The returning friends flocked to his house, to convince themselves that the man of God still lived. They had left him bowed down and oppressed with care. They found him cured and, inspired with new strength, as with glowing eyes he welcomed them: "As dying, and, behold, we live." CHAPTER XIV. BEREAVED, AND COMFORTED. At a short distance from Wittenberg, near the Elster-gate, a well is shown to this day, called Luther's Well, it having been discovered and opened by Luther in the year 1520. The miner's son had a sure instinct for all minerals and treasures hidden in the earth. Near this well, among the trees, and within hearing of the rushing waters of the Elbe, Luther in the year 1526 built himself a summer-house, which Katharine's skillful hand beautified and furnished most conveniently. It was a pleasant spot and Mistress Luther was rewarded for her pains by frequent visits from her friends. In this peaceful retreat Luther loved to gather around him his friends, Melanchthon, Cruciger and Auerhahr, and with them work at the translation of the New Testament. Here the fourth chapter according to St. John, telling of Jacob's Well, was completed. It was a warm, sunny May-day in the year 1528. The Spring sunshine had caused the tender leaves to burst their buds; the garden flowers vied with the wild flowers in furnishing sweet food to the bees and butterflies; even the farmers' plough horses neighed with delight. In the summer house near the Elster-gate, sat Dr. Martin with his lute. The Spring-time had seized upon his heart, for when all nature is singing for joy, Dr. Martin cannot keep silence. Beside him sat Mistress Katharine, with her baby in her arms, lost in happy dreams,--now listening to the notes of the lute, now resting her eyes upon the lovely landscape. When the Doctor, changing from his free, fresh improvisation, played the air which he had composed especially for his little son Hans, Katharine hummed the tune, while Hans, who was playing on the floor with a wooden horse, looked up attentively, for he knew well that it was his song. The child was now two years old, a blooming, vigorous boy, and already sufficiently master of his mother tongue, to make his wants known. The wooden horse, a product of Wolfgang's lathe, was his favorite toy, his childish imagination investing it with all the qualities of the living animal. It was lodged in a stall, built in a corner of the room, was each night provided with hay and straw, and in times of sickness neither medicine nor care were wanting.