Baard stood in the corner and saw him distinctly; he had put off his threadbare Sunday clothes and wore the uniform he had brought home with him from the war, the match to Baard's, and which he had promised his brother never to touch but to leave for an heirloom, Baard having given him a similar promise.

Anders' uniform was now patched and worn; his strong, well-built frame was encased, as it were, in a bundle of rags; and, at the same time, Baard heard the gold watch ticking in his own pocket.

Anders walked to where the fagots lay; instead of stooping at once to pick them up, he paused, leaned back against the wood-pile and gazed up at the sky, which glittered brightly with stars.

Then he drew a sigh and muttered,-- "Yes--yes--yes;--O Lord! O Lord!" As long as Baard lived he heard these words.

He wanted to step forward, but just then his brother coughed, and it seemed so difficult, more was not required to hold him back.