lthough Conrad Albrecht’s hands had been painfully and even seriously burned, they had at first given promise of healing; but as the days, then the weeks, went by, the doctor began to look very grave. Another physician was called in consultation, and he too was serious; it was a case of blood poison, they said.

When his father had to remain in bed, Fritz would not leave the room. He was always ready to attend his father’s slightest wish. Neighbours came in every day and offered to help the boy; he did not lack friendly sympathy or service. Rudolf, Frieda, and Katrina came down from the castle daily, and on every visit Katrina brought a bunch of her crimson roses. For hours at a time the sick man’s eyes would rest tenderly upon the blossoms, and they were always placed near enough for him to enjoy their fragrance. It came about, as the days went by, that he began to look eagerly for Katrina and her roses; this was the one bright spot amid dark, suffering hours.

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.”