es,” 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.