When Karl was eighteen years old, he was guilty of a great piece of folly for a poor boy, though I am sure he was not to blame. It was the pretty, violet eyes and sweet voice of the young maiden Chimlein that made him so much in love with her.
Poor, foolish Karl! with nothing but his handsome boyish face and honest German heart to give her, even his strong willing hands still belonged to the father and mother.
Poor, foolish Karl, to be in love! But he was very hopeful! The brothers were growing strong, and even now all but the little Julian, could add something to the family store. What brightness, wealth, and happiness might not two years bring them all.
One evening, about this time, Karl received from the merchant, his employer, for a successful month's work, quite a present over his usual pay, as a reward for his faithful industry.
He was very happy as he started homeward, and, looked smilingly upon his patched clothes, thinking "Now I shall be able to buy the new suit I need so much, and I can take Chimlein the beautiful, to hear the rare music that she loves so well, and she will store it away in her bird-like throat, and some day it will gush forth in loving songs in our own cottage home." Then he sung gay snatches of his favorite opera—for even the peasantry of Germany are born musicians—and, looking at the sunshine as it danced upon the bright waters of the Rhine, he blessed the good Lord for the brightness, beauty, and happiness of life.
Soon the shadow of the cottage fell upon him, and he entered to find tears dimming the eyes of the mother as she went silently about her work. She wiped them hastily away, but Karl had seen them, and all his bright dreams melted at the sight of the dear, pale face, shadowed by age and sorrow.
Throwing his strong arm round her, he softly said, "What ails thee, mother?"
Then she told him how an old debt of the father's became due on the morrow, and how she feared, she knew not what, because there was no money to pay it.
So Karl put his hand into his bosom and drew forth the treasure that was to bring him so much happiness, and placing it in his mother's hand, said: "Take it, mother, dear;" and before she could reply, he had gone out into the soft, summer air, down to the banks of the dear Rhine River.
The sun had sunk in clouds of crimson and gold, and the gray twilight cast its cold shadows upon the waters, and Karl's heart had grown very heavy as he thought of the sweet-voiced Chimlein, and her disappointment. "But 'twas for mother," he said. "Poor mother, how pale she looked, her eyes wet with tears."