It was then that old Gottfried, accompanied by Erard, his grandson,
climbed to the summit of a steep hill, from the edge of which might be
perceived, in the depth of the valley, behind a wood, some troops still
fighting.

The old man and the child, (Erard was scarcely nine years of age,) were
sad and silent. They both looked towards the plain, and it was with a
profound sigh that Erard at last said, "O, how good is the Lord, if he
has preserved my father!"

"The Lord can preserve him!" said Gottfried, with solemnity, "Arnold
belongs to him; yes, my son, your father is one of his dear children!"

"But, grandpapa," resumed Erard, looking at the old man, "do not
Christians also die in battle? God does not preserve them all."

"If my son has laid down his life for the Lord," continued Gottfried,
"he is not dead: his soul has gone from this world to be with his
Saviour."

"To be with my good mamma!" said the child. "In heaven with the angels,
is it not, dear grandpapa?"

"To be with thy mother, my son," replied the old man, drawing the child
towards him. "Yes, in the heaven of the blessed! It is there that all
those who love Jesus go, and your mother was his faithful servant."

Erard sighed, and exclaimed, "O, how good will God be if he has
preserved my father, my good father! O, grandpapa, why did you let him