"I need not describe the joy there was in the Jansen family when I brought home Mrs. Brederhagan's deed of gift and the money. Christina did not yet know that her voice was destroyed, and hence was disposed to refuse what she called 'the good lady's great generosity.' But we reminded her that the widow was rich, and that her son had inflicted great and painful wounds upon her, which had caused her weeks of weary sickness, to say nothing of the doctor's bills and the other expenses they had been subjected to; and so, at last, she consented and agreed that, for the present at least, she would receive the widow's money, but only until she could resume her place on the boards of the theater. But the deed of gift drove the brooding shadows out of the heart and eyes of poor Mrs. Jansen. "I need not tell you all the details of Christina's recovery. Day by day she grew stronger. She began to speak in whispers, and gradually she recovered her power of speech, although the voice at first sounded husky. She was soon able to move about the house, for youth and youthful spirits are great medicines. One day she placed her hand on mine and thanked me for all my great kindness to her; and said, in her arch way, that I was a good, kindhearted friend, and it was a pity I had any weaknesses; and that I must not forget my promise to her about the next New Year's day. But she feared that I had neglected my business to look after her. "At length she learned from the doctor that she could never sing again; that her throat was paralyzed. It was a bitter grief to her, and she wept quietly for some hours. And then she comforted herself with the reflection that the provision made for her by Mrs. Brederhagan had placed herself and her family beyond the reach of poverty. But for this I think she would have broken her heart. "I had been cogitating for some days upon a new idea. It seemed to me that these plain, good people would be much happier in the country than in the city; and, besides, their income would go farther. They had country blood in their veins, and it takes several generations to get the scent of the flowers out of the instincts of a family; they have subtle promptings in them to walk in the grass and behold the grazing kine. And a city, after all, is only fit for temporary purposes--to see the play and the shops and the mob--and wear one's life out in nothingnesses. As one of the poets says: "'Thus is it in the world-hive; most where men Lie deep in cities as in drifts--death drifts-- Nosing each other like a flock of sheep; Not knowing and not caring whence nor whither They come or go, so that they fool together." "And then I thought, too, that Mr. Jansen was unhappy in idleness. He was a great, strong man, and accustomed all his life to hard work, and his muscles cried out for exercise.