like a hanging garden. Even the little mistletoe had here struck root, and flourished, graceful and delicate, among the branches of the willow, which were reflected in the dark waters beneath it; while the wind from the sea sometimes scattered its leaves. A path led through the field close by the tree.
On the top of a hill, near the forest, with a splendid prospect before it, stood the new baronial hall, with panes of such transparent glass in the windows, that there appeared to be none. The grand flight of steps leading to the entrance looked like a bower of roses and broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as fresh and green as if each separate blade of grass were cleaned morning and evening. In the hall hung costly pictures. The chairs and sofas were of silk and velvet, that looked as if they could move of themselves; there were tables with white marble tops, and books bound in velvet and gold. Here, indeed, resided wealthy people, people of rank—the new baron and his family.
Each article was made to correspond. The family motto was still, “Everything in its right place;” and therefore the pictures which were once the honour and glory of the old house, now hung in the passage leading to the servants’ hall. They were considered as lumber, especially two old portraits, one of a man in a wig and a rose-coloured coat, the other representing a lady with frizzed and powdered hair, holding a rose in her hand, each in the same manner surrounded by a wreath of willow-leaves. Both the pictures had many holes in them, for the little barons always set up the two old people as targets for their bows and arrows, and yet these were pictures of the magistrate and his lady from whom the present family were descended. “But they did not properly belong to our family,” said one of the little barons, “he was a pedler, and she kept the geese. They were not like papa and mamma.” So the pictures being old were considered worthless, and the motto being “All in the right place,” the great-grandfather and the great-grandmother of the family were sent into the passage leading to the servants’ hall.
The son of the clergyman of the place was tutor at the great house. One day he was out waiking with his pupils, the little barons, and their eldest sister who had just been confirmed. They took the path through the fields which led past the old willow-tree; and while they walked the young lady made a wreath of hedge-blossoms and wild-flowers, “each in its right place,” and the wreath was, as a whole, very pretty. At the same time, she heard every word uttered by the son of the clergyman. She liked very much to hear him talk of the wonders of nature, and of the great men and women in history. She had a healthy tone of mind, with nobility of thought and feeling, and a heart full of love for all God’s creation. The walking party halted at the old willow-tree; the youngest of the barons wanted a branch from it to make a flute, as he had already from other willows. So the tutor broke off a branch. "“Oh, don’t do that,” exclaimed the young baroness; but it was already done. “I am so sorry,” she continued; “that is our famous old tree, and I love it very much; they laugh at me for it at home, but I don’t mind. There is a story told about that tree.” And then she
