to Schweidnitz to-morrow morning."

"How? You wish to leave Sagan now, madam Rosen?" asked the Captain, angrily stroking his red beard.

'Family affairs render this journey unavoidable," answered the widow with quiet firmness.

"You must arrange the matter otherwise," blustered the ruffian. "Your most imperative duty is to remain here and provide for the comfort of those who are quartered in your house."

"Do not be anxious on that score, Captain," answered the widow. 66 Everything will be furnished that you need in my

absence."

"Then go, in the devil's name, where you please," cried the Captain; but, that my comfort may not be disturbed, your daughter remains behind to discharge the duties of hostess."

"Give yourself no uneasiness, madam Rosen," said Dorn, consolingly, to the terrified woman. "If you are not by the duke of Friedland's command a prisoner in your own house, the Captain will let you go without requiring a hostage.'

"How is that?" cried the irritated Captain, viewing the young man from head to foot. The latter quietly returned his measuring glance, whilst the beauteous Faith timidly raised her eyes from her spindle, inwardly delighted with the fearlessness of the interesting stranger.

"You are a fine fellow," said the Captain with a malicious smile; "well-grown and strong; and your bold behaviour is very becoming. You would make a good trooper. Come, do me justice to the health of our most gracious emperor."

"We must become better acquainted with each other, Captain, before we drink together," answered Dorn, politely declining the goblet.

"Do you slight my proffered courtesy," growled the Captain; "or do you belong to the rebels, that refuse to drink the emperor's health?"

"Drink!" imploringly begged the timid Faith, and, vanquished by the glance which accompanied the request, the youth seized the goblet and cried, "May God enlighten the emperor and teach him the true way to promote the welfare of his subjects!"

"Bravo, comrade!" cried the Captain, as the goblet was drained. "You will never regret having entered the empe