THEREwasonce an old manor-housewithmuddy ditches and a drawbridge， which was more often up thandown； fornot all guestswho comeare good．Under the eaves were holes for shooting from， and pouring boiling water，and even melted lead，down over the enemy if he cametoo near. Inside it was high to therafters，and that was goodforthe smoke which came from the hearth，where the great damp logs lay． There hung on the wallspicturesof men in armour， and proud ladies in heavy clothes，but the stateliestofthem all was livinghere still；shewas called Metta Mogens； shewas the lady of themanor．Oneeveningrobbers came there； they killed three of her men， and the watch－dog besides， and then theychained Lady Metta to the kennelwith the dog－chain， and sat themselves down in the hall， and drank the wine from her cellar，and all the good ale．Lady Metta stood chained up like a dog，butshecouldnot even bark．

Then therobber's boycametoher；hesneaked along quietly， so that he might not be noticed； otherwisethey would have killed him．

"LadyMetta Mogens，"said theboy，"can you re- member when my father had toride on thewooden horse in your husband's time？ You begged mercy for him then， but it had no effect； he had to sit till he was crippled；but you slipped down，asI donow，andyou placed a lit－ tlestone under each of his feet， so that he could get some ease． No one saw it， or they pretended not to； you were the young，gracious lady．My father has toldmethis，and Ihave kept it to myself， buthave not forgotten it！ NowI will set you free，Lady Metta Mogens．"Then theytook horses from the stable， and rode in rain and in wind， andgot friendly help.

"Thatwasagoodreturn for the little bit of service to the old man，" said Metta Mogens．

"Hidden is not forgotten！" said the boy．

The robbers were hanged．

There stood another old mansion， it stands therestill； it was not Lady Metta Mogens'； it belonged toanother noble family．

It is inourown days． The sun shineson the gilt spireof the tower，littlewooded islands lie likebouquets on the water， and round about them swim the wild swans．

Roses grow in the garden． The lady of the house is herselfthefinest rose－leaf， shining ingladness， thegladness of gooddeeds， not out in the wideworld， but inwardly in the heart， where they are hidden， but not forgotten．

She now goes from the house to an outlying cottage inthefields． Init lives apoor， pain－riddengirl．The window inthelittle roomlookedto the north，and the sun did not come there， she had onlya view over alittlebit of a field which is shut in by a high dyke． But today thereis sunshine．OurLord's lovely warm sun is inside；

it comesfromthe south，through the new window， where there was only a wall before．

The invalid sits in the warm sunshine， sees thewoodand shore； the world has become so big and so lovely，and that at a single word from the kind lady up at the house．

"The wordwas so easy， the service so small，"says she，"andthe joyI gained was unspeakably great and blessed!"

And so she does many good deeds， thinks of all the poor people in the cottages，and in therich houses， where there are alsoafflictedones．It is concealed and hidden， but it is not forgotten by our Lord．

There was another old house； it was in thegreat busytown． In the house were rooms and halls；but we will not go into them； we will stay in the kitchen， it issnug and bright there， it is clean and neat．Thecopper thingsshine， the table looks polished， the sink is like anewly－scrubbed larding-board． It has all been done byone maid-of－all－work， and yet she has had time to dress herself as ifsheweregoingto church． She has ribbonsin hercap—black ribbons—that means mourning．Yet shehas no one to mourn for， neither father nor mother， nei－ther relative nor sweetheart；she is a poor girl．Once shewas engaged to a poor young fellow；theythoughtmuch ofeach other．One day he cametober．"We two have noth- ing！"said he，"and the rich widow downstairs has spokenwarm words to me； she will put me into agood position，butyou are in myheart．Whatdo youadvise me todo？"

"Whatever you thinkis for your happiness！" said the girl．"Be good and kind to her， but remember， thatfrom the moment we part， we two cannot see each otheragain！"

And so some years passed； then she met her former friendand sweethearton thestreet；he looked illandmis- erable；then she could not forbear，she must ask，"Howareyougetting on？"

"Very well in every way，" said he．" My wife ishonest and good，but you are in my heart． Ihave foughtmy fight； it willsoonbefinished！We shall notseeeach other now until we meet in Heaven．"A weekhas passed．

Yesterday morning she read in the paper that he was dead： that is why shewears mourning． Her sweetheart isdead， leaving a widow and threestep－children， the papersaid．

The black ribbon betokens mourning： the girl's facebetokens it still more！Itis hiddin theheart，butwill never be forgotten！

See，there are three stories；three leaves on one stalk．Do you wish for more clover－leaves？ There are many in the bookof the heart—hidden but not forgotten！

藏着并不等于遗忘

从前有一座古老的房子；它的四周环绕着一条泥泞的壕沟，沟上有一座吊桥，这座桥吊着的时候比放下的时候多，因为平时来访的客人并没有多少算得上是贵客。屋檐下有许多专为开枪用的枪眼——如果敌人走得很近的话，也可以从这些枪眼里把开水或白热的铅淋到他们头上去。屋子里的梁都很高；这是很好的，因为炉子里烧着粗大而潮湿的木头，这样就可以使炉子里的烟有地方可去。墙上挂着的是一些穿着铠甲的男人的画像，以及庄严的、穿着一大堆衣服的太太们的画像。不过他们之中最尊贵的一位仍然住在这里。她叫作美特·莫根斯。她是这个�............