“My lad, do you know that your father saved my life?”
“No, your Honour,” Fritz replied; “my father didn’t tell me.”
“Well, then, I will tell you. In the wreck, the compartment I was occupying had taken fire, and when I found myself wedged in between some burning timbers, and escape seemed a thing impossible, I resigned myself to die. Then it was that your father, himself badly shaken by the accident, saw me pinned under the pile of débris; and, without one thought for his own safety, tore away the heavy timbers already in a blaze. By this time others, seeing the situation, came to our relief; but it was not until your father’s hands had been badly burned.”
“I was glad, your Honour, to be able to assist you,” said Conrad Albrecht, feebly.
“Yes, my friend, but to save my life you gave your own; that is heaven’s own great gift. But, Albrecht, I wish to do the best I can to prove my gratitude. I have no son, and have come here to ask if you will let me take your place to Fritz when you are gone. I couldn’t be to him what you have been, but grant me this wish, and I will try and fill a father’s place. By adoption he shall be my son. Can you, will you, say yes to this, Albrecht?”
The look which had come into the face of the stricken man reflected the conflict in his heart. Two paths were open for his boy, and he, the father, must decide upon the one for him to take. Here, at the work-bench, where he had spent many contented years, he saw the quiet, shaded path of that more tranquil life. Out there was the glare, the white light of the world,—would his boy be happy in it? Would it bring him peace, such peace as he, himself, had known and loved? Yet, here was a great, even a wonderful, opportunity; one day his Fritz’s name might be known throughout all the Fatherland!
This thought brought a radiant look to the father’s eyes, and with all the strength at his command he said:
“Yes, your Honour, Fritz shall be your son.”