At Christmas the greater number of the "old gang" went on leave. For those who remained behind there was a tree in the large Room VII., with something on it for every one; a penknife, a cigarette holder, or a wooden pipe, together with a few cigars; but Listing, who could not even yet be got to wash himself properly, received a large piece of soap with his cigars. At the same time a big barrel of lager-beer was broached. But before the battery Christmas-tree most of the men had had a special rejoicing of their own. The orderly had had the precaution to take a small hand-cart with him to the post-office, and had brought it back full of boxes and packages. Then the men stood round the sergeant-major, and each one pricked up his ears to hear whether there was anything for him. Klitzing had moved aside, he had nothing to expect. Suddenly his name was called. There was a small box for him, and it was not very light either when he took it in his hand. He thought it must be a mistake, but there were his name and address sure enough: "Gunner Heinrich Klitzing, 6th Battery, 80th Regiment, Eastern Division, Field Artillery." He looked at the label, the sender was Friedrich August Vogt; and on the back was written, "To my boy's best friend, for Christmas!" The clerk went to Room IX. and showed the label to Vogt, who was already unpacking his parcel. Klitzing could say nothing; he could only press his friend's hand, while tears stood in his eyes. But Vogt shouted cheerfully: "I say! the old man has done finely! Let's see what else there is." And when they compared their gifts--sausages, Christmas fare, and warm woollen underclothing--it looked almost as though his father had given more presents to his friend than to himself. At the bottom he found a letter from the old man: "My Dear Boy,--Herewith are a few trifles for you for Christmas. I think I shall have done as you would wish by sending half of what I intended for you to your friend and comrade, Klitzing, of whom you are always writing to me. You know I was an orphan myself, and I can understand his feelings. I had my dear sister; but he has nobody. So a merry Christmas to you! and keep well and hearty. "Your loving father, "FRIEDRICH AUGUST VOGT." Frielinghausen also had a letter, which he read with streaming eyes and a glowing face. He held his mother's pardon in his hands, and the love which trembled in her words poured balm and healing on his heart, and raised his desponding spirits. He was another man after this Christmas Eve. Duties which before had been a burden to him, which he had, besides, despised, he now performed willingly and zealously. If now Wegstetten inquired about him, Corporal Wiegandt always answered, "He could not be doing better, sir."