GRETCHEN VAN CORTLANDT was a little German mÄdchen, as you see by her name, and she lived in the great city of Berlin. She and her mother occupied two rooms in a tenement house on “Steinstrasse,” as her father had died when she was very young. Gretchen had very few play-things, and spent much of the time in helping her mother earn what little money she could.

One Sunday Gretchen went out for a walk, and while going along the crowded street, reached a large brick building, from which came the sound of singing. Above the door there was a sign which she spelled out, and found to be, “Wilkommen!” As that meant “Welcome!” to a little German girl, Gretchen hesitated, and finally pushed open the door, and walked in. It was a large room, with seats full of people, many of whom were poorly and even raggedly dressed. At one end was a desk, and behind it stood a man who was reading something out of a big book.

“Even Christ pleased not Himself.”

“My!” thought Gretchen, “I wonder why!” But the man was talking. There was a good deal he said that the little girl could not understand, but she found that there was once a very good Prince, the son of a good and great King, who had come from his palace and had gone around, through a great deal of trouble, trying to save people from harm. He did nothing to please only Himself, but wanted to please his Father and those who loved Him. Gretchen understood one other thing—that every one else could do as this Prince did, and help other people as He had done, because He loved them so. If they did this they would be pleasing Him.

So when she reached home, Gretchen told her mother what she had heard, and asked her to explain it.

“Truly, child,” said the Frau Van Cortlandt, “I remember very little that I used to hear about it, but it’s all true—what he said.”

“But, mother, how can we all, or a poor little mÄdchen like me, please this great Prince?” asked Gretchen.

“Ach, child!” said the good Frau, “I remember very little about it, but this I know—that every little boy and girl in the Fatherland, no matter how poor or small they are, can please this Prince, and the King, His Father, by doing something good and kind.”

“I should like to do something for Him, mother, if He is as good as the man said,” replied Gretchen.

That is the first part of the story. The next part came nearly a week later, when there was to be a great procession through the city. There were proclamations all over the city, saying that the “Kaiser Wilhelm,” their emperor, was to march through the streets, with his soldiers and guards in full uniform, and the drums were to beat, and the bugles were to blow, and the houses were to be decorated with flags, in honor of the procession.

Our little mÄdchen was, of course, in a flutter of delight about it, especially when she found they were to march down their street, and past their tenement-house, on the way to the KÖnigstrasse. How delightful! She would see the great army of Germany, and the great Kaiser William, march by their door!

When the eventful morning came, everything was bright and gay-looking, and the sidewalks were crowded with people who wished to see the procession. When the Van Cortlandts’ bed had been made, the breakfast dishes cleared away, and the two rooms nicely swept and dusted (for it is to be believed that if the Frau Van Cortlandt had known the end of the world was to come in an hour, she would not have delayed her morning’s work a moment) Gretchen and her mother were ready to watch and wait, with the remainder of the city. But alas, and alas. No view was to be had from their windows, because of the crowd outside, and no room could be found outside. No one would give up their place. How much Gretchen wished for the Herr Van Breyck, their only friend, who would take her in his strong arms, and find a place for her, but he was away at Frankfort, and what should she do?

Suddenly she thought of the attic balcony! It was a little bit of a one, and would hold but one person. Gretchen’s mother could not go up the stairs, so she slipped up to the unoccupied garret, and out on the balcony, from which she could look down over the heads of the people, and see the Emperor and his troops, as nicely as she could wish.

She was leaning lazily over the edge of the balcony when she chanced to see, in the middle of the road, a poor old woman, who was vainly trying to get a good place amid the crowd. Among those people there was little chance for her, and Gretchen pitied her.

“Poor thing!” she said. “I think”—at this moment she suddenly stopped, startled by a thought which came into her mind, and remained silent quite a while. What she was thinking was something like this: “Suppose I should ask her to come up on the balcony? Then I couldn’t see the procession at all—and that wouldn’t do, after all my trouble to get a good place. I wonder if that would be doing what the man said—not pleasing myself? Maybe it would, but then it is such a little thing that I’m sure the King wouldn’t hear of it. If I could only please Him some great way, how nice it would be!”

But I am glad to tell you, and am sure you will be glad to hear, that after this talk with herself, the little girl made her way down to where the old lady was looking about her.

“Good Frau,” she said, as the old lady turned to look at her, “I have a place for you to see the procession; will you come with me?”

Through the door, up the three flights of stairs, went the little light figure, followed by the older and feeble one. “I am afraid, good Frau, these stairs will tire you,” said Gretchen, “but it is the only place there is.”

A chair was then brought up from the Frau Van Cortlandt’s own kitchen, on which the old lady seated herself, after which Gretchen went to the bedroom down-stairs, and throwing herself on the bed, burst into a flood of tears. “I can’t help it,” she sobbed; “I did so want to see the procession! But I am not sorry, if the Prince knows.” Then she dried her eyes and went to the door, where she could see nothing but the backs of the people in front of it.

The Ellsworths had been in Berlin some weeks, and having seen all they wanted to of the city, were about ready to go back to America, but they stayed longer than they otherwise would have done, for the purpose of seeing the procession. And then, as Amelia said, “it was just perfectly horrid,” that, after all, the soldiers were not to pass in front of their hotel.

“I am determined to see the procession,” said Mrs. Ellsworth. “And so am I,” said Amelia. Nevertheless, they were acquainted with no one in Berlin who would offer them a place, and they couldn’t well stand in the streets, “with the rabble,” said Mrs. Ellsworth.

“Blees, your honors,” said Hans, their guide and interpreter, “I haf zomedings teu zay. Mein schwester hab ein house in der Steinstrasse, mit ein gut—vat you gall it—palgonie, vair you kon go, if blees you.”

“Let’s go, mother!” said Amelia, “anything is better than not seeing the procession, when we stayed in the city on purpose.”

And Hans, not in the least minding the doubtful compliment to his “schwester’s house,” agreed to drive them around there early enough to keep out of the crowd. So it came to pass that on the balcony of the Frau Krant’s house, across the street from the Frau Van Cortlandt’s, were seated, the morning of the procession, Mrs. Ellsworth, her daughter Amelia, and her sister Julia.

“Mamma,” said Amelia, “look at that cute little German girl across the street up on that mite of a balcony. See! she has gone down now.”

Sometime later, she had more remarks to make. “Mamma, that little girl went down and got a poor old woman to take her place on the balcony—see her up there—and she is down now where she can’t see a thing.”

“Is it possible!” said Mrs. Ellsworth; “that is an act of self-denial one doesn’t often see in a child. Are you sure she hasn’t a better place?”

“Yes, mamma, there she is, down by the door, where she can’t see anything, I know.”

“Then,” said Mrs. Ellsworth, “I am going to have her come up here. There is room between Julia and me. Hans!” and that individual, who had been talking with his “schwester” inside, appeared. “Tell that little German girl in the door across the road, that I would like to see her up here.”

“Mamma!” said Amelia.

“Ja!” said Hans, in his surprise returning to the use of his native tongue.

“She looks very neat and nice, Amelia,” said Mrs. Ellsworth.

So it happened that our heroine Gretchen was confronted by a dignified-looking personage of her race, who informed her that a Frau from America desired her presence in the balcony across the street. Gretchen was frightened, and vaguely wondered if she had in any way committed treason against the United States Government, but her trembling limbs carried her to the Frau Krant’s balcony, where Mrs. Ellsworth questioned her, through her interpreter.

The story all came out, in German and in English, how Gretchen had given up her place because of the King and his Son, whom she wanted to please. Said she, “I am only a little mÄdchen, but I thought He might know.”

By this time there came the sound of drum and fife and martial footsteps, from around the corner, and the eyes of all on Steinstrasse were turned toward the place whence the sound proceeded. Mrs. Ellsworth desired Hans to tell the little girl she could stay where she was until the procession passed, thus relieving her fears that she was to be arrested for treason, and she, in turn, committed her overwhelming thanks to the good Frau for a good place to stand.

That isn’t the end, though I am almost through. Gretchen says she would have been satisfied without a place on the balcony, or anything else, if she could have known that she pleased the King and his Son by not pleasing herself, but that didn’t hinder her being very thankful that she could see the Emperor and his troops, and Mrs. Ellsworth made up her mind that she wanted a nice little German girl to take home to America, and educate and help in various ways, in return for her services, and a nice German woman who could do her washing, and live with her, too.

So the week after the procession found the Frau Van Cortlandt and her daughter bidding the Herr Van Breyck good-by, as they boarded the steamer bound for America, at the Hamburg wharves.

Gretchen and her mother are still living with the Ellsworths, and though they are sometimes a little homesick for the “Fatherland,” they are enjoying their home in America very much.

The week after they reached home they ate the Thanksgiving dinner, with a huge turkey and its regular belongings, and though they had never been used to the day at home, Gretchen and her mother were as thankful, they thought, as anyone could have been. And the way to be happy and thankful as they would tell you, is to try to make others so. “And it all came about,” said Mrs. Ellsworth, “because of that kind and unselfish act of yours, Gretchen.”

“I am only a little mÄdchen,” said Gretchen, “but I pleased not myself, and the King saw.”

Paranete.