that self-same time, the old shepherd and his wife died. Their village
neighbors accompanied them in silence to the humble churchyard. A little
man, whose hair was now white as snow, followed the dead with his head
uncovered. When the priest had cast on their coffins that handful of
dust which sounds so drearily, the old man murmured--

"There are bad sons, who, when they become fortunate, forget the aged
parents who cherished them when they were children. May they be
requited! for of such is not the kingdom of heaven."--Then he knelt down
by the side of the grave and prayed.

This old man was Counsellor Werter. Wearied of the world, he had retired
into obscurity, after having divided the larger part of his splendid
fortune among the poor. He was gay, nimble--in the enjoyment of robust
health; and many a time would he thank heaven that no children had been
born to him, when he thought of the hard-heartedness of John Durer.

Not long after this, on the spot where the shepherd's cabin had stood was
seen a magnificent château. It had been built so quickly, that it seemed
like an enchanted palace. Toward the middle of summer, a fine young
lord, a fair noble lady of the castle, and two lovely children, entered
the village near to Haerlem in pride and triumph, escorted by the
peasants, who had assembled in their honor. That fine young lord was
John Durer, first Minister to his Majesty the Emperor of Germany.

It had chanced that heavy losses had befallen Counsellor Werter, which
brought him within an inch of ruin. Had it not been for a sister left
him who took care of him, the poor old gentleman would have been, indeed,
in a miserable plight. A single word spoken by John Durer would have
restored his ancient benefactor to court, and replaced him in the