Chapter L: C. Page & Company (2)

At other times his eyes would wander wistfully to the adjoining room--his workshop. Here, hanging upon the walls, and scattered upon his work-bench, were unfinished toys, waiting for the hands which had begun to fashion them with such loving care. For Conrad Albrecht was one to whom his work was a constant source of happiness; he rejoiced in the creations of his hands. The machine had not come in to rob him of his own individual skill and take away his joy in working. His imagination, too, had had full play. While his hands were busily employed, sometimes with a girl’s dainty doll, sometimes with a boy’s small steam-engine, perfect in every detail, he would picture the homes and the lives of the children who would one day have the toys in their possession, often tracing their lives to womanhood and manhood. So Conrad Albrecht’s days had passed happily enough, and he had been enriched by the blessing of contentment.

One morning as he lay on his bed of pain, Fritz’s father had turned his eyes from Katrina’s roses, and for a long while they had rested sadly on his work-bench with the half-finished toys lying on it. As he lay there looking into that other room, he was thinking how much comfort it would give him if Fritz would one day finish those uncompleted toys; he had come to realize that the task had been taken out of his own hands for ever. Fritz, sitting at the bedside, noticed the look in his father’s eyes, and half-guessed its meaning; but before either could speak, there came a rap on the outer door.

Fritz went at once to answer it, and, to his surprise, he saw the tall, imposing figure of Count von Scholtz standing on the threshold. The boy’s amazement made him speechless for a moment. Only a month or so before he had seen the nobleman, badly injured, borne upon a stretcher.

“Are you the son of Conrad Albrecht?” the visitor asked on seeing Fritz.

“Yes, your Honour, Fritz Albrecht is my name.”

“I am glad to know you, my boy, glad to know Conrad Albrecht’s son. Is it possible for me to see your father? I have something of importance that I wish to say to him.”

“My father is very ill, your Honour, and suffering great pain.”

“I know that, my lad, and it grieves me deeply; but,” he continued, as he laid his hand on Fritz’s shoulder, “I want especially to see him. This is my first appearance outside the house, and my doctors objected to my coming. I told them, though, that I would make this visit to Conrad Albrecht, cost me what it might.”

By this time they had reached the door of the sick-room, and Fritz went in first to prepare his father for the unexpected visitor.

“Ah, Albrecht, I am distressed to see you like this; they tell me you have suffered horribly.” And as he spoke, the nobleman seated himself in a chair which Fritz placed for him beside the bed.

“Yes, your Honour, I’ve had much pain. At first I thought all would be right with me in time; but now I realize that the end is near; for the doctors can give me little hope.”

“Too bad, too bad;” the count shook his head sadly, and Fritz saw that his eyes were full of tears. “I would give anything I possess, Albrecht, if it could only save you; and to think that I was the cause of this!”

Fritz, who had been a silent witness of the scene, was dismayed. How could Count von Scholtz have caused his father’s accident? At that moment, as though reading the question in Fritz’s mind, the count turned and said:

“My lad, do you know that your father saved my life?”

“No, your Honour,” Fritz replied; “my father didn’t tell me.”

“Well, then, I will tell you. In the wreck, the compartment I was occupying had taken fire, and when I found myself wedged in between some burning timbers, and escape seemed a thing impossible, I resigned myself to die. Then it was that your father, himself badly shaken by the accident, saw me pinned under the pile of débris; and, without one thought for his own safety, tore away the heavy timbers already in a blaze. By this time others, seeing the situation, came to our relief; but it was not until your father’s hands had been badly burned.”

“I was glad, your Honour, to be able to assist you,” said Conrad Albrecht, feebly.

“Yes, my friend, but to save my life you gave your own; that is heaven’s own great gift. But, Albrecht, I wish to do the best I can to prove my gratitude. I have no son, and have come here to ask if you will let me take your place to Fritz when you are gone. I couldn’t be to him what you have been, but grant me this wish, and I will try and fill a father’s place. By adoption he shall be my son. Can you, will you, say yes to this, Albrecht?”

The look which had come into the face of the stricken man reflected the conflict in his heart. Two paths were open for his boy, and he, the father, must decide upon the one for him to take. Here, at the work-bench, where he had spent many contented years, he saw the quiet, shaded path of that more tranquil life. Out there was the glare, the white light of the world,--would his boy be happy in it? Would it bring him peace, such peace as he, himself, had known and loved? Yet, here was a great, even a wonderful, opportunity; one day his Fritz’s name might be known throughout all the Fatherland!

This thought brought a radiant look to the father’s eyes, and with all the strength at his command he said:

“Yes, your Honour, Fritz shall be your son.”

X.

“Turn the key, Gesta, and let the workshop stay just as my father left it.”

The old woman wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron.

“And so it’s sure, then, Master Fritz, that you’re going to leave here; what will the house seem like when you are gone?”

With this the faithful creature broke into a sob.

“But,” said the boy, soothingly, “I’ll come back every little while and see that you want for nothing. Because I’m going to live in a great house and have lots of money given to me doesn’t mean that I am going to forget you. I am my mother’s son, Gesta; you carried my mother in your arms when she was a little baby. She loved you, and so do I.”

“You’ve always been good to me, Master Fritz. Even when you were a very little boy you never gave me any trouble; and that makes it all the harder to see you go. Is it to-morrow, Master Fritz, that Count von Scholtz is going to send for you?”

“No, the count said he knew I would want to see my friends, and make some preparations, so it’s not till Thursday that I leave for Grünwald. But it isn’t so far away, you know, Gesta, that I can’t come back from time to time to see you and the dear old home. For even if they do say I’ll walk on velvet carpets, and have beautiful paintings and marble statuary to look at everywhere I turn my eyes, more books than I can read, and music whenever I wish, I’ll never love it as I love this home. They may change my name, too, but I’ll always be the son of Conrad Albrecht, the toymaker. The count may be ever so good to me, but he can never take my father’s place!”

Yet, even as he spoke, Fritz was conscious of a strange sensation. He had felt it only once before, and that was the evening he had remained outside the castle, after Katrina had gone in, and listened to the Ivy.

Now there came to him the desire to hear that voice again, and, as twilight was just setting in, he would go alone, and beg the Ivy to tell him other stories of the castle. So after urging the watchful Gesta not to be uneasy if he should return a little late, Fritz started off in the direction of the Wartburg.

It was not very long before he reached the courtyard, where all was still, and, stealing within the shadow of the wall, Fritz seated himself upon the same bench on which he had sat that other evening when the voice had spoken to him of the “greatest treasure.”

One might suppose that the Ivy had been waiting for him, so soon did it begin to speak to Fritz in those same rich, majestic tones. And now it told him many things about the men and women who lived in the castle long ago--about the early landgraves; but more particularly did it dwell upon the good Herman and his time. Among other stories it told how Elizabeth had, by accident, found on her husband the crusader’s cross, and at sight of it had fainted, since it meant that he would leave her.

“But,” the Ivy said, “when Ludwig explained to her the purpose of the crusades, Elizabeth not only consented to his going, but went with him a part way on his journey. However, Ludwig never reached the Holy Land, but died of a fever just as he was to set sail from Italy.”

This was the only allusion which the Ivy made to Saint Elizabeth; but it told Fritz of much that happened during the times in which she lived. It mentioned, for instance, how a knowledge of the arts and crafts had been brought by the crusaders from the East.

“There were no glass windows in the Wartburg,” the Ivy said, “until the time of the Landgrave Herman. He had glass panes put into the windows of the banquet-hall; but in the other windows the panes were all of mica; for glass, the art of making which was brought by the crusaders from the Orient, was very rare and costly.

“Now, while speaking of the East,” the Ivy went on to say, “I must tell you something about a certain great room in the Wartburg called the Armory. There you will find some rare specimens of old plate armour and suits of mail--these latter dating as far back as the crusades. One who gives it any thought can trace from these a gradual unfoldment in the history of armour. For instance, that of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was crude and very simple. The fifteenth century brought an increase in the use of plates; but it was in the sixteenth century, by a well-devised fitting together, that the highest development in armour was attained.”

Fritz found himself listening with keen interest to all that the Ivy told him; and, after a pause, it went on speaking of the armour and its history.

“Persons usually have a wrong conception of the armour worn in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,” the voice continued. “They picture the knight as going forth in a glittering mail shirt woven out of steel; while in reality his coat and hose, as well as his head-covering, were of leather with iron rings sewn on. Only in the East did they then understand the art of weaving the steel mail shirt out of rings. But as every separate ring had to be made by hand, such equipment was very costly; for wire drawing was not discovered until the fourteenth century.

“I wonder,” said the Ivy, after a moment’s silence, and so suddenly that Fritz was startled, “I wonder if you can tell me why the use of armour began to decline in the seventeenth century?”

“I am sorry to say that I haven’t the slightest idea,” was Fritz’s answer.

“It was because in that century firearms came into general use, gunpowder having been invented; so there was no longer any need for armour.”

But, interested as he was in hearing all of this, it was not what Fritz had come to the castle for that evening. He had come to put to the Ivy one single question which for weeks had been revolving in his mind.

“I am going away from here next Thursday,” as he spoke Fritz drew nearer to the Ivy, “and I want to ask one question before I go. It is that you will tell me what you meant when you said to me one evening that you possess the greatest of all treasures.”

Several moments passed before the Ivy answered; but at last it said:

“I know your desire is a sincere one, and I intend to grant it. But first promise me that you will search far and wide, until you, too, come into possession of this mighty treasure--the greatest in all the world.”

“I promise you,” said Fritz.

“Well, then,” and the Ivy spoke in tones more melodious than any Fritz had ever heard before, but so low that he alone could hear the name.

The boy caught his breath with eagerness, and clenched his hands until the flesh showed the imprint of his nails.

“Yes,” he declared, his face all aglow with determination, “I’ll go to the very ends of the earth to find it!”

Then all at once Fritz seemed to see, as though it were a picture stretching out before him, that new life he was about to enter with its promise of riches, the opportunity to gratify all ambition--while the name of what the Ivy declared to be the greatest treasure kept ringing like music in his ears.

XI.

The following morning Fritz went early to the Wartburg. This, his last day, he would spend with his little playmate. Some time before he reached the castle, as he was walking up the hill, he caught sight of Katrina standing in the courtyard.

She made a lovely picture dressed in white, with her pigeons all about her; while in the background was the old, ivy-covered wall. Back and forth her pets were swarming; some ate the grain she had just scattered on the ground, while others preened themselves upon the brink of the now dilapidated fountain.

But as Fritz drew near, and his footsteps sounded on the gravel, there was a scurry and a rustle of wings; while very soon the birds were lost to sight in their lofty retreat in the tower. Katrina, however, the moment she spied Fritz coming, gave a little cry of pleasure, and ran to the gates to meet him.

“I was sure that thou wouldst come,” she said, “and dost thou know, Fritz, I could declare I heard thee walking here last evening, I know thy step so well. But,” the little girl added, as she took her playmate by the hand, “_mütterchen_ said it was only fancy, that of course you wouldn’t be here at the castle without coming in to see us. I knew that too, Fritz; so though I thought I heard thee passing the window twice, I laughed at the very thought of thy going by just as if thou wert a ghost.”

To this Fritz said not a word. For some reason he felt that he wished to keep as a secret that which the Ivy told him; so, in consequence, would say nothing about his twilight visit to the Wartburg.

“Fritz, Fritz!” Katrina suddenly exclaimed, and it seemed as though a cloud had passed suddenly across the sun, so quick was the change in Katrina’s face. “Is it true that thou art really going to leave to-morrow?”

“Yes, Katrina, the count has written that he will send for me Thursday morning. Thou knowest the promise my father made him. But at first the count was too ill to send for me; in fact it was only the other day he was told of my father’s death.”

There were tears in Katrina’s eyes.

“What am I going to do, Fritz? I sha’n’t have any one at all to play with. Dost thou really want to go away and leave me?”

“No, no, little sister; but sometimes it falls to our lot to do things that we don’t quite wish to do. Thou knowest what duty is, Katrina?”

“Yes,” replied the little girl, “_mütterchen_ has told me that I must always do my duty, no matter how disagreeable the task may be.”

As she spoke, there came into the sweet childish face the promise of a nobility that would know so well how to translate duty into happiness; while, as for Fritz, he was one day to learn that ambition sometimes appears at our gates disguised as duty, and in our blindness we bid him enter.

“Is thy father here, Katrina?” Fritz asked a moment later. “Ah, yes,” he added before Katrina had time to answer, “there he is, over near the belfry; he and Hans are talking.”

“So thou hast come, Fritz, to claim the promise I made thee yesterday in Eisenach;” and, as he spoke, Rudolf came over to where the children stood. “I told thee, I remember, that as thou art going away so soon, I would give thee and the _mädchen_ here a glimpse into the castle.”

Both Fritz and Katrina were delighted, and the latter, catching one of her father’s hands, kissed it rapturously.

“It will have to be only a little visit, though, as I’ll be very busy later in the morning, so where shall we begin?”

“This is to be your treat, Herr Rudolf,” Fritz replied; “so we’ll leave the choice to you.”

“Well, then, suppose we begin out here with the rooms where Martin Luther stayed when he was a prisoner at the Wartburg.”

“Yes, yes, show us Luther’s rooms!” and the two children took Rudolf by either hand.

He led them across the courtyard, past the old stables now converted into a brewery; on beyond the barbican, the south tower, and the belfry, until they reached the Knight’s House, sacred with its memories and traditions of Martin Luther.

XII.

“It was here,” Rudolf explained, when they had reached the entrance to the Knight’s House, “that the great Reformer was kept in captivity for a year.”

“Yes,” Katrina interposed, “_mütterchen_ told me this, and so did the lady with the silver cross; but they didn’t tell me why he was made a prisoner.”

“That was because he opposed certain teachings of his time, and,” her father added, forcefully, “had the courage to be steadfast to what he believed to be the truth.”

“It would be good, Herr Rudolf,” suggested Fritz, “if you would tell Katrina and me the story of Martin Luther before we go inside the castle. Then when we do go in, we’d understand and enjoy it all the more.”

“Yes, Fritz, thou art right; some knowledge of him would make thee have a more intelligent appreciation of what thou art about to see. So, suppose we sit out here while I tell thee both about a few of the incidents in Luther’s life.”

Whereupon, Rudolf and the two children seated themselves on a stone bench close by the door of entrance. Now just above this same door was a device cut in stone, that was not only quaint and curious, but was also strangely suggestive of the giant power of the man who had once been a prisoner there. It represented Samson in the act of quelling the lion. And had not he, Martin Luther, slain mankind’s deadly foe,--blind superstition?

“Well, to begin with,” said Rudolf, when the children had settled themselves to listen, and sat watching him with expectant eyes, “Martin Luther’s father, whose name was Hans Luther, was a miner at Möra, a small town which now belongs to the Duchy of Saxe-Meiningen. Not very long after his marriage, however, Hans and his wife, Margaret, went to live at Eisleben, and it was here, on the 10th of November, 1483, that a son was born to them. This day being the anniversary of Martin, Bishop of Tours, they gave the name ‘Martin’ to their boy in memory of the saint.

“It was soon after this that Luther’s parents removed to Mansfield, and Hans, the father, became a member of the council. Their great desire was that Martin should follow one of the learned professions, and from the first his education was very strict. He attended the school of the Franciscan monks at Magdeburg; but when about fifteen years old, he came to Eisenach and earned money as a Current-Schuler by singing from door to door.”

“Yes, yes, dear father,” Katrina interrupted, “we know how the good Frau Cotta, hearing him sing in the streets, took him in and gave him a home.”

“Did he like being a Current-Schuler?” asked Fritz, to whose spirit of adventure the idea made a strong appeal.

“It is said,” responded Rudolf, “that the practice of singing for charity was at first very distasteful to him, but that in time he came to like it, so great was his love for music. Thou, my little Katrina, art familiar with some of Martin Luther’s hymns. He wrote a number of hymns after he grew to manhood; and thou, Fritz, hast sung with us many an evening that grand old anthem of his, ‘Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott.’”[2]

[2] “A Mighty Stronghold Is Our God.”

“I wonder, Herr Rudolf,” Fritz exclaimed, as the light of the sudden thought flashed into his face, “I wonder if Luther wrote that hymn here at the Wartburg! Don’t you think he must have done so?”

For a moment Rudolf was silent. This was a question which had not presented itself to his mind before.

“I really do not know it to be a certainty,” he answered after thinking deeply; “but it does seem to me, Fritz, that he must have had his inspiration here within these walls which sheltered him in a time when his life was being threatened. But now,” Rudolf continued, “let us turn back to the youthful Luther and follow him as he progresses in his school life. In the year 1501 he entered the University of Erfurt, where he studied Logic, Physics, and Ethics; but it was in Philosophy and the ancient classics that he afterward found his greatest satisfaction. In the year 1503 Luther received his degree of B. A., and it was then that he complied with his father’s wish and began to study the law. This, however, as he soon found, was not to his taste, and in time it became a burden to him. In these days of doubt he felt strongly drawn toward a monastic life, and finally, in spite of the opposition of his family and friends, he determined to take the vows and become a monk.

“But even after this step had been taken, he found that his conscience was not wholly at ease. His zealous mind seemed to be ever searching for the truth. And, my children,” Rudolf continued, “it was in the year 1517 that Martin Luther first wrote his name indelibly on the pages of history.”

XIII.

“Yes,” Rudolf repeated, “it was in the year 1517 that Luther cut his way through the darkness of superstition, and let in a light which has illumined the world. For by showing how false were the teachings that forgiveness of sin could be bought with a bit of money, instead of through repentance and reform, he set, not only a responsibility, but a noble value upon each individual life. It was his mighty voice, ringing through all the land, and whose echo can be heard down the ages, which urged man to realize that he was a child of God, and through that sonship alone an inheritor of the kingdom.

“These teachings of Martin Luther met with harsh opposition; but he was firm in his belief. So firm was he that he nailed to the door of the church in Wittenberg his ninety-five theses, or articles of faith. These were read by people of every rank in life, and the fame of them spread far and wide. While his friends flocked to him, those who opposed Luther became more and more bitter, until finally they even sought his life.”

“It was then, wasn’t it,” cried Fritz, with eager interest, “that the Elector showed that he was his friend?”

“Yes,” said Rudolf in reply, “it was when his life became endangered that the Elector Frederick, under pretext of taking him a prisoner, had him brought here to the Wartburg, where he could give him his protection. And now since we have reached the experience in Luther’s life which is so closely associated with this place, suppose we make our visit to the rooms he occupied.”

Rudolf, as he spoke, rose from the bench, and, bidding the children to follow, opened the door into a little hall, and from this they ascended a narrow staircase.

“Here, my children,” said Rudolf, as he now led the way into a small room at the head of the stairway, “this was Luther’s sanctuary.”

A sort of awe fell upon Fritz and Katrina at the thought of being in the same apartment where that great, good man had spent the months of his captivity.

“This,” Rudolf explained, as he pointed toward a table, “is not the one at which Luther sat when he made his translation of the Bible; that was carried away years ago by relic hunters, who gradually cut it into chips. The one here now was once in his father’s house at Möra, and Luther sat at it when a little boy.”

Fritz and Katrina, full of interest, gazed up at the portraits of Luther and his parents hanging on the wall above the table, while Rudolf explained that they were the work of Cranach, one of the greatest painters of his time. He also called their attention to one of Luther’s letters which had been framed, and was hanging near the Cranach portraits. Then the children were told to look at a curious mining-lamp once used by Luther’s father. But it was when Rudolf showed them the money box carried about by the little Current-Schuler down in Eisenach that their enthusiasm seemed to have no bounds.

“Just let us touch it, father, dear!” Katrina cried.

And they both laid their hands lovingly on the treasured relic.

“Just think,” said Fritz, as he held it for a moment in his hand, “it was in this very box that he got the money for his schooling.”

“Now,” said Rudolf, as he moved over to a large chest underneath the window, “if you will both come close, I’ll open this and show you a collection of the first editions of the Bible according to the translation made by Luther. Here, my children,” and as he spoke, Rudolf put a volume into the hands of each, “hold this sacred book, and as you do so, realize that it is your privilege to have had within your clasp one of the greatest gifts ever bestowed upon mankind. For before Luther made his translation, which even the simplest peasant could read, as it was written in the language of the people, the Bible was as a locked treasure-house to which only the few had a key.”

“How thankful we should be to him!” Katrina said.

“Yes, my _liebchen_,” replied her father, tenderly, “only think what it means to be able to go each day to this sacred Book and learn from it the way of life.”

Fritz had been silent for several moments; it was evident that he was turning some thought over in his mind.

“Wasn’t Martin Luther’s wisdom very great, Herr Rudolf?” he asked at last.

“That it was, Fritz; but why dost thou ask the question?”

“I was just thinking that it must be a great thing to be very wise, in fact the greatest thing in the world. I’m going to study and learn all that I possible can; then some day people will point to me and say: ‘What a wise man Fritz Albrecht is!’”

As the three stood looking out of one of the quaint windows with its round, leaded panes, at the beautiful landscape below, it seemed to Fritz that he heard the Ivy’s rich voice saying to him: “Search, search, for the greatest of all treasures!” But suddenly it was as though the whole room were filled with the breath of roses; and Katrina’s heart responded to a soft voice down by the castle gates which said almost in a whisper:

“Luther possessed something that was even greater than his wisdom; Saint Elizabeth possessed it, too.”

And there also seemed to rise before Katrina’s vision an image of the lady with the little silver cross.

XIV.

Fifteen years have now gone by since Fritz and Katrina paid their visit to the Wartburg and heard among others the story of Martin Luther. To Fritz, especially, they had been restless years.

From the day when he bade farewell to his old home and the friends up at the castle to go and live at Grünwald, Fritz had been able to gratify every wish. In fact, with a fortune at his command, he had in full measure the privileges of a rich man’s son. The count, being ambitious for him, had, until his death, been always ready to satisfy Fritz’s every want; but it was with a peculiar fervour that the nobleman urged Fritz toward the satisfaction of that one great craving of his life--the desire for wisdom. It was a desire which never gave Fritz any rest, and seemed only to increase in keenness as it was fed.

After having gone to a preparatory school, Fritz entered the university, from which he bore away distinguished honours; and the years that followed were spent in travel. To the very ends of the earth he went in search of that treasure which from his boyhood he had determined to discover. Sometimes reports would reach his friends at Eisenach of wonderful researches made by him in Egypt and the Holy Land among the buried relics of an ancient grandeur. As a traveller and a scholar, his fame soon spread abroad, and, even surpassing his father’s cherished wish, the name of Fritz Albrecht came to be known far beyond the fatherland.

In the first years after he went to live at Grünwald, Fritz had come back very often to see his friends at the Wartburg. On these occasions he would stop at Eisenach and have Gesta to open the old home that he might see how things were going there. Then when he went away, he would always press a gold piece into Gesta’s withered palm, and beg her to deny herself no comfort. Unable to speak, the good creature could only sob her gratitude. But as the years went by, and his life took on other and larger possibilities, those simpler interests receded to the background; until, finally, Katrina realized that her old playmate had passed on and away from her.

In comparison with Fritz’s life Katrina’s life may have seemed even commonplace. There was the same daily round of simple duties within the home; but they were duties lovingly performed. To Katrina’s education, though, as she went through the years of girlhood, much care was given, and in this, her friend with the silver cross had no little part. For not only had letters come often from over the sea to the “castlemaiden,” as the lady called her still, but from time to time there had also come boxes containing books for her to read and ponder. And from these books, as well as from the letters, Katrina had gleaned many an inspiration for her life.

But it was from yet another source that Katrina gained ideals which were even nobler and better still--and that was from the Rose-bush growing near the castle gates. Here she would bring her work, or a book, and sit during many a cherished hour, while she listened to the stories of noble men and women or felt its silent sympathy. And when at times vain longings would fill her heart for a life that was less narrow, or more glittering, than her own, she would also come to seek comfort from the Rose-bush, and it always soothed her.

Then how often, too, as the days went by, could Katrina, her hands filled with the fragrant crimson blossoms, be seen on her way down to Eisenach to some one who was ill or in distress. In fact, so many were her deeds of loving-kindness that the people there in the shadow, as it were, of the old castle which had once known the saintly presence had come to call her their Saint Elizabeth. At the very sight of her, every one felt a sense of joy; for not only did they realize the beauty of her character, but in face and form as well she seemed to grow more beautiful every day.

“Our Katrina will not stay in the home nest very long, I fear,” said Frieda one evening, as she and Rudolf talked together.

But the years went by, and Katrina showed no disposition to encourage any who would have rejoiced to be her suitor. Her every thought seemed to be for others rather than herself, and each day was marked by some unselfish service.

In all that she accomplished there was one purpose which seemed ever uppermost with Katrina,--it was to awaken in the dreary or sordid toiler the heart of joy. Many a time after she had left the shop of some humble craftsman, with a few appreciative or buoyant words, he might be heard singing as he worked with lighter heart and swifter hands. So when a fair, or exhibition, of the different industries became an annual feature in the little town, Katrina was one of the most zealous workers for its success. In order to arouse an interest, prizes were offered for the best results in the different lines, and the competition was always keen; while it brought together a wonderful array of effort.

People came from a distance of many miles to visit the fair, or market, as they called it. A value had been set upon even the humblest hand-work, and that was an incentive to better things.

It was in the month of June that the building which had been erected in the market-place began to take on an air of bustle and activity. Never had there been so many visitors in Eisenach, and never had the little town seemed half so prosperous. The fair was at the height of its success, when one day there came in for exhibition a case of toys, such toys as few of the present generation had ever seen in Eisenach. Many had gathered about the booth to see this new exhibit, when a lady, who had just been handed from a stately coach by an attendant, was heard to say:

“They must have been the work of Conrad Albrecht. I am glad to find them here. Whenever I made a visit to the Fatherland, years ago, I used to buy his toys and take them to my children; but until now I had supposed he did not make them any more. These will delight my grandchildren.”

And saying this, the speaker selected a number of the playthings, which were taken to her carriage; while those standing near looked on with interest. They recognized this benevolent-looking woman, so simple, yet impressing her dignity on all within her presence, as no less a personage than England’s Queen. Though far removed, Victoria still loved her Fatherland, often returning to the old home not many miles from Eisenach, and it was in those visits that she had come to know the work of Conrad Albrecht’s hands.

All who had seen them declared that these toys which gave evidence of unusual skill were plainly entitled to the prize, whereupon search was made for the one who sent them. Only three of the five judges were made aware of the name of the exhibitor to whom the prize was given, and they were bound to secrecy.

“Who was the maker of these toys?”

This was the question asked on every side, and the answer came that they must be the work of some one elsewhere; for Eisenach, they said, had known only one who could have made such toys, and he, Conrad Albrecht, had been dead for fifteen years.

XV.

“Dost thou know the news, Katrina? ’Tis said that Fritz has returned to Grünwald.”

Katrina, who was engaged with some bit of sewing, looked up suddenly as her father spoke, and said:

“He was far away, I know, when Count von Scholtz, his foster-father, died, and it must have taken him a long while to make the journey.”

“Yes,” was Rudolf’s answer, “it is said that he was somewhere in the very heart of Asia and was obliged to make a long overland journey before he could reach a railroad, to say nothing of the time he spent upon the sea.”

“Has Fritz ever given his discoveries to the world? that is, has he put them to any use, so that others might be benefited by his knowledge?” asked the thrifty Frieda, who had become even more practical with the passing years.

“That I have never heard,” responded Rudolf. “But it is said that as a scholar his name is widely known; for one so young, his reputation for wisdom is without a parallel.”

“A reservoir without an outlet is not a very useful thing,” was Frieda’s only comment.

“Ah, _mütterchen_, speak not so of Fritz; thou knowest not what may have been the motive that impelled him!” and as Katrina spoke a faint flush mounted in her cheeks.

“I do not speak unlovingly,” was Frieda’s answer. “I still have a tender feeling for the son of Lizette and Conrad Albrecht, even though it would seem that as a man he has forgotten us.”

Katrina had no more to say. She felt the truth of her mother’s words. Through the years as they passed, she had often experienced a sense of pain in the thought that her old playmate had seemingly lost all remembrance of their happy and united childhood.

It was late in the same afternoon that Katrina sat in her beloved haunt by the Rose-bush. She had been reading, but as the sun began to set amid a splendid radiance, Katrina closed her book and fell into a reverie. Something, perhaps the soft yet vivid colours of the sunset, recalled to her mind an evening long ago, when she and Fritz had sat upon the bench there in the courtyard, and listened to the strange, melodious voice which had told them stories of the castle. And even as her thoughts dwelt upon these memories of their youthful days, she heard a sound of footsteps coming up the Wartburg hill.

Katrina’s heart beat fast, but she did not stir. How often as a child had she run gladly forth at the sound of steps so strangely like these coming now. But that had been the light, impatient step of a boy; while this was the heavier and firmer tread of a man.

Yes, even at the sight of a tall, manly figure, Katrina, who now lifted her blue eyes timidly, showed no surprise. He had drawn quite near, so near that he must surely see her.

In another moment he was there in the grass beside her, the breath of roses all around. For a time both of them seemed strangely silent; there was too much to say after the interval of years.

XVI.

At last he spoke, and she made no protest against his using the “thou” of their childhood days. It seemed but yesterday since they had talked together.

“Thou art little changed, Katrina, save that thou hast grown to be a woman.”

“I have lived such a quiet life,” she answered, “too quiet to have left its traces.”

“Thou hast lived a beautiful life,” he said. “Have I not heard how it has gone out in gracious, loving deeds until hundreds adore thy very name!”

A deep flush mounted in Katrina’s cheeks.

“But thou, Fritz, hast done and seen wonderful things. Even in our seclusion word has reached us of thy vast knowledge. It must be splendid to be known far and near as one who possesses such great wisdom.”

“Ah, Katrina, what have I not sacrificed in that search! Home, friends, those I held closest to my heart,--all were put aside in my eagerness to find the greatest treasure. But thou dost not know, Katrina, what was the impulse that sent me forth.”

At this Katrina shook her head.

“Dost thou not remember the ‘voice’ which used to tell us stories of the castle?”

“Yes;” and as she answered, the woman’s face glowed with the memories of childhood.

“Well,” said Fritz, his eyes meeting her astonished gaze, “I never told thee this; it was a secret I carried with me. One evening I came alone, and sat here in the courtyard, for I wished to try and discover something.”

“I know, I know,” she interposed, “it was one evening when I felt sure I heard thy footstep on the gravel.”

“Yes,” Fritz answered smiling, “and thou didst say next morning that it must have been a ghost. Not only did I wish to hear the voice again, but I felt a keen desire to ask what it meant by the greatest of all treasures. And it was then that I discovered it to be the Ivy speaking,--yes, that old vine yonder on the wall. In answer to my query, it assured me that of all the treasures of the world knowledge is the greatest. From that moment I was consumed with one overwhelming purpose,--the determination to search until I found _the greatest treasure_.”

“And thou hast had thy wish fulfilled,” Katrina said.

“Yea, but as I have said, at what a sacrifice! Its possession has not brought me happiness, and I have come back a disappointed, discouraged man. Thou wilt doubtless be surprised, Katrina, when I tell thee that the only real happiness I have known in many years was only lately when, out of love for my father’s memory, I completed some of the toys which his hands had left unfinished. On reaching Grünwald I learned that a fair was soon to take place at Eisenach, and I knew what pride he would have felt to have his toys displayed; so I came to the old home, and for many, many days I hardly left his work-bench.”

“So,” exclaimed Katrina with amazement, “it was thou who sent that anonymous exhibit to the fair!”

“Yes,” Fritz answered, smiling, “and thou canst not guess, Katrina, what became of the money won in prizes?”

Katrina, puzzled, shook her head.

“It is the nucleus of a fund with which I intend to endow a school where poor but ambitious boys can be provided, not only with an education, but also with a home, and it shall be dedicated to the memory of Martin Luther.”

As Fritz looked into Katrina’s face he saw a beauty that seemed not of earth. He drew her hand close within his own, and long, long they sat there by the Rose-bush.

“Yea, Katrina, I have searched in all the wide world for the greatest treasure.”

“And yet thou sayest thou hast not found it, Fritz?”

As he answered Fritz’s face seemed full of light, “I have found it, my own Katrina; but not out there in the world. Vain were my searchings there. It is here, within; so close, so close.”

The castle had almost faded now, and the ivy looked strange and ghostly in the gathering gloom. A soft mist crept up from the valley, then the moon came to its throne in the sky. Still Fritz and Katrina sat there, hand clasped in hand; while over and about them, as though in benediction, there came a wonderful delicate fragrance--the breath, as it were, of a beautiful, living soul. Then they heard the Roses of Saint Elizabeth saying gently: “But the greatest of these is Love.”

THE END.

Transcriber’s Note:

Spelling has been preserved as printed in the original publication.