Love urged him to goodness, gave him strength for all that is good.

His convalescence advanced and, when he was permitted to leave his bed, his father was the first one to support him through the room and down the steps into the court-yard.

He often felt with quiet emotion the old man stroke the hand that rested on his arm, and when, exhausted, he returned to the sick-room, he sank with a grateful heart into his comfortable seat, casting a look of pleasure at the flowers, which Ruth had taken from her chamber window and placed on the table beside him.
His family now knew what he had endured and experienced, and the smith found a kind, soothing word for all that, a few months before, he had considered criminal and unpardonable.
During such a conversation, Ulrich once exclaimed "War! You know not how it bears one along with it; it is a game whose stake is life.

That of others is of as little value as your own; to do your worst to every one, is the watchword; but now--every thing has grown so calm in my soul, and I have a horror of the turmoil in the field.

I was talking with Ruth yesterday about her father, and she reminded me of his favorite saying, which I had forgotten long ago.