Although Conrad Albrecht’s hands had been painfully and even seriously
burned, they had at first given promise of healing; but as the days,
then the weeks, went by, the doctor began to look very grave. Another
physician was called in consultation, and he too was serious; it was a
case of blood poison, they said.
When his father had to remain in bed, Fritz would not leave the room.
He was always ready to attend his father’s slightest wish. Neighbours
came in every day and offered to help the boy; he did not lack
friendly sympathy or service. Rudolf, Frieda, and Katrina came down
from the castle daily, and on every visit Katrina brought a bunch of
her crimson roses. For hours at a time the sick man’s eyes would rest
tenderly upon the blossoms, and they were always placed near enough for
him to enjoy their fragrance. It came about, as the days went by, that
he began to look eagerly for Katrina and her roses; this was the one
bright spot amid dark, suffering hours.
At other times his eyes would wander wistfully to the adjoining
room--his workshop. Here, hanging upon the walls, and scattered upon
his work-bench, were unfinished toys, waiting for the hands which had
begun to fashion them with such loving care. For Conrad Albrecht was
one to whom his work was a constant source of happiness; he rejoiced
in the creations of his hands. The machine had not come in to rob
him of his own individual skill and take away his joy in working.
His imagination, too, had had full play. While his hands were busily
employed, sometimes with a girl’s dainty doll, sometimes with a boy’s
small steam-engine, perfect in every detail, he would picture the
homes and the lives of the children who would one day have the toys in
their possession, often tracing their lives to womanhood and manhood.
So Conrad Albrecht’s days had passed happily enough, and he had been
enriched by the blessing of contentment.
One morning as he lay on his bed of pain, Fritz’s father had turned his
eyes from Katrina’s roses, and for a long while they had rested sadly
on his work-bench with the half-finished toys lying on it. As he lay
there looking into that other room, he was thinking how much comfort it
would give him if Fritz would one day finish those uncompleted toys;
he had come to realize that the task had been taken out of his own
hands for ever. Fritz, sitting at the bedside, noticed the look in his
father’s eyes, and half-guessed its meaning; but before either could
speak, there came a rap on the outer door.
Fritz went at once to answer it, and, to his surprise, he saw the
tall, imposing figure of Count von Scholtz standing on the threshold.
The boy’s amazement made him speechless for a moment. Only a month
or so before he had seen the nobleman, badly injured, borne upon a
stretcher.
“Are you the son of Conrad Albrecht?” the visitor asked on seeing Fritz.
“Yes, your Honour, Fritz Albrecht is my name.”
“I am glad to know you, my boy, glad to know Conrad Albrecht’s son. Is
it possible for me to see your father? I have something of importance
that I wish to say to him.”
“My father is very ill, your Honour, and suffering great pain.”
“I know that, my lad, and it grieves me deeply; but,” he continued, as
he laid his hand on Fritz’s shoulder, “I want especially to see him.
This is my first appearance outside the house, and my doctors objected
to my coming. I told them, though, that I would make this visit to
Conrad Albrecht, cost me what it might.”
By this time they had reached the door of the sick-room, and Fritz went
in first to prepare his father for the unexpected visitor.
“Ah, Albrecht, I am distressed to see you like this; they tell me you
have suffered horribly.” And as he spoke, the nobleman seated himself
in a chair which Fritz placed for him beside the bed.
“Yes, your Honour, I’ve had much pain. At first I thought all would be
right with me in time; but now I realize that the end is near; for the
doctors can give me little hope.”
“Too bad, too bad;” the count shook his head sadly, and Fritz saw
that his eyes were full of tears. “I would give anything I possess,
Albrecht, if it could only save you; and to think that I was the cause
of this!”
Fritz, who had been a silent witness of the scene, was dismayed. How
could Count von Scholtz have caused his father’s accident? At that
moment, as though reading the question in Fritz’s mind, the count
turned and said:
“My lad, do you know that your father saved my life?”
“No, your Honour,” Fritz replied; “my father didn’t tell me.”
“Well, then, I will tell you. In the wreck, the compartment I was
occupying had taken fire, and when I found myself wedged in between
some burning timbers, and escape seemed a thing impossible, I resigned
myself to die. Then it was that your father, himself badly shaken by
the accident, saw me pinned under the pile of débris; and, without one
thought for his own safety, tore away the heavy timbers already in a
blaze. By this time others, seeing the situation, came to our relief;
but it was not until your father’s hands had been badly burned.”
“I was glad, your Honour, to be able to assist you,” said Conrad
Albrecht, feebly.
“Yes, my friend, but to save my life you gave your own; that is
heaven’s own great gift. But, Albrecht, I wish to do the best I can to
prove my gratitude. I have no son, and have come here to ask if you
will let me take your place to Fritz when you are gone. I couldn’t be
to him what you have been, but grant me this wish, and I will try and
fill a father’s place. By adoption he shall be my son. Can you, will
you, say yes to this, Albrecht?”
The look which had come into the face of the stricken man reflected
the conflict in his heart. Two paths were open for his boy, and he,
the father, must decide upon the one for him to take. Here, at the
work-bench, where he had spent many contented years, he saw the quiet,
shaded path of that more tranquil life. Out there was the glare, the
white light of the world,--would his boy be happy in it? Would it bring
him peace, such peace as he, himself, had known and loved? Yet, here
was a great, even a wonderful, opportunity; one day his Fritz’s name
might be known throughout all the Fatherland!
This thought brought a radiant look to the father’s eyes, and with all
the strength at his command he said:
“Yes, your Honour, Fritz shall be your son.”