CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
A DIRE PERIL.
Oh, those dear letters from home! Did not Fritz pore over them, when he and Eric got back to their little hut, glad to sit down and be quiet again, all to themselves after the excitement of the schooner's visit and the fatigue of shipping the produce of their labours during the past?
Madame Dort's missive was a long, voluminous epistle of ever so many pages, written in their dear mother's clear hand, without a blot or a scratch out, or any tedious crossing of the pages to make the writing indistinct.

She had been a teacher, and able to write well, if only because she had formerly to instruct others?
The letter was public property for both, being addressed to Eric as well as Fritz, and it contained much loving news--news that caused the elder brother frequently to pause in his reading and Eric to dash away the quick tears from his bright eyes; while, anon, it made them both laugh by some funny allusion to household arrangements as they recalled the well-remembered little home scene in the old-fashioned house in which the two had been brought up, in the Gulden Strasse at Lubeck.
The communication was so lengthy that it was almost a journal, Madame Dort recounting all the haps and mishaps of the family since Fritz had gone away, taking it for granted that he would have informed Eric of all that had transpired during the lad's previous absence.
The letter mentioned, too, that the neighbours were all interested in the brothers' adventures and called frequently to ask her about them.
Herr Grosschnapper, she also related, had especially told her that he had never employed so accurate a book-keeper as Fritz; for, the new clerk had, like a new broom, swept so clean that he had swept himself out of favour, the old merchant longing to have the widow's son back in his counting-house again.
"I don't wonder at that," exclaimed Eric, interrupting the reading here.
"He should have known when he was well off and kept your place open for you until your return from the war!" "So he did, brother, he waited as long as he could," said Fritz, taking the part of the absent, although the matter was still a sore subject with him; and, then, he continued reading out his mother's letter, which went on to detail Lorischen's many dreams about the children of her nursing--how she prophesied that Eric would be such a big strapping fellow that the house would not be able to contain him, and how Mouser had developed such an affection for Gelert, that he even followed the dog, when the latter went out to take his walks abroad, in the most fearless manner possible, trusting evidently to the kindness of his canine protector to prevent other obnoxious animals like Burgher Jans terrier from molesting him! Oh, and while mentioning the little fat man's dog, Madame Dort said she had such a wonderful story to relate.
What would they think of Lorischen-- "I said it would turn out so!" cried Eric, interrupting his brother a second time.

"I always said it would turn out so, in spite of all our old nurse's cruel treatment of the little Burgher." "What did you say, Mr Prophet ?" asked Fritz good-humouredly.
"That he and Lorischen would make a match of it yet," replied Eric, clapping his hands in high glee.

"What fun that would be! Is it not so, brother ?" "You might be further out in your guessing than that," said Fritz, going on to the denouement of the story told in his mother's letter.

Yes, Madame Dort wrote, the little fat man had really, one day when Lorischen had received him more affably than usual and invited him to partake of some nice cheese-cakes she had just made, asked her to marry him! And, more wonderful still, in spite of all their old nurse used to say about the Burgher, and how she pretended to detest him, as they must remember well, Lorischen had finally agreed to an engagement with him, promising to unite her fate with his when Herr Fritz and Master Eric came home.
"So now, dear boys both, you know how much depends on your return," concluded their mother in her quaint way, for she had a keen appreciation of humour.