ifteen 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.