And he said to his mother as they went home,—
"Mother, surely God has sent us an angel at last. But, even for the angels, we will never forget His dear ravens. Won't old Hans be glad?"
And the mother was glad; for she knew that God who giveth grace to the lowly had indeed blessed the lad, because all his gifts and honours were transformed, as always in the lowly heart, not into pride, but into love.
But when the boy ran eagerly to find old Hans, to show him the jewel and tell him of the princely promises, Hans was nowhere to be found; not in the hermit's house, where he was to have met them and shared their little festive meal, nor at his own stall, nor in the hut in which he slept.
Gottlieb's heart began to sink.
Never had his dear old friend failed to share in any joy of theirs before.
At length, as he was lingering about the old man's little hut, wondering, a sad, silent company came bearing slowly and tenderly a heavy burden, which at last they laid on Hans's poor straw pallet.
It was poor Hans himself, bruised and crushed and wounded in his struggles to press through the crowd to see his darling, his poor crooked limbs broken and unable to move any more.
But the face was untouched; and when they had laid him on the couch, and the languid eyes opened and rested on the beloved face of the child bending over him bathed in tears, a light came over the poor rugged features, and shone in the dark, hollow eyes, such as nothing on earth can give—a wonderful light of great, unutterable love, as they gazed into the eyes of the child, and then, looking upward, seemed to open on a vision none else could see.
"Jesus! Saviour! I can do no more. Take care of him, Thou thyself, Jesus, Lord!"