Nestling at the foot of a cloud-capped mountain, in one of the most romantic spots in Germany, there is a little rustic village. It is a very little village--and being somewhat out of the beaten track of continental tourists--a very quiet one. It is not a “show town,” and I doubt if it can be found in the guide books. But it is a very pleasant little place for all that. Just the place one would choose if tired of scrambling over mountains and wandering through “show” places, one simply desired to rest. Everything about the little village is slumbrous and restful. Even the ruddy-cheeked children move slowly around, and the very animals seem to spend their life in a perpetual doze. There was a party of travelers in the little village now, and the landlord of the one little inn was at his wits’ end to provide for them, for these were Americans, and wealthy. Oh, very wealthy, and altogether it was a piece of good fortune that seldom came to the sleepy-looking landlord. You could see one of these great people now seated in front of the little red-tiled inn, and really, as he sat there with a big pipe in his mouth and a cold-looking mug of beer on the little table beside him, he did not look to be such a _very_ great personage after all. It is only one year since we saw him last, and beyond a deeper tinge of bronze on his face, and a look of supreme contentment all over him, he has changed very little. There is the same kindly smile on his face, and altogether, Herr Doctor, as he is called in the little village, looks as if he were at peace with the world. He turns lazily in his chair as a ponderous traveling carriage dashes up to the little inn, and springs to his feet with an exclamation of surprise. He has seen a face at the carriage window, and he evidently recognizes it; for he drops his pipe as he springs to his feet, and hurries out into the little court where the carriage stands. It is Lettie’s face he sees, and Lettie, colder, prouder, and more beautiful than of yore, drops her mask of cold indifference as she welcomes him. Yes, it is Lettie, and beside her, looking many years younger than when we met him last, is her husband, and he grins contentedly as his eyes rest on his beautiful young wife; for, like Herr Doctor, old Pat is at peace with the world. There is very little time for conversation, for they do not leave the carriage at all; but there is time enough for old Pat to tell of Fanny’s elegant establishment in Chicago, where, as the rich “Mrs. Elwell,” she has got into “society” at last.