"Never mind, Golden Hair," said the old man, "grandfather is going where he will never be sick or cold any more. But, oh, mein kleines kind (my little child), 'tis thou that break'st my heart. To leave thee alone! mein liebes, mein schonest."
Tears gathered in the dim eyes of the old man, and the cold, withered hand stroked lovingly the golden hair of the little maiden, who looked wonderingly at him with her large, violet eyes glistening, and the big tears rolling down her pale face.
"Mein kleines Gretchen, she'll whip you, and call you Good-for-Nothing when your old grandfather's gone; but sing, mein liebes, sing all you can; the good Lord will hear the voice of his own. Oh! to leave you, kleina, 'tis so hard! so hard!" And the old man rocked himself to and fro, weeping and trembling with cold and sickness.
The little Gretchen threw her arms around his neck, kissing his tears, and, half choking with sobs, she whispered: "You'll smoke, grandfather, darling; your little Golden Hair'll get your pipe." Little child! she could think of nothing else, and she must do something for the dear grandfather; and often before, the pipe had been a great solace to him, when the mistress had been unkind; so the little nimble feet ran for it, and brought it to him filled, and with the red coal glowing in the bowl.
Just then the baby cried out, and Elizabeth entered in time for her sharp, black eyes to take in the whole scene.
Snatching the pipe angrily from the little child's hand, she threw it against the chimney, breaking it into many pieces. "I'll teach you to leave the baby to be playing with fire. Take that, Good-for-Nothing." And she gave Gretchen a sharp blow upon the little golden-crowned head, and pushed her toward the cradle, adding, "see if you can sing now!"
And Gretchen tried hard to obey, but 'twas a wail, broken with sobs, that rose from the bursting heart of the child, through the winter cold air of the Rhine land, to the feet of the good Lord who took little children in his arms and blessed them.
That night when little Gretchen was sleeping, her weary head resting on the grandfather's bosom, his troubled spirit passed alone and silently through the dim portals of the dusky way, and, entering the pearly gates, found perfect rest in heaven the golden.
In the early morning, Karl was awakened by a wild, piteous cry.