MY DEAREST MARGARET:—I write to you in a state of the greatest surprise. My dearest child, what can you have been doing? I know not what to make of your last letter; there you talk of copper coins, and in it you enclose solid gold pieces. My heart misgave me; surely, thought I, in the gay city my dearest Margaret cannot have forgotten the lessons of virtue which were instilled into her mind in days long gone by. Surely, she cannot have been blinded by the glitter of gold, and betrayed into such an evil deed as robbery.
Dearest Margaret, you cannot tell the grief that these thoughts cost me. I then read your letter; you speak of shining kreuzers, and call them a poor present. This language puzzled me. Copper, thought I, cannot have turned into gold; perhaps, said I, one of her fellow-servants may have played a trick upon her, and put brass counterfeits into the letter instead of the kreuzers, in order to raise my hopes at first, and then disappoint them.
But of this I soon satisfied myself, by taking the coins to a money changer, who assured me that they were perfectly pure gold; every piece worth more than ten florins. I told him the whole circumstances of the case, and he advised me to send the money back at once.
"No doubt," he said, "the lady has given the gold coins by mistake for kreuzers. You say it was night, and then the blunder might very easily occur; send them back, by all means; otherwise, this little incident may become a bad business."
You recollect the old proverb, my dearest Margaret—"Coin brings care." I never felt the truth of that proverb so much as during the night after receiving your letter. I counted every hour. I listened to every sound. I trembled at every breath of wind, and kept fancying all sorts of horrors. I was so afraid that the house would be broken into, and the money stolen. This morning, I return the coins to you, and am very glad to be well rid of them. Go instantly to the lady, and give her back the gold. I shall not lay my head quietly to rest, till I know the money is again in the hands of the rightful owner. As soon as you have restored the money, write me word.
You remember the day when your brother George was marched away, with the other recruits from the village, how sadly both of us felt the loss; but now that George is more content and happy in his situation, I am more composed. Meanwhile, however, he is in want of all sorts of things; all the recruits receive something from home, but I have nothing to send him, not even a single kreuzer. If the gold pieces were my own, then—but not a word about them, my dearest daughter. Truly, the love of money is the root of all evil! Farewell. I beg of you to write immediately, and send a letter by the returning carrier, to your anxious, loving mother,
LOUISA KAURNER.
