“It told her a fable.
“‘A little fish was merrily swimming about in the water and looking seriously at a pretty blackcap which first circled around and around in the air and then alighted softly on a branch of a willow which grew close to the bank of the river.
“‘"Oh,” said the little fish, “how happy that bird is. It can rise up to the heavens and go high up to the sun to warm itself in its rays. Why cannot I do the same?”
“‘The blackcap was looking at the fish at the same time, and said:—
“‘"Oh! how happy that fish is! The element in which it lives furnishes it at the same time with food; it has nothing to do but to glide along. How I should like to sport in the fresh, transparent water!”
“‘At that moment, a kite pounced upon the poor little fish, while a scamp of a schoolboy threw a stone at the bird; the blackcap fell into the water, the fresh, transparent water, and for a moment struggled in it before it died, while the little fish, carried aloft, could go up on high to the sun and warm itself in its rays. Their wishes had been granted.’
“‘Louisa,’ continued the gentle voice, ‘our duty as Guardian Angels is far more frequently to thwart wishes than to satisfy them.’
“This was the moral of the fable.
“Louisa pressed her husband’s hand warmly, kissed her last born, and said: 'Thank you, White Angel, thank you.’” I am certainly delighted to think, that if the poor Germans have Killecroffs among their familiar spirits, they have at least also White Angels.