"I shall miss the water," said Walpurga; "without the lake, life'll seem so dull and dry. I felt that, while I was in the city." Hansei did not answer. "At the summer palace there's a pond with swans swimming about in it," said she, but still received no answer. She looked around, and a feeling of anger arose within her. When she said anything at the palace, it was always listened to. In a sorrowful tone she added, "It would have been better if we'd moved in the spring; it would have been much easier to get used to things." "Maybe it would," replied Hansei, at last, "but I've got to hew wood in the winter. Walpurga, let's make life pleasant to each other, and not sad. I shall have enough on my shoulders, and can't have you and your palace thoughts besides." Walpurga quickly answered, "I'll throw this ring, which the Queen gave me, into the lake, to prove that I've stopped thinking of the palace." "There's no need of that. The ring's worth a nice sum, and besides that it's an honorable keepsake. You must do just as I do." "Yes; only remain strong and true." The grandmother suddenly stood up before them. Her features were illumined with a strange expression, and she said:-- "Children! Hold fast to the good fortune that you have. You've gone through fire and water together; for it was fire when you were surrounded by joy and love and every one greeted you with kindness--and you passed through the water, when the wickedness of others stung you to the soul. At that time the water was up to your neck, and yet you weren't drowned. Now you've got over it all. And when my last hour comes, don't weep for me; for through you I've enjoyed all the happiness a mother's heart can have in this world." She knelt down, scooped up some water with her hand, and sprinkled it over Hansei's and also over Walpurga's face. They rowed on in silence. The grandmother laid her head on a roll of bedding and closed her eyes. Her face wore a strange expression. After a while she opened her eyes again, and casting a glance full of happiness on her children, she said: "Sing and be merry. Sing the song that father and I so often sang together; that one verse, the good one." Hansei and Walpurga plied the oars while they sang:-- "Ah, blissful is the tender tie That binds me, love, to thee; And swiftly speed the hours by, When thou art near to me." They repeated the verse again, although at times the joyous shouting of the child and the neighing of the foal bade fair to interrupt it. * * * * * As they drew near the house, they could hear the neighing of the white foal. "That's a good beginning," cried Hansei.