Old Mr. Lonner occasionally attempted to prepare his son’s mind for the future which awaited him; but he ceased when one day Carl innocently addressed him: 

“Father,” said he, “I wish you would not talk with me thus.  I believe in our Saviour and his love for us sinners, and as I do not think I have done much harm—­except perhaps when I stole the game—­I fear not for the future.  I shall wait patiently until my Saviour chooses to take me to himself.  I can well imagine that there is not much space in heaven; but I believe that there is a small place for one so insignificant as me, where I can wait the coming of Magde, Nanna, Father, Ragnar, and all the little ones, that is if they do not hold me in contempt.”

“How strangely you talk, dear Carl!” said Magde, entering into the conversation.  “You well know that I would like to be near you in heaven, for you are aware that next to Ragnar I love you more than any other being on earth.”

“You say so only to make me happy; but I am not so vain as to believe your words.”

“Is there any one here who displays more love for you than I?” inquired Magde.

Carl smiled, and glanced at the wall.  There hung a new vest, the pattern of which Carl examined as carefully as though each thread had been a painting in itself.

“Do you think,” said he, after a pause, during which his father left the room, “do you think that Ragnar is vexed with me?  He certainly must have observed that I love you more than, perhaps, I should—­I speak frankly to you, Magde, for I know you are different from others, and I could not die in peace if I thought that my brother Ragnar was offended with me.”

“Be convinced, my dear Carl, that Ragnar loves you as a brother should.  He saw undoubtedly that no one could please you so well as I; but he often told me, and especially before his last departure—­”

“What did he say?” inquired Carl, eagerly.

“‘Magde,’ said he, ’never desert Carl.  He is an honest and faithful soul, who can find no joy unless with you; but Carl is not the one who would seek to injure me by word or thought, and therefore I shall not interfere with his sentiments, but allow him to entertain them freely, and,’ he added, ’you may tell him this at some future time when he may feel troubled on my account.’”

“Did he speak thus, assuredly?”

“He did, I swear it by my hopes of meeting him again.”

“And you have obeyed him, and not deserted me; but will you do so as long as I am with you here?”

“Never shall I desert you, Carl.”

“And when the last moment approaches,” said he in a soft tone, “you will moisten my lips, you will smooth my pillow, and when the struggle of death comes upon me, I wish you to hold my hand in yours, as you now do, that I may feel that you are with me.  Then you must—­will you do so, Magde?—­close my eyes with your own hands, and sing a psalm to me.”