She had had no opportunities for improvement, always at work in the cottage; yet her voice, a marvel in infancy, increased wonderfully in strength and clearness. It was a God's gift, and she sung with matchless sweetness and taste, heaven taught.
One day, as Gretchen sat rocking the youngest child in her arms, and singing as only she could, there came a knocking at the door. The mistress opened it, and saw a tall, sweet-faced lady dressed in deep mourning.
There was a fine carriage at the gate, and she knew by the lordly coat-of-arms, her visitor was no ordinary person, so she dropped a low courtesy and waited.
"Was it you, my good woman, I heard singing just now?" said the lady.
"Ah, no, madam, 'twas only Gretchen, the Good-for-Nothing, putting the baby to sleep."
"But the Good-for-Nothing can sing beautifully, and I would hear her again."
So the lady entered the cottage, to find Gretchen bending over the now sleeping child, with the flush of shame crimsoning her cheeks, for she had heard Elizabeth's coarse reply. But she rose and courtesied to the lady, and, as she did so, the old broken comb fell from her hair, and a shower of rich golden curls covered her neck and shoulders.
Poor little Gretchen! How the accident confused her. She did not know that she looked very beautiful, and that her modesty was an inexpressible charm.
"Sing again, my child," said the lady, kindly.
And Gretchen sang a little German song, full of pathos and beauty; and though her voice trembled with agitation, it lost none of its pure richness.