XXXIII.

"'Not as I will!' the sound grows sweet Each time the words my lips repeat; 'Not as I will!' the darkness feel More safe than light, when this thought steals Like whispered voice, to calm and bless All unrest and all loneliness. 'Not as I will!' because the One Who loved us first and best has gone Before us on the road, and still For us must all His love fulfill 'Not as we will!'" --H. H. JACKSON.

It is a joyous, happy picture that is unveiled to the reader now. Golden peace reigns in the country and dwells in every heart. Sibylla, the rosy house-wife, with beaming eyes, sits by the cradle of her year-old baby. She sleeps so sweetly; she lies there so lovely in her unconscious beauty, that the happy mother can not take her eyes away. Once she had wavered in the decision as to which of her two ideals was supreme, the Apollo Belvedere or the Venus de Medici. Now she has known for a long time that her little Ingeborg is far more beautiful than both pieces of sculpture put together. "How can any one be so foolish?" she thinks, and again bends over the sleeping child, whose rest has something sacred in it. Steps approached. One would never have believed Wulf could walk so lightly; but he has accustomed himself to it "for baby's sake."

"Why, Wulf! I thought you were at the concert," said Sibylla, somewhat reproachfully. "How can you miss that splendid oratorio?"

Wulf has become woefully embarrassed.

"Wulf, Wulf! I fear you did not even have the intention to go."

"Well, well; never mind," Wulf plucked up courage to reply. "I would rather hear Ingeborg's 'um, um;' it sounds more beautiful to me than all this scientific musical structure."

"O, you never had much understanding for art," lamented Sibylla, roguishly.

"But a great mind for taste and beauty," interrupted Wulf, embracing his wife warmly. "I have always been able to distinguish between the beautiful and the ugly!"

Sibylla shakes her finger, and adroitly changes the conversation. "You know we are to have a visit this evening from the Kahrings and Theodora. Are you too tired to see them?"

"No, I am not tired, although my day's work has been a serious one, with many experiences."

Wulf was silent.

Sibylla approached him with questioning eyes, and he continued:

"O Sibylla, there is so much misery in the world! If I were only a physician who could make every body well--well, above all things, spiritually."

Ingeborg now awakened. Sibylla lifted her, and placed her in her husband's arms.

"There now, Wulf, you are at home, and must not have gloomy thoughts. Ingeborg, where is papa?"

The child knew him, and reached her little arms to embrace him; and when Wulf, with one arm encircling the mother and the other holding his baby, presses them to his heart, his eyes reflect the evidence that in these four walls he is the happiest man in the world.

Just then Theodora enters. She belongs here, and feels perfectly at home with the Ericksens. She is cordially greeted. Even little Ingeborg seems to recognize her, for she claps her pretty hands so eagerly as if she would perform her little exercise.

"Now the worker will appear in her most beautiful character," exclaims Wulf, laughing. "See, Theodora; even Ingeborg can not escape your influence. As soon as she sees you she begins her '_Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man!_'"

"She does not degenerate," replies Theodora, smilingly, at the same time handing Wulf a small piece of paper.

"Six, seven, eight only," says Wulf, cheerily. "Theodora, the condition of health among the poor is now very good. To-morrow, early, I shall visit them all. But how is it with old Weber? Still no change?"

"No, only he wants to see you very much. He thinks when you visit him sunshine enters his room."

Sibylla is silent; but she thinks how wonderful it is that she and old Weber are of the same mind.

"Theodora," she says, "I am ashamed of myself whenever I see you, to think how much you do."

"Very little," replies Theodora; "but there must be a change; there is so much work in the world. I have to-day, for the first time, realized that I have never really labored with might and main--never made one real sacrifice."

"Our outward life," interposes Wulf, earnestly, "never corresponds to the demands of the inner life. Willing and doing are not completely equalized, alas!"

In the evening we are with a small circle of the Ericksens' friends in their cozy room. The table is simply spread, with every thing necessary for an inviting supper. The tea-kettle sings a welcome, and Sibylla does not permit it to do all the pleasant service. The conversation is lively and bright, while deeper interests are not forgotten. One receives in giving, and receiving one gives again. All are unanimous in the belief that the hand must help the arm; all know that personal, loving diligence alone can ripen the seed of the word, the fruit of the deed.

"You always have such underground inclinations," says Arnold Von Kahring, who has resided at Berlin during the past year, in comic provocation to Wulf. "As a boy you searched after the moles in their cellars, and now you are after the poor just the same. At that time you killed your objects of love, now you raise them to life; that is the only difference."

"Yes, Arnold," interjects Theodora, laughing, "and he also had a habit in those days of rescuing people; for example, when he pulled you out of the water."

"That is true," responded Arnold. Thereupon he relates the story of that unhappy casualty. "And it is my misfortune," he adds, jocosely, "that I must be grateful now, and he presses me into all kinds of service. It is terrible! I am, for instance, already guardian for over one hundred and sixty-four children!"

"Don't go over a bridge this evening, dear," says Arnold's wife, in playful warning; "you will break a bone!"

"I know a person," adds Sibylla, "who spent an hour with me yesterday, and said to me that I should not regret my husband's undertaking so much charitable work outside of his practice, and this very person begged to be permitted to share such service."

"That is just the worst part of it," retorts Arnold. "That kind of men," pointing to Wulf. "can make us do any thing; for one must keep in the good graces of the doctor. One may get sick himself, you know, and--"

"Then he forbids him to talk," interrupts Wulf. "But just here while the conversation turns upon it and we are all together, let me heartily thank you, Arnold, for all your faithful assistance. There are not many men who have given their heart and time so wholly to this personal labor of love."

All are earnest, and for a moment there is silence.

"When shall we all, husbands and wives," said one present, "become conscious that we have, in and through our respective callings, higher duties to fulfill? No calling is so unprepossessing and poor that it may not be illuminated with heavenly luster through love and service; no calling so great and rich that humble endeavors to do good can not intensify its glory."

"Not all men and women," replied Arnold Von Kahring; "can do equally. Many have household cares and business duties which deter them from outside work; but still they can fulfill higher interests in a measure, and reap rich blessings."

"And perhaps many," added Wulf, "who have no especial life-work, if they could be shown avenues of service, would gladly embrace them, and learn for the first time what it is to have a noble aim and true happiness."

"I must testify," said Arnold's wife, "that in my experience time and strength follow the real desire to work."

"Yes; 'where there's a will, there's a way,'" concluded Theodora, impressively.

We now take leave of our friends. They have earnest desires, and will therefore find the right way.

Theodora lives with her brother. A cheerful, sunny room is her home; and although she is not entirely alone, she has perfect liberty. She wears no deaconess's dress, and yet she is one--a true helper.

A pleasant smile illumines her face this evening. She is thinking of Sibylla, whom she loves as dearly as though she were her own child.

"She was always better than her word," she says, softly. "I know that, among all of us who spoke this evening, she will do most." Theodora is happy, for she forgets self.

Albertina Von Kahring says to her husband: "What a beautiful home the Ericksens' is! I always feel there that outward good--call it riches if you will, be they great as they may--can not alone give true happiness, and that love, joy, and peace proceed from a very different source."

"The worst of it is,"' says Arnold, "that the spirit of the house is contagious. Contagion! that is the last thing we should desire to take from a physician's house!"

His tones were in comic severity, but his wife's glance interpreted their meaning.

Upon the balcony of their dwelling Wulf and Sibylla are sitting later in the evening. His arm embraces her, and she leans her head on his breast. They are silent. But whoever looks into their eyes may read therein: "We are in the haven. Many misfortunes may yet befall us, but we are happy and nothing can wrest this happiness from us."