The Little Cap, by Hon. Mrs. Dundas

IN the year 1552, Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Germany, the celebrated son of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, laid siege to the town of Metz, famous then as now for its fortifications, and for its cathedral, which is one of the finest in Europe. It had lately been taken possession of by the French, and the Emperor vainly endeavoured to regain it. It was at the time above-named defended by Francis Duke of Guise, one of the most illustrious warriors of France, who, by his military career, as well as his high personal advantages, added not a little to the lustre of the House of Lorraine. His defence of Metz was amongst his most distinguished military exploits.

Amongst the German troops—who, not less brave than those of Spain and Italy, far surpassed them in discipline and humanity—was serving, at the time our story commences, a soldier of the name of Gaspard Stettele, a native of Munderkingen, a town of Suabia, seated on the Danube. Gaspard was not only remarkable for his courage and the diligence with which he discharged his military duties, but also for his honesty and kindness of heart, which, together with other good qualities, had secured for him the approbation and esteem of his superiors, as well as the goodwill and respect of his fellow-soldiers. A sincere piety, somewhat rare amongst men of his calling, regulated his life and conversation. Gaspard never went into action without on his knees imploring protection from One whom he well knew could preserve him in every danger.

Before the war of which we are speaking, Gaspard had married a young village girl, Katherine Stiess, and the union had been a happy one for both. Katherine was industrious, frugal, and devoted to her husband; and by the economy and order with which she managed her little family, she had kept them free from want. This was not always easy, as her husband would not, like other soldiers, enrich himself by pillage, and would no more have robbed a fallen and helpless enemy than he would a countryman or a friend.

Then, as now, soldiers scrupled not to appropriate all that the chances of war threw in their way;—not so Gaspard. He, on the contrary, grieved at the rapacity and unfeeling cruelty with which his comrades too often despoiled those who could offer no resistance, and daily returned from the scene of strife with only the approbation of his own conscience, whilst many of his comrades were loaded with booty, but too frequently cruelly obtained.

If Katherine was sometimes tempted to regret that she was not as well off as those who were thus enriched, she quickly checked the feeling, and recollected with thankfulness that no act of cruelty or dishonesty could be laid to her husband's charge, and that their fare, however poor, was honestly obtained. Three children had been born to gladden the little home. The two eldest, in health and strength, were all their parents could desire; the third, too tender to stand the life its parents were obliged to lead, was early taken from them, and they had deeply sorrowed at its loss—the only event that had clouded their happiness during the eight years of their married life. At the same time, both Gaspard and his good wife knew too well from whom the trial came to murmur under it, and perhaps there were even moments when they might think with thankfulness that their darling was safe from the various trials and troubles from which they could not have shielded it, had it been spared to them.

It had been the custom of Gaspard and his wife to observe their respective birthdays as days of pleasure and rejoicing, and to offer such little tokens of affection as it was in their power to bestow. Gaspard especially, according to the custom of all foreign countries, had never omitted presenting his wife with some small gift, varying with the means he had at his command. Katherine's birthday, or rather fête-day, was now approaching, and Gaspard feared lest he should for the first time be obliged to forgo this pleasure. The soldiers had been three weeks without their pay, in consequence of which Gaspard and Katherine had found it difficult to provide for their daily wants, and had been forced to take what little they had saved by strict economy to enable them to get on. Gaspard felt sad, as the day drew near, to think he should be unable to offer his beloved Katherine his customary gift.

Meantime, he found that his regiment had received orders to join a part of the Spanish army, for the purpose of endeavouring to take by assault a post of some importance about two leagues from Metz, occupied by the French. As soon as Gaspard was informed of this, he hastened back to the hut occupied by his family. In those days the huts, or cabins, in which soldiers were obliged to live during a campaign were miserable enough. Four strong stakes or poles served to support a thin roofing of planks, which was roughly covered over with moss or straw, the sides being formed of branches of trees, interlaced with each other, and plastered over with clay, through which the rain and light equally penetrated. Gaspard's little dwelling in no respect differed from those of his comrades, save in the neatness and cleanliness of its interior.

In the centre of this temporary home was a cask, on which was laid a board that served as a table, and which, though rude and rough, was clean and decent; around were small beds of chaff and straw, with coarse woollen bedclothes. That of the good soldier was ornamented with a large bear-skin, bequeathed to him by his grandfather, who had killed a bear of unusual size in Hungary. Above these humble beds hung a large cross, which had been given to Gaspard's good and pious mother by the superior of a convent in Strasburg, and which her son held in great veneration. Near the cross hung the soldier's armour—his helmet, sword, and cuirass.

When Gaspard entered this humble dwelling, Katherine was busy preparing the evening meal. His two children ran eagerly to welcome his return;—Michael, the eldest, impatient to display a sword he had ingeniously cut out of a piece of wood, and the youngest, John, no less so to show a helmet he had made of gilt paper, and adorned with a few feathers he had picked up.

The father readily praised his children's work, and then, laying aside his arms, he seated himself, calling his wife to his side. "Katherine," said he, with ill-disguised emotion, "to-morrow by daybreak we march; there is to be an encounter with the French about two leagues from Metz."

The smiles with which Katherine had greeted her husband's return gave place to tears, and putting her hand in his, she exclaimed, "Oh! Gaspard, the day after to-morrow is my birthday; must I pass it without you?"

"Our General tells us it may not be more than a day's work," replied Gaspard; "so with God's blessing I may be with you, and may bring you yet a birthday present."

"Only return safe and well yourself," said poor Katherine; "and I shall want nothing else."

"God has protected us so far, dear wife," returned her husband; "let us put our trust in Him."

These words helped to restore Katherine's composure, and, wiping away her tears, she said more cheerfully—

"Now you must want your supper, Gaspard, as well as the children." So saying, she placed what she had prepared on the rude table, and enjoyed seeing her husband and little ones make a hearty meal. Soon after which the two boys knelt and said their evening prayer, and sang their little hymn of praise. They were soon asleep, equally unconscious of the hardships of the present, or the dangers of the future.

It was late ere their parents retired for the night. Gaspard was busy cleaning his arms and accoutrements, and Katherine worked by his side.

By an early hour the following day Gaspard was ready, and after a hasty breakfast he took a tender farewell of his wife and children, though he well knew they would follow him to where the troops were to assemble. Katherine could only look with dread at the military display before her; but the two little boys clapped their hands with delight, and eagerly watched their father, as he fell into his place in the regiment to which he belonged. The order to march was soon given, and the bands struck up an enlivening strain. Katherine witnessed their departure with a heavy heart, and when she could no longer see them, she returned, sad and sorrowful, to her now desolate home.

On joining the Spaniards, the Germans found they were under the orders of the Spanish General, Don Leva, who had taken the command of the combined force.

They were soon before the fortress, which was well protected by high and massive walls, deep moats, and strong and lofty towers. Judging from the outward appearance of the fort, it might be thought capable of holding out for at least a time against any attack. It was, however, not prepared for the one about to be made.

Having drawn up his troops in readiness for an assault, Don Leva despatched a summons to the French general to surrender. A disdainful answer was returned; the Spanish chief in consequence vowed no quarter should be granted to those who had thus defied him. He ordered an immediate attack, promising, the soldiers, in the event of victory, that all should be given up to them that the fort and castle contained.

The German detachment was ordered to form the column of attack; Gaspard was soon foremost amongst the combatants. His regiment performed prodigies of valour: they swam the moat, scaled the walls, and after pursuing the French garrison to the furthest limits of the fortress, they returned with the purpose of taking possession of the place thus evacuated. Don Leva arrested their triumphal return, and was guilty of an unpardonable act of injustice to the German soldiers. The Spaniards, unfairly claiming the honour of the day's success, laid claim to the booty resulting from it; their commander yielded it to them, wholly setting aside the joint right of the Germans to share the spoil. They had borne the first dangers of the assault, and had carried all before them; and whilst engaged in pursuing the enemy, the Spaniards entered the castle, laid hands on all they could find, and spent the time in plundering and destroying.

On the return of the Germans, they were ordered by Don Leva to guard the different approaches to the castle, as if to protect those who were so shamelessly pillaging it. They obeyed, but with mingled feelings of anger and indignation, not only at the injustice shown to them, but at the excesses and rapacity of the Spanish soldiers. Gaspard was amongst these, and saw, with vexation, many pass him loaded with spoil, some of which he would gladly have had to take to his wife and children.

The Spaniards were carrying on the work of plunder, whilst the Germans, fatigued and disappointed, were gloomily looking on, when suddenly all parties were startled by clouds of dense smoke arising from the castle within the fortress, quickly followed by flames, which soon burst forth, and rose high above the smoke. Whether from some carelessness on the part of the Spaniards, or from a premeditated act on that of the vanquished garrison, it was clear that the castle was on fire. The terrible element soon lit up the whole horizon. Don Leva, knowing the place to be of some importance as a place of refuge, at once ordered the Germans to endeavour to arrest the progress of the fire. With the spirit of discipline and fidelity for which they were remarkable, these brave soldiers, led by their own officers, rushed to obey the order. Their efforts were unavailing. The devastating element made rapid progress; they soon found it was hopeless to attempt to check its course; some fled from the burning place, others lingered, hoping they might snatch something from the conflagration, whilst some few advanced into the doomed building to see if there were any in it whom they might be able to rescue from a terrible death.

Smoke and flames met him as he advanced—still he pressed on. After passing through several apartments, which had apparently been lately stripped of all that once adorned them, he came to a smaller one, which had not yet been touched by the fire, nor by the rude hands of the plunderers, by whom it had probably been overlooked. It was, however, richly furnished.

Gaspard looked hastily around. What was his amazement on beholding, on a couch, a child sleeping soundly, unconscious of the danger which threatened it.

"May God, who has guided me here, enable me to save this little innocent!" exclaimed the good-hearted soldier. "Who can have been cruel enough to leave it?"

The infant appeared scarcely a year old. Its remarkable beauty struck Gaspard, even in that moment of danger. He raised it gently from the couch without awaking it, then hastily wrapping it in a large mantle, which had been thrown over it, he fastened it securely to his back as he would have done a knapsack; he then set to work to retrace his steps, anxious to escape ere surrounded by the devouring element, which, he was well aware, was gaining rapidly upon him. As he retraced his way dense smoke threatened to suffocate him; his knees shook under him, and more than once he was forced to stop to recover himself.

All around, he heard the crash of falling beams, succeeded by fresh bursts of flames, which threw a fearful glare on the surrounding objects. His situation was one of extreme peril. A short prayer for help burst from his lips, which was scarcely uttered ere, on turning suddenly round, he perceived a window opening on to a stone balcony. Gaspard rushed to it, and found it was no great height from the ground. Had he been alone, he would at once have leaped from it; as was, he proceeded more cautiously, and having his arms free, he was able to swing himself from the stone balustrade, and thus diminish the height he had to fall.

Great was his thankfulness on finding himself safe with his little charge, the more so that he now perceived that the fire was gaining rapidly on the part of the building from which he had just escaped. A few minutes more, and he might have been unable to gain the window from which he had just alighted. As he raised himself from the ground, the little infant uttered a faint cry, having been probably awakened by the fall. The good soldier hastened to disencumber it of its wrappings, so that it might breathe more freely. The little creature looked at its preserver, and smiled, seeming in no way alarmed at its new position. Gaspard having opened his flask of light wine, in order to moisten his own parched lips, ventured to give a few drops to the child, feeling sure it must have been sometime without nourishment. He then again carefully folded it in the mantle, and looked around to see how he could best find his way back to his comrades.

At this moment he heard the trumpet of recall, and the well-known and welcome sound guided him in which way to direct his steps. Gaspard hastened to obey the summons. On rejoining his brave companions in arms, he found it somewhat difficult to recognise them; they, like himself, were disfigured and blackened with smoke and dirt, their hair and beards singed and scorched. Gaspard was amongst the last of the stragglers, and his appearance was heartily welcomed, some fears having been entertained for his safety.

Presently a cry from the infant he had rescued attracted the notice and excited the curiosity of his fellow-soldiers. Gaspard quietly undid the bundle he carried, and displayed to the astonished gaze of those who stood around the beautiful child he had saved. A shout of laughter was the result, followed by such exclamations as—"Was that all you could find to bring away?"—"I would have had something better than that for my trouble."

There were others, however, who did silent justice to the courage and humanity of the good soldier, amongst whom was his captain, the young Baron Otto of Helfenstein. He approached the group, and listened with interest to Gaspard's short and simple account of his finding the child, whom, it was easy to perceive belonged to some one of high birth. Its clothes were of the finest texture and richly embroidered; whilst the fairness of its complexion and the beauty of its golden curls showed plainly that it had been carefully tended.

The young Baron summoned some of the French prisoners, in the hope that they might be able to give some information that might enable him to discover to whom the poor little infant belonged; but he could learn nothing respecting it.

"The little one must then remain with its preserver," said the Baron, addressing Gaspard, "till we can trace its parents; but you have already a wife and children. This will be another to provide for; you must let me help you and your good wife, if she is willing to take charge of this poor little one."

Gaspard thanked his captain with tears in his eyes; he felt more grateful for his approbation than for his promise of assistance, and with a light heart he resumed his precious charge.

The order to march was soon given; the wearied soldiers gladly obeyed, though somewhat dispirited and dissatisfied with the day's work. Gaspard, however, far from murmuring, was thankful for his preservation, as well as for that of the little being who, he now hoped, might, through the Baron's kindness, be a help rather than a burden to himself and his wife. He pleased himself by imagining the surprise with which Katherine would receive such a gift for her birthday. Knowing her tenderness of heart, he felt sure of a welcome for the little foundling, and that she would readily take the deserted one to her heart. The day was drawing to a close when the regiment reached its quarters; orders for the morrow having been issued, the soldiers were at liberty to return each to his own hut.

CHAPTER II.

THE BIRTHDAY GIFT.

GASPARD was hastening away with the rest, when recalled by his captain, who, placing three pieces of gold in his hand, said as he did so,—

"My friend, take these to your good wife, with the new charge you are taking to her, and tell her you shall never want a friend whilst I live."

"May God bless you, my noble captain!" exclaimed Gaspard, now more impatient than ever to reach his home. He lost no time in repairing thither, and entered it with a light heart.

Katherine flew to meet him. "Gaspard!" she cried, in a terrified tone, "Gaspard, what has happened? You are all black,—your hair and clothes burnt;—are you hurt?—tell me, tell me quick?"

"It is nothing, dear wife; I am not hurt, but I have had to defend myself, not only against the enemy, but a terrible fire, by which at one time I was almost surrounded, and which scorched my face and hands, as you see, and blackened me from head to foot; but I brought away a birthday present for you, Katherine, which I hope may bring a blessing with it." So saying, he unfolded the mantle, and displayed to his wife's astonished eyes the lovely infant he had so wonderfully and humanely rescued.

"Dear husband," she exclaimed, "whose is it, and where did you find it?" Then taking it in her arms, she tenderly kissed it, and smoothed its fair, glossy curls. Gaspard shortly related all that had occurred— the danger he had been in, in the midst of the burning castle—the finding the child—the merciful escape he had had—and, finally, the kind promise made by the young Baron Otto de Helfenstein.

"God be praised!" said Katherine, when her husband ceased speaking, "for having thus preserved you and this little one from such fearful peril."

She then hastened to attend to the poor little infant who had been so cruelly abandoned. She undid its wrappings, washed the smoke and dust from its face and hands, and then prepared some food for it of bread and goat's milk. Whilst thus engaged, her two boys rushed into the hut with shouts of joy, having heard of their father's return— Michael, who was first, eagerly asking if he had brought them anything. Gaspard, smiling, pointed to the child on his mother's lap. "John, John!" cried the boy, "father has brought back our little brother!"

"Yes, yes," said he, "our little Francis is come back; the good God has given him to us again. Oh, what pretty blue eyes and curling hair!"

The two boys kissed the child, thus offering to it the love they had for their little brother. Poor Katherine's tears fell fast as the loss of her little one was thus recalled to her.

Gaspard suppressed the emotion he himself felt at this little scene, and, seating himself by his wife, he said,—

"Yes, my boys, this little one shall be a brother to you, and your good mother will adopt it in the place of the dear one we lost."

Katherine wiped away her tears, and laying her now charge on one of their rude beds, with the two boys to watch it, she hastened to prepare the meal she was sure her husband much needed. The evening passed happily away. The little stranger slept as soundly on Katherine's humble bed as on the rich couch on which Gaspard had found it. John and Michael soon followed its example, and then Katherine had leisure to seat herself by her husband's side, and talk over the events of the day.

"How I pity that poor little infant's parents," said she. "Their sorrow must be greater than ours when we lost our little Francis. We knew he was safe with God, whilst they cannot know what has become of their little one. I wonder if any marks on its clothes could lead to any trace of who are its parents; but though its linen is of the finest sort, I can see no mark. But look, Gaspard," she suddenly added, "at this cap; is it not an uncommon one?"

It was, in truth, remarkable, not only for the fine Brussels lace of which it was made, but more so from there being a star embroidered in silver on the right side. "Look at this star," continued Katherine; "I wonder what it means."

"It looks as if the child is of noble birth," said her husband. "I will take this little cap to-morrow to the Baron; by means of it he may be able to help us in trying to discover to whom this poor little one belongs."

"We must keep it carefully," replied Katherine; "some day or other it may lead to some discovery."

The husband and wife were long in talking over the past and the future, till fatigue at last compelled them to seek that rest which Gaspard especially much needed. The exciting events of the day, however, kept the weary soldier for a time from sleeping, but at last he slept soundly.

It was late the following morning ere he awoke. When he did so, Katherine had already been up some time, busily occupied in her household work. It was the birthday so much thought of!

When Gaspard joined his wife outside their little dwelling, he took both her hands in his, saying as he did so,—"Dear wife, we must thank God that we are permitted to spend this day together, and ask Him to continue to protect us and our three children. Look," he continued, showing her the pieces of gold he had received from his captain. "I kept them till to-day, that I might be able to give you some little help, as well as pleasure, on your birthday."

He then told her that the Baron had given him this money, as a pledge of what he would do for the little foundling which had been so singularly thrown on their hands.

"God is indeed good," said the happy Katherine, her heart overflowing with joy and thankfulness; "it was but yesterday that I changed our last piece of money to procure a dinner for to-day. I felt sad to think we had nothing left; and now God has provided for us."

"Well, dear wife, you may now prepare a good dinner. I shall be back in time for it, but I must hasten away now, as I am on guard this morning. Help me to get my things in order, for they are sadly the worse for yesterday's rough work. It is well that I am not the worse myself," he added, with a smile, as he affectionately kissed his good wife.

Katherine quickly left what she was doing to help her husband, and whilst so engaged, she asked him by what name they should call their adopted child.

"Shall we call it 'Francis,' after our little one," said he, "and try to look upon it as indeed our own?"

The good woman, with tears in her eyes, readily assented; and taking the infant in her arms, she tenderly kissed it, saying as she did so,—"Poor little one! I will love you for my little Francis' sake."

Gaspard was soon ready, and hastened away to his post, desiring his two boys to help their mother in his absence. The day so happily begun did not pass without yet further cause for rejoicing. The good soldier, on his return, surprised Katherine with the intelligence that he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and that his captain had, before the whole regiment, expressed approbation of his conduct during the previous day, not only when engaged in the assault, but for the forbearance and humanity he had displayed afterwards, and which redounded no less to his credit than his courage in action. He ended by holding up his example as one deserving to be followed by his fellow-soldiers. Katherine rejoiced almost more over this tribute to her husband's worth than she did at the step he had gained.

The men had also received their arrears of pay, so that the good couple now felt they had wherewithal to provide for the future for some time to come. They retired to rest that night with hearts filled with gratitude for the mercies they had received. In this world, however, unalloyed happiness is the lot of none. The following day Gaspard returned from his duty sad and cast down, the cause of which was the sudden disappearance of his young captain, Otto de Helfenstein. It was not known whether he had been killed by some skirmishing party of the enemy's, or made prisoner, all search for him having, as yet, proved fruitless.

The whole regiment deplored the event, as he was deservedly beloved by the men under his command. Gaspard not only felt deeply the loss of his good and kind captain, but he also felt that in him their little foundling would lose a good benefactor. The child would now be thrown wholly on their care. The poor man looked anxiously at his wife, fearing she might regret this additional burden. She did not leave him long in doubt. "Gaspard," said she, "this child has been given to us;— we will look upon it as our own;—we will trust to God to provide for it as well as for us. The good Baron may yet be alive; but if not, we will do our best. Yes," she added, clasping the little one in her arms, "you shall be in the place of my little Francis."

"Dear wife!" exclaimed Gaspard, interrupting her, "I ought not to have doubted you; but I felt half-afraid I had added to your cares and troubles by bringing this poor little one to you."

"No, no," cried Katherine, "we must never repent of doing a good action;—our adopted child may yet bring us a blessing."

Time passed on, Gaspard and Katherine faithfully fulfilling the duties of the humble position in which God had placed them, and bringing up their children to follow their example. In the midst of the disasters and disturbances of war, they lived in peace and happiness in their little home.

The good soldier had vainly endeavoured to trace the parents of the little Francis, and had at last given up the search.

Nothing had been heard of the young Baron Otto de Helfenstein. The siege of Metz still continued, the Emperor, Charles V., being determined to regain it at any price. It was, however, useless. The town was strongly fortified, and well garrisoned, and was bravely defended by the Duke of Guise. The approach of winter, and the increasing scarcity of provisions, together with sickness and mortality amongst the troops, at last induced the Emperor to abandon the enterprise; and accordingly the army was withdrawn in January, 1553.

Gaspard was sent with his regiment to Anvers, and from thence to the beautiful town of Strasburg. The good soldier and his family stood greatly in need of rest and quiet; they bail suffered much from the hardships and privations of a campaign, though they had been spared all serious illness.

Gaspard had served eighteen years, and had fought in many battles in Germany, Italy, and Hungary: he now longed for repose. Katherine was still more anxious than her husband for a quiet home; she urged him to leave the army, and to adopt some other means of obtaining a livelihood.

They often pictured to themselves the happiness of being able to settle in their beloved Suabia, where so many happy years had been passed, and which seemed to them as a haven of rest; but, alas! with all their care, they had been unable to save enough to purchase even the smallest piece of land, or the poorest cottage, so that Gaspard still remained undecided as to the future.

It was, however, provided for by One who overrules every event, and orders all for the best.

Gaspard received the unlooked-for intelligence of a small property being left him, by a distant, relation of his wife's, sufficient, from what he heard, to maintain his family in honest comfort.

Great was the joy and thankfulness of the good soldier and his wife at being thus provided for. Gaspard applied immediately for his discharge, which was readily granted; he retired from the army, in which he had served so many years, with many tokens of approbation from those who had witnessed, not only his courage in action, but his uniform steadiness and good conduct.

Gaspard was not long in making the necessary preparations for the journey. He bought a tilted cart, and horse, to convey the little party, and such articles of furniture as they were unwilling to part with, the arms he had so long borne with honour, his favourite bear-skin, and the cross before which they had so often knelt in prayer.

On a beautiful morning in the month of May, Gaspard, Katherine, and their three children quitted Strasburg—Katherine seated in the cart, with Francis on her lap, Michael and John by her side, whilst Gaspard drove.

The weather continued fine, and the travellers reached Suabia without an accident of any kind. All was new to the two boys, and they were delighted with the many towns and villages through which they passed.

The small property left to Gaspard was near Feldsberg, seated on the river Joya. The castle and large domain around was the property of one of those rich and powerful nobles who, in those days, exercised almost sovereign sway, not only over those actually dependent on them, but on all who were unable to dispute their will, or resist their tyranny.

The Count de Sternfelden, the rich possessor of the castle and domain of Feldsberg, seldom visited it, having other and apparently more attractive places of residence.

The management, therefore, of this vast estate was entrusted to a steward; who had made himself feared, as well as hated, by his pride, injustice, and avarice, and the harshness with which he treated all over whom he had any power.

Gaspard troubled himself little about the character given him by the neighbours of the man under whom he was to hold his little property. He had served for the last six years under one of the strictest colonels in the army, and had never incurred his displeasure. He believed, therefore, that by honestly paying the taxes, and conducting himself as a good vassal of the lord of the domain, he would have nothing to fear.

The little farm left to Gaspard was pleasantly situated at a short distance from the village of Feldsberg; the house was small but comfortable, surrounded by a garden well stocked with fruit-trees. Near the house, or rather cottage, ran a clear stream, which bounded some meadows, also belonging to Gaspard.

Full of hope and thankfulness, the good soldier and his family took possession of their new home. With the little money Gaspard had saved, a cow was bought; the horse was likely to be too useful to be parted with.

Michael and John were old enough to help their father in cultivating the land and garden, whilst Katherine undertook the care of the poultry-yard, an occupation in which the little Francis was her constant companion. A blessing seemed to attend their labours, so that the good couple hoped, after a time, to be able to give their boys some education, contenting themselves for the present with such as they were themselves able to give in their hours of leisure.

Four years passed happily away, and in that time Gaspard and his family had gained the respect and goodwill of their neighbours, whom they were ever ready to help in any way in their power.

The steward had never troubled them, though the overbearing insolence of his manner towards all who were in any way dependent on him had occasionally tried Gaspard's patience and forbearance.

CHAPTER III.

ADVERSITY.

DAYS of trial were now approaching. A bad season caused the produce of the land and garden to fail. Poor Gaspard was obliged to sell the cow to pay the taxes. This sacrifice was made without a murmur. He and his wife knew from whom the trial came, and patiently submitted, still putting their trust in One who had never yet forsaken them. This trouble was followed by another. Gaspard fell ill, and was unable to work. Katherine's time was taken up in attendance on her husband, so that the poultry-yard was neglected, and want and distress threatened to take the place of the ease and comfort in which the little family had hitherto lived.

Poor Katherine was forced to incur debts to procure what was necessary for her husband. The winter season was approaching, and there appeared to be but little prospect of their being able to pay the taxes, which they knew would be rigorously exacted.

Gaspard and his wife endeavoured to cheer and encourage each other; but at times their hearts ached, and their spirits sank at the prospect before them.

It was now the month of October, and for the first time for many many months Gaspard was able to go in the little tilted cart to the neighbouring town for some things of which his family stood in need. Michael and John accompanied their father, the little Francis remaining alone with Katherine, who devoted the day to washing and repairing such things as she had not had leisure to attend to during her husband's illness. On opening a press to take out some articles of linen which had lain by some time, Francis' little cap caught her eye; it had become somewhat discoloured by, lying by, though the star retained its lustre. She took it out and placed it apart on the table, with the intention of getting rid first of such articles as would require more time and care.

Whilst thus busily occupied, Katherine was startled by a loud clap of thunder, which was quickly followed by another, and then the rain came down in torrents, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning.

Poor Katherine trembled for her husband and children, and was anxiously watching for any sign of the storm abating, when the door of the cottage was hastily opened, and a lady richly dressed entered. Katherine perceived at once that it was the wife of the dreaded steward.

"Willingly, madam," replied Katherine; "I wish I had been better prepared to receive you." She then hastened to offer her best chair to her visitor, and carefully wiped the wet from her dress and mantle.

"Is that beautiful child yours?" she inquired; "he is not a bit like you. But what have you there?" she added, addressing the boy, who was playing with the little cap, his attention having been caught by the star. Katherine desired the child to go and show it to the lady.

"The lace is beautiful," she observed; "where did you get it, and what this silver star mean?"

Katherine was by no means pleased at being thus rudely questioned, nor was she inclined to satisfy her visitor's curiosity. She therefore replied shortly that it had come into her husband's possession during the siege of Metz, and that he had given it to her.

"Well," said the lady, "it can be of no use to you; I should like it for my youngest child. I will give you any price you like to ask for it."

"Madam," replied Katherine, "we value this little cap, and cannot part with it; indeed, we ought not to do so."

"My good woman," interrupted the lady angrily, "this cap can be of no use to you,—I desire to have it; you will do well to consider before you refuse me."

She was well aware of the troubles which had lately come upon Gaspard and his family, and believed that they would in consequence be afraid of offending her.

Poor Katherine was now much distressed; she knew full well the power the steward possessed of injuring them, and yet she was firm in her determination of not parting with the cap.

"Madam," said she, clasping her hands, as if in entreaty, "I will do anything else to oblige you; but I cannot part with that cap;—pardon me for refusing?"

The lady rose angrily, and throwing the cap on the ground, she said,—"You shall pay dear for this insolence;" and without giving Katherine time to reply, indignantly left the cottage, in spite of the rain which still fell heavily.

Katherine sank on a seat, and covering her face with her hands wept bitterly. She knew she had acted rightly, but naturally feared the consequences. If only her husband had been at home, she would have felt less cast down. Poor little Francis clung to her, endeavouring by his childish caresses to comfort her, though unable to comprehend the cause of her grief. He picked up the little cap and laid it on her lap, and then laid his own fair head upon it. Katherine placed her hand fondly on the bright curls, though her tears still fell fast.

It was not long before Gaspard and his two boys returned; they had luckily obtained shelter during the storm.

On learning the cause of his wife's distress, the poor man, though equally fearing the consequences which might result from what had occurred, at once re-assured her by saying,—

"Dear wife, whatever may happen, you have done right; we must keep that cap. It alone can ever lead to any discovery of the parents of our little Francis. We should do wrong to part with it."

Gaspard knew well they had little to hope from the steward's clemency; still he would not seek to please him or his wife at the risk of injuring their adopted child.

Time passed on, but a few days remained in which to make up the amount of the taxes, and Gaspard had not a third of the sum required, he knew not how to obtain it.

Meanwhile the steward's wife exerted all her influence to exasperate her husband against Gaspard, relating what had occurred when she was driven to take shelter in his cottage, and falsely accusing Katherine of insolence and rudeness. She wickedly resolved to wreak her vengeance on the unhappy family, and to obtain by force what she could not possess herself of in any justifiable way.

She succeeded but too well,—her husband, ever ready to exercise his arbitrary power, summoned Gaspard to pay the taxes due, threatening at the same time to seize his goods if he did not pay at the given time.

The day before the one appointed arrived, and at the last moment poor Gaspard set out to endeavour to borrow even a part of the sum required from a farmer with whom he had had some dealings. He went with a heavy heart, and with but faint hopes of success; still he would not leave a chance untried.

Had he met with any one likely to help him, or had he fallen ill whilst seeking for assistance?

The night was passed in too great anxiety for the poor woman to be able to sleep, and she anxiously watched for the return of day.

Alas! it only brought fresh trouble to the once happy home! The steward himself appeared, peremptorily demanded the money due to his lord, overwhelmed the terrified Katherine with reproaches for her conduct to his wife, and refused in consequence to grant any delay, or even to await Gaspard's return.

He failed not to carry out his cruel purpose. He had scarcely left the cottage ere a bailiff and his men entered it;—they were plainly at hand ready to do the steward's bidding. These men at once laid a distress upon all the house contained, in the name of the Count de Sternfelden. The unhappy Katherine was too much frightened and overcome by this barbarous violence to offer the slightest resistance. She saw herself and family suddenly and unjustly despoiled of all that had been acquired by years of labour and economy.

Pale and trembling, she leant against the wall, watching the road by which Gaspard would return with Michael and John, who had accompanied him. Little Francis clung to her, asking why their beds, tables, and even clothes were being taken away. The poor little fellow cried bitterly when he saw his own little cap seized upon with the rest. The little cap, which had been so carefully treasured, in the fond hope that it might some day benefit their adopted child, if not themselves, seemed to be one cause of the heavy calamity which had now come upon them.

In the midst of this sad scene Gaspard and his two boys entered their hitherto quiet home.

The poor man had been unable to obtain any assistance, but returned with the hope that he might, at least, be granted a little longer time in which to raise the sum required. Great, therefore, was his dismay and surprise at finding his home half-stripped of its contents, and Katherine and the little Francis weeping bitterly.

The sight of her husband seemed to arouse Katherine from the state of terror and despair in which he found her. Leaning on his arm for support, she related to him all that had occurred during his absence.

"Katherine," he exclaimed, whilst tears started from his eyes, "such wickedness cannot go unpunished. I will seek the Count, were it even to the end of the world, and demand justice I will denounce the man who so cruelly oppresses all over whom he has any power."

"Oh, Gaspard," said she, "what will become of us, without a home, without bread, almost without clothes, winter approaching, and no one to befriend us?"

"Dear wife," said he, putting his arm fondly around her, "take courage; we must not despair. Amidst the dangers and horrors of war, God has always protected us. He will do so still. He will not forsake those who trust in Him."

The unhappy couple then seated themselves on one of the few seats left them, to consider what they could do to alleviate their present destitute condition, and to provide for the future; they had never before found themselves without a home, or the means of subsistence.

Gaspard was firmly resolved to seek the Count, and proposed that his eldest boy should accompany him, whilst Katherine, with the two other boys, might endeavour to obtain a temporary shelter with a sister of his, who, he believed, was settled at Ponnering, a town at no great distance from Feldsberg. Whilst considering this project, some one knocked at the door of the now desolate dwelling. On opening it, Dame Christine, a good and kind neighbour, for whom Katherine had done many kind services, entered.

"God of mercy!" she cried, as she cast a look of dismay around the half-dismantled room; "It is then true, and that bad man has done this cruel deed."

"Yes, good neighbour," said Gaspard, "it is indeed true; he has deprived us of everything,—we cannot remain here."

He then explained to Christine his project of seeking the Count, to inform him of the steward's harsh conduct towards himself, as well as the oppression complained of by all on the estate.

Dame Christine listened with much interest, and warmly approved of Gaspard's intention, saying it was time the Count should be made aware of the frequent acts of oppression and injustice committed in his name.

The good woman then insisted on Gaspard and his family taking shelter in her cottage, cordially offering to share all she had with them. She was sure they required, not only food, but rest, and would take no denial.

Katherine clasped the kind woman's hands to express her gratitude, whilst Gaspard said, with tears in his eyes—

"You see we are not forsaken; go with our good neighbour. I will follow you quickly, but I will see the steward first."

Katherine would have dissuaded her husband from this; but he was firm in his purpose, and at once started for the castle.

On arriving there, he was shown into the presence of the steward; he was sitting in an apartment as richly furnished as if it had been occupied by the Count himself.

"I come to demand justice," said Gaspard sternly; "you are placed here to protect the noble Count's rights and property, not to commit acts of cruel injustice. You have seized my goods, my land, and dwelling. They are worth ten times the sum I owe. Neither the tears nor the prayers of my wife moved you to show us any mercy. You have deprived us of food, clothes, and shelter. All this you have done to show your power, and to gratify your wife's desire for revenge. I now tell you that I go to seek the Count, your lord as well as mine. If necessary, I will follow him from place to place, till I can tell him not only of your treatment of me, but of many others, who have been hardly dealt with."

The steward had listened in mute astonishment; no one had ever so addressed and threatened him before. He was half inclined to summon an attendant, and to desire that Gaspard should be recalled. His pride, however, forbade that; he would not condescend to dispute with one who had so braved and outraged him. At the same time, he dreaded lest Gaspard should put his threat into execution, and make his conduct known to the Count. For some time he paced the room, uncertain how to act, but at last quieted his fears with the belief that Gaspard would not carry out his purpose. "And if he does," he exclaimed aloud, "I need not fear; he will not be believed. My wife's sister, who was one of the Countess's women, will be there to deny any tale against me."

Meanwhile poor Gaspard rejoined his wife and children at the good Christine's, who had done what she could for the comfort of those whom she had so hospitably sheltered.

After the trying events of the day, all were glad to retire early to rest. Gaspard and Katherine decided, ere they did so, on setting out the next day, so as not to trespass longer than necessary on their good neighbour's kindness.

CHAPTER IV.

GASPARD AND HIS FAMILY LEAVE THEIR HOME.

THE following morning they were up by daybreak, in order to prepare for their sad journey. Gaspard fortunately recollected that one thing which might now be of essential service to them had either been overlooked, or not considered of sufficient value to have been taken; this was a donkey which his boys used for such small jobs as they were able to do about the place; and a day seldom passed without Pedro, as they called it, having his full share of labour, and by the boys Pedro was as much prized as anything they possessed. Great was their joy when their father said he would gladly take it with them; he knew it would spare much fatigue to his wife and boys.

It will easily be believed that it cost our little party many a pang to leave their home, and to part with all they cared for. The cross alone remained to them, and this Gaspard committed to the care of the good Christine, with the hope that he might one day be able to reclaim it.

For the last time he and his little family knelt before it, and implored from God the help and protection they so much needed, as well as strength to enable them to submit with resignation to whatever might be appointed for them.

In some measure cheered and comforted by this act of devotion, the poor soldier, accompanied by his family, set out on their sorrowful pilgrimage, well provided by their kind hostess with such provisions as she was able to spare, as well as with a small sum of money, which Gaspard accepted in the hope of being able some day to repay it. He could not but believe that his little property would be restored to him.

They now found themselves wandering they scarce knew whither. Very different was this journey to the last. They were then going joyfully to take possession of a home unexpectedly given to them; they were now turned adrift from that same home, and knew not whether they should ever behold it again.

Gaspard knew that the Count de Sternfelden had two or three other estates, and that he resided sometimes at one, and sometimes at another. He learnt that he had lately been residing at his castle of Sternfelden, near Mayence, and it was there that Gaspard hoped to find him.

Gaspard's first object was to reach the town of Ponnering, about four days' journey from Feldsberg, and where he believed he had a sister living, but of whom he had heard nothing for some years, save that, during the time he was actively engaged with the army, she had married and settled in Ponnering. He was ignorant of her present name, as no letter from her had ever reached him, though he had accidentally learnt that she had married a cabinet-maker, and was in good circumstances; he hoped, therefore, that by personal inquiries he might be able to make her out, feeling sure that, could he do so, he would be readily welcomed, believing that neither time nor silence would in any way have diminished the affection that once subsisted between them.

To Ponnering, therefore, the little party directed their steps. The hope of finding a friend there cheered them on their way, and helped to lighten the fears and anxieties which Gaspard and his wife could not but feel at the undertaking before them. Had our brave soldier been alone, he would have feared nothing; he only dreaded fatigue and hardship for the dear ones who were accompanying him; he therefore clung to the hope that, if he could but discover his sister, they might obtain shelter under her roof, whilst he pursued his way for the purpose of seeing the Count, and putting before him his sad case, and the cruel injustice with which he had been treated, and which he well knew the Count would never otherwise be informed of.

The poor travellers, on first starting, trusted to the well-known hospitality of their countrymen, and neither food nor shelter were ever denied them; such kind help, in some measure, lightened the fatigue and hardship of their weary journey.

On reaching the small town of Ponnering, Gaspard resolved without delay to seek his sister; but not caring to take his wife and children with hire, or to subject them to wandering about the streets of a strange town, he entered a barn in a field adjoining the road, and ventured to leave them in it whilst he went to see if he could obtain tidings of his sister—hoping, if he did so, soon to fetch them to a temporary home. With some trouble, and no little difficulty, Gaspard obtained the information he wanted, and proceeded at once to where he trusted to find a sister, from whom, by circumstances, he had been long parted. What, then, was his consternation on finding that she had been left a widow, and had lately died, and that, having had no children, the property and business had gone to her husband's brother!

On learning this sad news, poor Gaspard's heart sank within him. He felt not for himself, but for his wife and children, the eldest barely twelve years old. Winter had now set in, snow was already whitening the ground, and he knew not where or how to provide a shelter for them. He returned with a heavy heart to Katherine. The poor woman bore the intelligence better than he expected; she had dreaded being separated from her husband, and, but for her children, would never have consented to being so. There seemed now no alternative; and in reply to her husband's inquiry as to what was to be done, she said, firmly and resolutely—"Dear Gaspard, I will go with you; we will not be separated; we have shared every danger, we will share this one."

With tears the poor man thanked her for this fresh proof of love and devotion; he had much disliked parting from her and his boys; he felt that with them, and for their sakes, he could brave anything, and willingly encounter any hardship.

The day was now too near its close for the poor travellers to think of resuming their journey. Gaspard therefore sought the owner of the barn, to ask leave to occupy it for the night; this was readily granted, and the weary ones thankfully accepted the rude shelter. All was, however, clean; heaps of straw and piles of sacks half-filled the barn; and of these they made use; and found they made no bad beds. Poor Pedro was safely tethered outside. After a meal of such provisions as they had, with the addition of some milk kindly given them by the farmer's wife, they sought the repose so much needed, and soon slept as soundly as they would have done on softer couches.

The next day, however, brought a fresh trouble; John was too unwell to admit of the journey being resumed. The poor little fellow could scarcely raise his head from the rude couch on which he lay. In this unlooked-for difficulty, Gaspard again sought the farmer, who not only gave ready permission for them to remain where they were, saying he had no present use for the barn, but promised to send such little assistance as they might require. His good wife was readily interested in the little party, and felt for their distress; so sure it is that help, in some shape or other, comes, when most needed, from One who never wholly forsakes those who are His.

Gaspard gratefully endeavoured to repay the good farmer's kindness by doing such work as he was capable of, and he and Michael were daily helping at the farm, whilst Katherine tended the sick child and the little Francis.

A few days rest and care sufficed to restore the boy, and with grateful and heartfelt thanks the poor soldier and his family prepared to leave the kind friends and that shelter which had been so readily afforded them; and, though pressed to remain, they dared not delay, as the season was getting daily more inclement, and they were, therefore, anxious to press on ere it became more severe.

The following day Gaspard and his family resumed their toilsome journey. Snow now covered the mountains, and already lay deep in the valleys. The sky was overcast, and a keen wind blew, against which the clothing of the poor travellers but ill protected them. They were sometimes unable to obtain shelter at night, save what a miserable barn or shed afforded them.

Added to these hardships, it was not always that they could get sufficient food; and the effects of hunger, cold, and fatigue were now being severely felt, especially by poor Katherine, whose strength was daily diminishing, and which her husband noticed with no little anxiety, the more so that the poor donkey had fallen lame, and was, therefore, but of little use to them; and this materially retarded their progress.

Being now in a part of the country but thinly inhabited, they could no longer meet with the hospitality which had lightened the trials of the first part of their journey.

The evening of the ninth day, when the snow was falling fast around them, and the hearts of the poor wanderers sank within them at the prospect of passing the night without food or shelter, a peasant overtook them as he was going to call in his goats from the hills. Too thankful were they to accept the good man's ready offer of shelter for the night in his humble cottage.

Help was thus once again sent at their utmost need, and fervently did they return thanks for it ere they retired to rest that night. To poor Katherine it was most welcome. Their spirits were still further revived by learning from their kind host, who had not only afforded them shelter, but such food as he was able to supply, that they were only two leagues from Sternfelden, and that the Count was at his castle there.

There was still a weary walk for the exhausted party, as they resolved to leave Pedro with the good peasant. He was too lame to be of any further use to them, and it would have been cruel to use the poor beast further. They were, therefore, glad to leave it in good hands. The peasant promised to take every care of it, which in some degree reconciled the boys to the loss of their favourite.

Cheered and encouraged by the prospect of reaching Sternfelden, they started early the following day. They were told they had a valley and mountain between them and their journey's end, but they did not now despair of reaching it.

The fatigue, however, seemed almost beyond poor Katherine's strength, and ere they had reached the summit of the mountain, by the rugged path which led over it, she sank exhausted on the ground.

"Gaspard," she said, "I can go no further. Leave me, and go on with the children."

"My poor wife!" said he, whilst tears ran down his pale, wan face, "we are near our journeys end. Rest for a while; we will then try to go on. Oh, surely our troubles will soon end!"

Katherine seemed unable to reply, but leant against her husband, who had seated himself by her, as if to support her; whilst poor little Francis put his cold hands round her neck, and kissed away the tears which now fell fast, saying as he did so, "Do not cry, dear, good mother; we shall soon get home. God will lead us there."

"Yes, yes, dear child," exclaimed Gaspard, raising his eyes to heaven, "you are right. It is six years this very day since I saved you from death. To-morrow is your poor mother's birthday. Oh let us still hope that God will be merciful to us now, as He was then."

He had scarcely uttered these words when the distant sound of church bells struck on the ears of the little party.

"Listen, listen, father!" exclaimed the boys, almost with one voice. "They sound like the bells at Feldsberg, only louder and prettier."

"They are doubtless the bells of Sternfelden church," replied their father, with joy. "Take my arm, dear wife; you can lean on Michael too. We will go to the church, and pray to God to help us, and to incline the Count's heart towards us."

They rested yet awhile, listening to the welcome sound of the bells; and after partaking of the little supply of food given them by the good peasant, Katherine was once more able to proceed, and, taking her husband's arm, soon reached the summit of the mountain, from whence a glorious prospect met their gaze. A rude cross marked the summit. Sternfelden, with its beautiful church, lay at no great distance from them, and near it the princely castle of the Count.

At this welcome sight our little party fell on their knees, and offered their thanks to God for having brought them through so many perils and trials to their journey's end. They knelt, regardless of the snow, their eyes raised to heaven, and their sad, wan faces once more lit up with hope.

CHAPTER V.

THE CHRISTENING.

IT was with no common feelings of thankfulness that our little party entered the church of Sternfelden. It was to them as a haven of rest, and they felt more immediately under the protection of the Most High.

So long homeless, they were now in that home from which none could cast them out. So long houseless, they had now entered that house, the doors of which are open to all.

The light, the warmth, the pealing music, all seemed to cheer the weary ones; even the marble pavement felt warm to their feet, benumbed as they were by the snowy paths they had so lately trodden.

They were presently aroused by the entrance of a woman bearing an infant enveloped in a white and flowing mantle, with which she approached the baptismal font, where a priest awaited her.

A lady, evidently of high rank, was already there; she was richly dressed in a robe of black velvet, bordered with ermine, whilst her fine hair, over which a long veil was thrown, was braided with jewels. Two attendants stood behind. The lady was apparently going to stand sponsor for the infant about to be baptised. Gaspard and Katherine watched the ceremony at a respectful distance, but the three boys drew nearer, partly to gaze at the lady, whose appearance and beauty were well calculated to attract their attention, and partly to look at a ceremony they had never before witnessed.

When the priest was ready to receive the infant, the nurse withdrew the mantle in which it had been carefully wrapped to protect it from the severe cold. Had Gaspard and Katherine been nearer, neither the sacred edifice in which they stood, nor the holy service which was going on, would scarce have prevented an exclamation at the sight of the little cap with the silver star which the infant wore!

None, however, seemed to notice it, unless it was that that caused the deadly paleness of the lady, as she raised her eyes to answer for the child.

On the conclusion of the ceremony, the nurse presented the infant to the Countess. It was the Countess de Sternfelden herself who had stood for it, to receive her blessing.

To the astonishment of all present, she exclaimed, in a voice trembling with emotion, "For the love of heaven, tell me where this cap came from?"

The priest alone ventured to address the Countess, asking the cause of her agitation.

"Father," she said, as she laid her hand on the cap the infant wore, "this cap belonged to the child we lost; with my own hands I embroidered the silver star, the badge of our house. O God!" she cried, sinking on her knees, "may it lead to the discovery of our lost darling."

The priest gently raised the Countess, looking around as he did so for some one who could give any information respecting the mysterious cap.

The little Francis had now advanced close to the party around the baptismal font, eager with childish curiosity to see the infant just baptised.

He at once recognised the little cap he had been accustomed to look upon with peculiar veneration. His joy at again seeing it overcame his timidity. He exclaimed with delight—

All eyes were now turned on our little Francis. The priest approached him, and taking him kindly by the hand, led him to the Countess.

She gazed for a moment as if in admiration of the face now raised to hers, then said, in a trembling voice—

"Oh! tell me if this cap was really yours; how it came here; who are your parents, and where are they?"

"Yes, yes, lady, the cap is mine; the wife of the wicked steward at Feldsberg took it. She made him take everything we had; we have come all the way from Feldsberg, and my father and mother are here."

"Fetch them, fetch them quickly," said the Countess, "that they may tell me about this child, and this cap. Good father," she added, turning to the priest, "may I not hope to have found my child? Do you not see a likeness to my noble husband?"

The good man feared to encourage hopes which might not be realised, but was spared answering the question by the approach of Gaspard and his wife. The Countess advanced towards them, holding Francis by the hand.

The Countess then pointed to the cap, saying, as she did so—"How came this cap into your possession? He says it was his. I emplore you to tell me all you know about it."

"I will tell you everything, lady," replied Gaspard. He then shortly related how he had found and rescued the boy, how carefully he and his wife had treasured the little cap, of their settling at Feldsberg, and, lastly, of the treatment they had met with in consequence of their refusal to part with the cap. How it came to be where he now saw it he could not tell.

The Countess's tears fell fast during the recital; when it was ended, she turned to one of her women.

"Agatha," said she, "go and fetch the Count and my brother; tell them our child is restored to us." Then, clasping Francis in her arms, she said, as she tenderly embraced him, "I am indeed your mother; God has heard my prayers, and has restored you to me, my child! It was near Metz that you were taken from us. You wore this little cap the day we lost you. Oh! you will try and love us, now you are restored to us."

Then, taking the astonished child by the hand, the Countess approached the altar, and, kneeling on the steps, appeared to be engaged in silent prayer. Gaspard and his wife followed her example at a little distance; their hearts were also overflowing with thankfulness.

On rising from this act of devotion, the Countess turned to the good soldier, saying, as she did so—

"May heaven reward you, and your good wife! I cannot; only say what we can do to show our gratitude."

She was interrupted by the little Francis, who, leading Michael and John to her, said—

"No, no, dear child," replied the Countess, as she took a hand of each. "They shall stay with you, and you will not leave your adopted child?" she added, turning to Gaspard and Katherine.

The Count and Countess de Sternfelden had thus restored to them their lost and only child, the only heir of their noble house, for whom they had so deeply mourned. Our good soldier and his family were as unexpectedly rescued from want and misery, and assured of kindness and protection for the rest of their lives. One more cause of rejoicing was in store for Gaspard. As our happy party were about to leave the church, the Countess's brother advanced towards him.

"Gaspard," said he, as he held out his hand to him, "my old and brave comrade in arms, do you not know me?"

Gaspard at once recognised the young Baron Otto de Helfenstein. "My captain, my noble captain!" he said, "I never thought to see you again; we could never hear anything of you, and feared you were either killed or taken prisoner."

"I was taken prisoner by the French," returned the Baron; "and, when I got my exchange, I joined our army in Spain, and went with it afterwards to Italy. I only returned to my own country two days ago, when I saw my sister for the first time since her loss. I little imagined that the child you so bravely rescued was hers."

The Count interrupted further explanations by proposing that all should go to the castle, where they could, at leisure, hear and relate all that would be deeply interesting to the whole party.

The news had spread rapidly through the village, the inhabitants of which hastened to meet the little procession, and to testify their joy at the happy event. The Count was universally beloved by his dependents, and now received heartfelt congratulations from all on the recovery of his lost child.

On reaching the castle, he gave orders for a day of general rejoicing, in which all classes should join, promising, at the same time, that every year the anniversary of the day on which his son was restored to him should be kept as a holiday amongst his people.

The remainder of the day on which the little Francis was restored to his parents was spent in relating the various events which had led to his loss and recovery.

It appeared that, shortly before the disappearance of the little heir of the house of Sternfelden, a keeper of the Count's had been dismissed for repeated acts of gross misconduct and treachery, which had as often been pardoned by the Count. After his final disgrace, this man had been heard to threaten that he would have his revenge. On the disappearance of the child, this man was suspected, the more so that he was nowhere to be heard of, though every effort was made to trace him, and to obtain some eke that might lead to discovering what had become of the infant. The unhappy and bereaved parents learnt after a while that the wretch had crossed the Rhine, and it was supposed he had joined the French army near Metz.

Hither they followed, in the hope of gaining some tidings of their lost treasure. The search was fruitless; nothing could be heard of either. The unhappy Count and Countess returned heartbroken to their own childless home. On hearing Gaspard's account, it was easy to imagine that the wretch had carried the child with him when he joined the French, that he had been with those who had defended the fort the day it was attacked and taken by the Germans, and had probably met with the fate he so well merited, whilst the little Francis fell into the hands of the brave soldier and his kind-hearted wife.

The Countess learnt from Katherine why they had given their adopted child the name of "Francis," which, by a singular chance, was the name he had received from his own parents.

Little now remained to be told or learnt, save that the "little cap," which had so providentially led to the recovery of the lost child, had been sent by the wife of the steward of Feldsberg to her sister at Sternfelden, as a gift to her firstborn. That which the unfeeling woman had so eagerly coveted, and which she had obtained by such unjustifiable means, may possibly have become a source of trouble instead of gratification to her. She could, it may be supposed, scarcely look at the little cap, so prized by those from whom she had torn it, without some feelings of self-reproach; and may have been glad to have got rid of it, by bestowing it on one wholly unacquainted with its history, and who had, therefore, no scruple in accepting and making use of it. She may have quieted her conscience by thus removing from her sight that which reproached her, but she could not escape the punishment she so well merited; and that which seemed but a trifle was the means of bringing to light the steward's misconduct, as well as his wife's, and the ruin they sought to bring on others, who had never injured them, fell upon themselves.

All was now joy and thankfulness in the Castle of Sternfelden, and our poor wanderers had found the relief and rest they so greatly needed. They were not suppliants, but honoured guests in the Count's castle, with every comfort provided for them, and receiving that respect and regard they so well deserved.

The day following, ere the public rejoicings commenced, the little Francis de Sternfelden entered the apartment in which were Gaspard and Katherine. He had not forgotten that it was Katherine's birthday. Putting his arms round her neck, and kissing her affectionately, he said—

"Dear, good mother, your little Francis has brought you a birthday present." So saying, he put into her hands a paper, which proved to be a deed, giving to Gaspard and his wife a farm on the Count's estate at no great distance front the castle. With tears of grateful joy did the good couple recall the day on which Gaspard had presented the little Francis to his wife, and it was now through him that they received a gift which they looked upon as far beyond their deserts, and which more than repaid them for all their trials and anxieties.

The Count would scarcely receive any thanks; he felt he could never repay all they had done for his child, and that to them, under Providence, he owed his present unlooked-for happiness, and that of the Countess, whose health had seriously suffered from her terrible loss. By another deed, the Count restored to Gaspard his little property at Feldsberg, where he also appointed another steward in the place of one who had so cruelly abused the power entrusted to him.

Gaspard had the satisfaction of offering the little cottage and land at Feldsberg, at a nominal rent, to their kind neighbour, Christine and her son—an offer which was gladly accepted.

Peace and plenty and comfort, greater than any they had ever before enjoyed, were henceforward the portion of the good and brave soldier and his family; and above all, they had the approbation of their own consciences, and could feel that, by their honest endeavours to do what they believed to be right, they had secured the respect and goodwill of all who knew them. They lived to see their two sons grow up, receiving, by the Count's help, such an education as fitted them for respectable situations—Michael hoping one day to obtain that of steward to his patron. They had also the happiness of seeing the young Francis grow up in every way worthy of his high station, whilst he ever treated them with the tenderest regard and affection, which the good Count and Countess afforded him every opportunity of showing.

The history of this good couple may remind our readers of the words of the Psalmist: "Put thou thy trust in the Lord, and be doing good: dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed."

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Full of hope and thankfulness, the good soldier and

his family took possession of their new home.

THE

LITTLE CAP

OR

The Lost Heir of Sternfelden

BY

HON. MRS. DUNDAS.

London:

GALL AND INGLIS, 25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE;

AND EDINBURGH

CONTENTS.

THE LITTLE CAP.

CHAPTER I.

THE CALL TO BATTLE.