Little Knights--poor, broken, Little Knights--like a small, gray shadow, flitted back and forth between the two stricken homes. At one moment he had blasphemed in his misery. His Rose had been lying on his breast and she had wrung her hands and lifted her tortured eyes to his and cried: “Father, what have I done? Think back--think hard! What wickedness did I do, that God should punish me so cruelly? Did I lie? Did I bear false witness against anyone? Think father--think for me, dear!” And then he had lifted up his voice against Almighty God and cursed his work--and now he remembered his words and shivered, for, with creeping horror, he felt that there was something approaching him more terrible even than the loss of the second little bud of love and hope--Rose! Rose--his worshiped Rose--who wept not--who thought no more for others’ comforts--who sat motionless for long hours at a time, had been taken possession of by a grotesquely horrible idea that the husband she loved so was trying to put her legally away, because her children died! And she would hold his hands and beg piteously that he should wait for her to die!--that she would not be long about it now! And the poor husband would kneel at her feet and pour out his love and grief, but all in vain! Then she would lay her head on “Little Knights’” breast and tell him to take her away before the new wife came! He felt what was coming, and believed _his_ blasphemy had brought destruction upon her when his Rose became quite mad! At first he tried to take his life, but Mrs. Knights seemed to have eyes all over--he could not escape them. Then, suddenly, he cast himself--helpless, hopeless, almost heartbroken, at the “Blessed Feet,” asking nothing for himself, but entreating mercy for his Rose!--so innocent, so good! Bye and bye he ceased to bargain with the Lord, and bowed his head, and with grief-shaken voice, said simply: “Thy will, not mine, O Gott!” and straight a gleam of sunlight came back into his life. Rose--his beloved Rose--had recovered her reason! “Little Knights” held her in his arms and kissed the weary eyes and drooping lips--and blessed God for her! but knew in his heart he would never again see his white Rose “tied up mit pink ribbons.” And time goes on and on, and Rose, gentle, kind, a very angel of mercy to the poor, devoted to her husband and her parents--rarely smiling--never laughing--shivers at the sight of a blond baby. Four years had passed after her second loss, and her silence was deceiving them all. I think, when one Sunday in church a strange, little, restless creature in her pew crept along the seat and put its baby hand on hers, and poor Rosie at that touch had fainted dead away, after that they understood.