CHAPTER XVIII.
OLD SCENES.
"God's world is steeped in beauty,
God's world is bathed in light."
IT was in the leafy month of June that Frida found herself once more treading the Forest paths. The smaller trees were clothed in their bright, fresh, green lining—
"Greenness shining, not a colour,
But a tender, living light;"
and to them the dark, gloomy pines acted as a noble background, and once again the song of birds was heard, and the gentle tinkle, tinkle of the forest streams.
Memory was very busy at work as the girl—nay, woman now—trod those familiar scenes. Yonder was the very tree under which Wilhelm found her, a lonely little one, waiting in vain for the father she would see no more on earth.
There in the distance were the lonely huts of the wood-cutters who had so lovingly cared for the orphan child. And as she drew nearer the hut of the Hörstels, she recognized many a spot where she and Hans had played together as happy children, to whom the sighing of the wind amid the tall pines had seemed the most beautiful music in the world.
As she recalled all these things, her heart filled with love to God, who had cared for and protected her when her earthly friends had cast her off. The language of her heart might have been expressed in the words of the hymn so often sung in Scottish churches:—
"When all Thy mercies, O my God!
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise."