"One Sunday night, when Wisi and I were not quite eighteen years of age, she came in radiantly happy and told us that she was soon to be married. The man to whom she was betrothed had but recently come to the village and was employed at the factory. I was so astonished and grieved over the news that I could say nothing. Mother, however, asked her to take some time to consider the matter thoroughly, because it was too important a step to take hurriedly. Mother told her that she was very young and that she must not forget that there was some one else who had loved her for years, of whose intentions she could have no doubt; then, too, her father needed her, and she ought to help him a few years more. "Wisi cried because mother talked so earnestly, but she said that her father had given his consent and it was all arranged that they were to be married in two weeks. 'Then,' said mother, 'we must make the best of it and try to be happy. I will play our favorite melody and we will sing the words. "Commit thou all thy ways And all that grieves thy heart To Him whose endless days Can strength and grace impart. "He gives to wind and wave The power to be still; For thee He'll surely save A place to work His will."' "When Wisi left us that night she was as cheerful as ever, but I could not help feeling that her happiest days were over. Then, too, I feared for Andreas, but he said nothing, although he has never been the same since. For several years he seemed to be far from well, but he did not give up work." "Poor fellow!" exclaimed Max; "and he never married?" "Why, no, Max!" said Mrs. Ritter, impatiently, "how could he when he is faithfulness itself?" "How was I to know that he possessed that virtue also, dear sister? He seems to have them all. How did Wisi get along? I should be sorry to hear that her marriage proved a failure." "I can plainly see that your sympathy is with her," replied Mrs. Ritter. "To you, Andreas's fate does not matter so much." "Not so, sister, but those pretty eyes of hers ought never to have been spoiled with tears. Isn't she happy?" "I fear not, Max. I have seen but little of her since her marriage. There was a coarseness in her husband's nature that repelled me, and he was always cross to her. Six children were born to them, and all but one, a frail little girl, have died. She is called Wiseli, and is about the size of our Miezchen, although she is three years older. She is the little girl whom Otto defended this evening. Her mother has suffered so much during all these years, that there is little hope of her ever being well again." "That is too bad," said Max; "we must try to do something for her. Don't you think that we might help her?" "I am afraid that it is too late. Wisi was much too delicate for all the work and worry that fell to her lot." "What is the husband doing?"