UNCLE TITUS AND HIS VISIT TO THE COUNTRY

A Story for Children and for Those Who Love Children

Translated from the German of

JOHANNA SPYRI

by

Louise Brooks

BostonDe Wolfe, Fiske & Co361 and 365 Washington Street

1886

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER

 I. UNDER THE LINDENS

 II. LONG, LONG DAYS

 III. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE

 IV. ALL SIX

 V. BEFORE AND AFTER THE FLOOD

 VI. A FRIGHTFUL DEED

 VII. LONG-WISHED-FOR HAPPINESS

VIII. MORE CHARADES AND THEIR ANSWERS

 IX. "WHAT MUST BE, MUST BE"

CHAPTER I. 

UNDER THE LINDENS. 

The daily promenaders who moved slowly back and forth every afternoonunder the shade of the lindens on the eastern side of the pretty town ofKarlsruhe were very much interested in the appearance of two persons whohad lately joined their ranks. It was beyond doubt that the man was veryill. He could only move slowly and it was touching to see the care withwhich his little companion tried to make herself useful to him. Hesupported himself with his right hand on a stout stick, and rested hisleft upon the shoulder of the child at his side, and one could see that heneeded the assistance of both. From time to time he would lift his lefthand and say gently, "Tell me, my child, if I press too heavily upon you. "

Instantly, however, the child would catch his hand and press it downagain, assuring him, "No, no, certainly not, Papa, lean upon me still more: I do not evennotice it at all. "

After they had walked back and forth for a while, they seated themselvesupon one of the benches that were placed at convenient distances under thetrees, and rested a little. 

The sick man was Major Falk, who had been in Karlsruhe only a short time. He lived before that in Hamburg with his daughter Dora, whose mother diedsoon after the little girl came into the world, so that Dora had neverknown any parent but her father. Naturally, therefore, the child's wholeaffection was centred upon Major Falk, who had always devoted himself tohis little motherless girl with such tenderness that she had scarcely feltthe want of a mother, until the war with France broke out, and he wasobliged to go with the Army. He was away for a long time, and when at lasthe returned, it was with a dangerous wound in his breast. The Major had nonear relatives in Hamburg, and he therefore lived a very retired life withhis little daughter as his only companion, but in Karlsruhe he had anelder half-sister, married to a literary man, Mr. Titus Ehrenreich. 

When Major Falk was fully convinced that his wound was incurable, hedecided to remove to Karlsruhe, in order not to be quite without help whenhis increasing illness should make it necessary for him to have some aidin the care of his eleven-year-old daughter. It did not take long to makethe move. He rented a few rooms in the neighborhood of his sister, andspent the warm spring afternoons enjoying his regular walk under the shadeof the lindens with his little daughter as his supporter and lovingcompanion. 

When he grew weary of walking and they sat down on a bench to rest, theMajor had always some interesting story to tell, to beguile the time, andDora was certain that no one in the whole world could tell such delightfulstories as her father, who was indeed in her opinion the most agreeableand lovable of men. Her favorite tales, and those which the Major himselftook most pleasure in relating, were little incidents in the life ofDora's mother, who was now is heaven. He loved to tell the child howaffectionate and happy her mother had always been, and how many friendsshe had won for herself, and how she always brought sunshine with herwherever she went, and how nobody ever saw her who did not feel at onceattracted to her, and how she was even now remembered by those who hadknown and loved her during life. 

When Major Falk once began to talk about his dearly-beloved wife, he wasapt to forget the flight of time, and often the cool evening wind firstaroused him with its chilly breath to the fact that he was lingering toolong in the outer air. Then he and his little Dora would rise from thebench in the shade of the lindens, and slowly wander back into town, untilthey stopped before a many-storied house in a narrow street, and the Majorwould generally say, "We must go up to see Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette this afternoon, Dora. "And as they slowly climbed the steep staircase, he would add, "Softly now, little Dora, you know your Uncle is always writing very learned books, andwe must not disturb him by any unnecessary noise, and indeed, Dora, I donot think your Aunt is any more fond of noise than he is. "

So Dora went up upon the tips of her toes as quietly as a mouse, and theMajor's ring could scarcely be heard, he pulled the bell so gently!Generally Aunt Ninette opened the door herself, saying, "Come in, come in, dear brother! Very softly, if you please, for you knowyour brother-in-law is busy at work. "

So the three moved noiselessly along the corridor and crept into thesitting room. Uncle Titus' study was the very next room, so that theconversation was carried on almost in whispers, but it must be said MajorFalk was less liable to forget the necessary caution against disturbingthe learned writer than Aunt Ninette herself, for that lady beingoppressed with many cares and troubles had always to break into frequentlamentation. 

When June came, it was safe and pleasant to linger late under the shade ofthe lindens, but the pair in whom we are interested often turned theirsteps homeward earlier than they wished, in order not to arouse AuntNinette's ever-ready reproaches. But one warm evening when the sky wascovered with rosy and golden sunset clouds, the Major and Dora lingeredwatching the lovely sight longer than was their wont. They sat silent handin hand on the bench by the side of the promenade, and Dora could not takeher eyes from her father's face as he sat with upturned look gazing intothe sky. At last she exclaimed:

"I wish you could see yourself, papa, you look all golden and beautiful. Iam sure the angels in heaven look just as you do now. "

Her father smiled. "It will soon pass away from me, Dora, but I canimagine your mother standing behind those lovely clouds and smiling downupon us with this golden glory always upon her face. "

As the Major said, it did pass away very soon; his face grew pale, andshone no longer; the golden light faded from the sky and the shades ofnight stole on. The Major rose, and Dora followed him rather sadly. Thebeautiful illumination had passed too quickly. 

"We shall stand again in this glory, my child, nay, in a far morebeautiful one, " said her father consolingly, "when we are all togetheragain, your mother and you and I, where there will be no more parting andthe glory will be everlasting. "

As they climbed up the high staircase to say good night to Uncle and Aunt, the latter awaited them on the landing, making all sorts of silent signsof alarm and distress, but she did not utter a sound until she had themsafely within the sitting room. Then, having softly closed the door, shebroke forth complainingly, "How can you make me so uneasy, dear brother? I have been dreadfullyanxious about you. I imagined all kinds of shocking accidents that mighthave happened, and made you so late in returning home! How can you be soheedless as to forget that it is not safe for you to stay out aftersunset. Now I am sure that you have taken cold. And what will happen, whocan tell? Something dreadful, I am certain. "

"Calm yourself, I beg you, dear Ninette, " said the Major soothingly, assoon as he could get in a word. "The air is so mild, so very warm, that itcould not possibly harm anybody, and the evening was glorious, perfectlywonderful. Let me enjoy these lovely summer evenings on earth as long as Ican; it will not be very long at the farthest. What is sure to come, canbe neither delayed nor hastened much by anything I may do. "

These words, however, although they were spoken in the quietest possibletone, called forth another torrent of reproach and lamentation. 

"How can you allow yourself to speak in that way? How can you say suchdreadful things?" cried the excited woman over and over again. "It willnot happen. What will become of us all; what will become of--you know whatI mean, " and she cast a meaning glance at Dora. "No, Karl, it would bemore than I could bear, and we never have more trouble sent to us than wecan bear; I do not know how I should live; I could not possibly endureit. "

"My dear Ninette" said her brother quietly, "Do not forget one thing, "'Thou art not in command, Thou canst not shape the end; God holds us in his hand: God knows the best to send. '"

"Oh, of course, I know all that well enough. I know that is all true, "assented Aunt Ninette, "but when one cannot see the end nor the help, itis enough to kill one with anxiety. And then you have such a way ofspeaking of terrible things as if they were certain to come, and I cannotbear it, I tell you; I cannot. "

"Now we will say good-night and not stand and dispute any longer, my dearsister, " said the Major, holding out his hand, "we will both try toremember the words of the verse--'God knows the best to send. '"

"Yes, yes, I'll remember. Only don't take cold going across the street, and step very softly as you go down the stairs, and Dora, do you hear!Close the door very gently, and Karl, be careful of the draught, as youcross the street!"

While the good irritating Aunt was calling after them all theseunnecessary cautions, Dora and her father had gone down the stairs and hadsoftly closed the house-door. They had only a narrow alley to cross toreach their own rooms opposite. 

The next afternoon, as Dora and her father seated themselves on theirfavorite bench under the lindens, the child asked, "Papa, is it possible that Aunt Ninette never knew the verse you repeatedto her last night?"

"Oh yes, my child, she has always known the lines, " replied the Major. "Itis only for the moment that your good aunt allows herself to be sooverwhelmed with care and worry as to forget who governs all wisely. Sheis a good woman, and in her heart she places her trust in God's goodness. She soon comes to herself again. "

Dora was silent for a while, and then she said thoughtfully, "Papa, how can we help being 'overwhelmed with care and worry?' and'killed with anxiety, ' as Aunt Ninette said. "

"By always remembering that everything comes to us from the good God, mydear child. When we are happy, we must think of Him and thank Him; whensorrow comes we must not be frightened and distressed, for we know thatthe good God sends it, and that it will be for our good. So we shall neverbe 'overwhelmed with care and worry, ' for even when some bitter troublecomes, in which we can see no help nor escape, we know that God can bringgood out of what seems to us wholly evil. Will you try to think of this, my child? for sorrow comes to all, and you will not escape it more thananother. But God will help you if you put your trust in Him. "

"Yes, I understand you, papa, and I will try to do as you say. It is farbetter to trust in God, than to let one's self be overwhelmed with careand worry. '"

"But we must not forget, " continued her father, after a pause, "that wemust not only think of God, when something special happens, but ineverything that we do, we must strive to act according to His holy will. If we never think of Him, except when we are unhappy, we shall not then beable easily to find the way to him, and that is the greatest grief ofall. "

Dora repeated that she would ask God to keep her in the right way, and asshe spoke, her father softly stroked her hand, as it lay in his. He didnot speak again for a long time, but his eyes rested so lovingly andprotectingly on his little girl, that she felt as if folded in a tenderand strengthening embrace. 

The sun sank in golden radiance behind the green lindens, and slowly thefather and child wended their way towards the high house in the narrowstreet. 

CHAPTER II. 

LONG, LONG DAYS. 

It was not many days after the events mentioned in the last chapter. Dorasat by her father's bedside, her head buried in the pillows, vainlystriving to choke down her tears and sobs. It seemed as if her heart mustbreak. The Major lay back on his pillow, white and still, with a peacefulsmile on his calm face. Dora could not understand it, could not take itin, but she knew it. Her father was gone to join her mother in heaven. 

In the morning her father had not come as usual to her bedside to awakenher, so when at last she opened her eyes, she went to seek him, and shefound him still in bed, and lying so quiet that she seated herself quitesoftly by his side, that she might not disturb him. 

Presently the servant came up with the breakfast, and looking through theopen door into the bed-room where Dora sat by her father's bed-side, shecalled out in terror, "Oh God, he is dead! I will call your aunt, child, " and hurried away. 

Dora's heart seemed cut in two by these words. She put her head upon thepillow and sobbed and wept. Presently she heard her aunt come into theroom, and she raised her head and tried to control herself, for shedreaded the scene that she knew was coming. And it came--cries and sobs, loud groans and lamentations. Aunt Ninette declared that she could neverbear this terrible blow; she did not know which way to turn, nor what todo first. 

In the open drawer of the table by the side of the bed, lay severalpapers, and as she laid them together, meaning to lock them up, she saw aletter addressed to herself. She opened it and read as follows:

 "Dear Sister Ninette, "I feel that I shall shall soon leave you, but I will not talk to you about it, for the sad time will come only too quickly. One only wish that I have greatly at heart I now lay before you, and that is, that you will take my child under your protection for as long as she may need your care. I shall leave very little money behind me, but I beg you to employ this little in teaching Dora something that will enable her, with God's help, to support herself when she is old enough. 

 "Do not, my dear sister, give way to your grief; try to believe as I believe, that God will always take our children under his care, when we are obliged to leave them and can no longer provide for them ourselves. Receive my heartfelt thanks for all the kindness you have shown to me and my child. God will reward you for it all. "

Aunt Ninette read and re-read these touching lines, and could not helpgrowing calmer as she read. She turned to the silently weeping Dora withthese words, "Come, my child, your home henceforth will be with us. You and I will tryto remember that all is well with your father; otherwise we shall breakdown under our sorrow. "

Dora arose at once and prepared to follow her aunt, but her heart washeavy within her; she felt as if all was over and she could not live muchlonger. 

As she came up the stairs behind her aunt, Aunt Ninette omitted for thefirst time to caution her to step lightly, and indeed there was no neednow of the usual warning when they approached Uncle Titus' room, for thelittle girl was so sad, so weighed down with her sorrow as she entered hernew home, that it seemed as if she could never again utter a sound ofchildish merriment. 

A little room under the roof, hitherto used as a store-room, was changedinto a bed-room for Dora, though not without some complainings from AuntNinette. However, the furniture was brought over from the Major's rooms, and after a slight delay, all was comfortably arranged for the child. 

When supper-time came, Dora followed her aunt, without a word, into thedining-room, where they were joined by Uncle Titus, who however seldomspoke, so deeply was he absorbed in his own thoughts. After supper, Dorawent up to her little room under the roof, and with her face buried in herpillow, cried herself softly to sleep. 

On the following morning she begged to be allowed to go over to look onceagain at her father, and after some objection, her aunt agreed to go withher, and they crossed the narrow street. 

Dora took a silent farewell of her dear father, weeping all the time butmaking no disturbance. Only when she again reached her little bed-room, did she at last give way to her sobs without restraint, for she knew thatsoon her good father would be carried away, and that she could never, never see him again on earth. 

And now began a new order of life for Dora. She had not been to school, during the short time that she and her father had lived together inKarlsruhe. Her father went over with her the lessons she had learned inHamburg, but he did not seem to care to begin any new study, preferring toleave everything for her aunt to arrange. 

It happened that one of Aunt Ninette's friends was the teacher of aprivate school for girls, so that it was soon settled that Dora was to goto her every morning to learn what she could. Also a seamstress wasengaged to teach her the art of shirt-making in the afternoon, for it wasa theory of Aunt Ninette's that the construction of shirts of all kindswas a most useful branch of knowledge, and she proposed that Dora shouldlearn this art, with a view of being able to support herself with herneedle. She argued that since the shirt is the first garment to be put onin dressing, it should be the first that one should learn to make, andwith this as a foundation, Dora could go on through the whole art ofsewing, till in time she might even arrive at the mighty feat of makingdresses! With which achievement Aunt Ninette would feel more thansatisfied, but this great end would never be reached, unless the firststeps were taken in the right direction. 

So every morning Dora sat on the school-bench studying diligently, andevery afternoon on a little chair close to the seamstress' knee, sewing ona big shirt that made her very warm and uncomfortable. 

The mornings were not unpleasant; for she was in the company of otherchildren who were all studying, and Dora was ambitious and willing tolearn. So the hours flew quickly, for she was too busy to dwell much onthe loss of her dear father, and to think that he was gone forever. Butthe afternoons were truly dreadful. She must sit through the long hothours, close by the seamstress, almost smothered by the big piece ofcotton cloth, which her little fingers could hardly manage, and she grewrestless and irritable, for her hands were moist, and the needle refusedto be driven through the thick cloth. How often she glanced up at theclock on the wall during those long hours, when the minute hand was surelystuck at half-past three, and the regular tic-tac seemed to fill thequiet room with its sleepy droning. So hot, so still, so long were thehours of those summer afternoons!

The silence was broken now and then by the sounds of a distant piano. "What a happy child that must be!" thought little Dora, "who can sit atthe piano and practise exercises, and all sorts of pretty tunes!" Shecould think of nothing more delightful; she listened with hungry ears, anddrank in every note that reached her. In the narrow street where theseamstress lived she could hear the music distinctly, for no wagonspassed, and the voices of foot-passengers did not reach up so high as toher room. So Dora listened to the sweet melodies which were her onlyrefreshment during those hot long hours, and even the running scales werea pleasure to her ear. But then the thought of her father came back toher, and she felt bitterly the terrible contrast between these hot lonelyafternoons and those which she used to spend with him under the cool shadeof the lindens. Then she thought of that glorious sunset, and of herfather, as he stood transfigured in the golden light. She remembered hiscomforting words, his assurance that some day they two and the motherwould stand thus together, shining in the eternal light of Heaven. ButDora sighed at the thought of the long weary time before she should jointhem, unless indeed some accident should happen to her, or she should fallill and die, from this too heavy task of shirt-making. After all, her bestconsolation was her father's verse; and then too, he had been so sure ofits truth:

 "God holds us in his hand, God knows the best to send. "

She believed it too; and as she repeated the lines to herself, her heartgrew lighter, and even her needle moved more easily, as if inspired by thecheering thoughts. Yet the days were long and wearisome, and theirstillness followed her when she went home to her uncle and aunt. 

She reached home just in time for supper. Uncle Titus always held thenewspaper before his face, and read and ate behind its ample shelter. AuntNinette spoke in whispers all the while, and asked only the most necessaryquestions, in order not to disturb her husband. Dora said little; and lessevery day, as she grew accustomed to this silent life. Even when she camehome from school at noon for the short interval before the time for hersewing lessons, there was no need to caution her against noise; for thechild moved ever less and less like a living being, and grew more like ashadow day by day. 

Yet by nature she was a lively little maiden, and took so keen an interestin all about her, that her father often used joyfully to observe it, saying, "That child is exactly like her dear mother; just the same movements, thesame indomitable spirit and enjoyment of life!"

But now all this vivacity seemed extinguished. Dora was very careful neverto provoke her aunt to complaints, which she dreaded exceedingly. Yet forall her pains it would happen sometimes, most unexpectedly and when shewas least looking for a storm, that one would break over her head, andfrighten all her thoughts and words back into her childish heart; nay, almost check the flow of youth in her veins. 

One evening, she came home from her work filled with enthusiasm, by a songshe had been listening to, played by her unseen musician. Dora knew thewords well:

 "Live your life merrily While the lamp glows, Ere it can fade and die, Gather the rose. "

Dora had often sung this song, but she had never dreamed that it could beplayed on the piano, and it sounded so beautiful, so wonderful to her, that she said to her aunt, as she entered the dining-room, "Oh, Aunt Ninette, how delightful it must be to know how to play on thepiano! Do you think that I can ever learn it in my life?"

"Oh, in heaven's name, how can you ask me such a thing? How can you worryme so? How could you do anything of the kind in our house? Think of theterrible din that a piano makes! And where would the money come from ifyou could find the time? Oh, Dora, where did you get hold of thatunfortunate idea? I should think I had enough to worry me already, withoutyour asking me such a thing as this into the bargain. "

Dora hastened to assure her aunt that she had no intention of asking forany thing, and the storm blew over. But never again did she dare even tospeak of music, no matter how eagerly she had listened to the piano, during her long sewing lessons. 

Every evening after Dora had learned all her lessons for school, while heraunt in utter silence knitted or nodded, the child climbed up to herlittle attic room; and before she closed her tiny window, she leaned outinto the night to see whether the stars were shining, and looking downupon her from the high heavens. Five there were always up there just aboveher head; they stood close together and Dora looked at them so often andso steadily, that she began to consider them as her own specialproperty--or rather as friends who came every night and twinkled down intoher heart, to tell her that she was not utterly alone. One night the ideacame to her that these bright stars were loving messengers, who broughther kisses and caresses from her dear parents. And from these heavenlymessengers the lonely child gained nightly comfort when she climbed to herlittle chamber in the roof, with her feeble candle for her only companion. She sent her prayers up to heaven through the tiny window, and receivedfull assurance in return, that her Father in heaven saw her, and would notforsake her. Her father had told her that God would always help those whotrusted him and prayed to him, and she had no fear. 

And so the long hot summer passed, and Autumn came. Then followed a long, long winter with its cold and darkness; such cold that Dora often thoughtthat even the hot summer days were better, for she no longer dared toopen the window to look for her friends the stars, and often she couldhardly get to sleep, it was so cold in the little room, under the roof. Atlast the Spring rolled round again, and the days passed one like another, in the quiet dwelling of Uncle Titus. Dora worked harder than ever on thebig shirts, for she had learned to sew so well, that she had to help theseamstress in earnest now. When the hot days came again, somethinghappened; and now Aunt Ninette had reason enough to lament. Uncle Titushad an attack of dizziness, and the doctor was sent for. 

"I suppose it is thirty years since you went beyond the limits of the townof Karlsruhe, and in all that time you have never left your desk exceptto eat and sleep. Am I right?" asked the physician, after he had lookedsteadily at Uncle Titus and tapped him a little here and there. 

There was no denying that the doctor had stated the case truly. 

"Very well, " he said, "now off with you! go away at once; to-day ratherthan to-morrow. Go to Switzerland. Go to the fresh mountain air; that isall the medicine you need. Don't go too high up, but stay there six weeksat least. Have you any preference as to the place? No? Well, set yourselfto thinking and I will do the same, and to-morrow I shall call again tofind you ready for the journey. "

With this off started the doctor, but Aunt Ninette would not let himescape so easily. She followed close at his heels with a whole torrent ofquestions, which she asked over and over again, and she would have ananswer. The doctor had fairly deserved this attack, by his astoundingprescription. His little game of snapping it suddenly upon them, and thenquickly making his escape, had not succeeded; he lost three times as muchtime outside the door as if he had staid quietly in the room. When at lastAunt Ninette returned to her husband, there he sat at his desk again, writing as usual!

"My dear Titus, " cried the good woman really in great astonishment, "is itpossible that you did not hear what we are ordered to do? To dropeverything and go away at once, and stay away for six weeks! And where? Wehave not an idea where! And there's no way of knowing who our neighborswill be! It is terrible, and there you sit and write as if there werenothing else to be done in the world!"

"My love, it is exactly because I must go away so soon, that I wish tomake the most of the little time I have left, " said Uncle Titus, and hewent on with his writing. 

"My dear Titus, your way of accepting the unexpected is most admirable, but this must be talked over, I assure you. The consequences may be veryserious, and the matter must not be lightly treated. Do think at oncewhere we are to go! Aunt Ninette spoke very impressively. 

"Oh, it makes no difference where we go, if it is only quiet, and out inthe country some where, " said the good man, as he calmly continued hiswriting. 

"Of course, that is the very thing" said his wife, "to find a quiet house, not full of people nor in a noisy neighborhood. We might happen on aschool close by, or a mill, or a waterfall. There are so many of thosedreadful things in Switzerland. Or some noisy factory, or a market place, always full of country folk, all the people of the whole canton pouring inthere together and making a terrible uproar. But I have an idea, mydearest Titus, I have thought of a way to settle it. I shall write to anold uncle of my brother's wife. You remember the family used to live inSwitzerland; I am sure I can find out from him just what it is best for usto do. "

"That seems to me rather a round-about way, " said her husband, "and if Iremember right the family had some unpleasant experiences in Switzerland, and are not likely to have kept up any connection with it. "

"Oh, let me see to that; I will take care that all is as it should be, mydear Titus, " said aunt Ninette decidedly, and off she went, and withoutmore delay wrote and dispatched a letter to her brother's wife's uncle. This done, she hurried away to Dora's sewing teacher, who was a mostrespectable woman, and arranged that while they were in Switzerland, Dorashould spend the days with her, going to school as usual in the morningand sewing all the afternoon, and that the woman should go home with Dorato pass the nights. 

Dora was informed of this plan when she came home that evening. Shereceived the news in silence, and after supper in silence went to herlittle attic room. There as she sat upon her little bed, she realizedfully what her life would be when her uncle and aunt had gone away, and asshe compared it sadly with the happy companionship of her dear father, hersorrow and solitude seemed too terrible to bear, and she hid her face inher hands and gave way to bitter tears. Her uncle and aunt might die too, she thought, and she should be left alone with no one to care for her, noone in the world to whom she belonged, and nothing to do but to sitforever sewing on endless shirts. For ever and ever! for she knew she mustearn her living by sewing. Well, she was quite willing to do that; but oh!not to be left all alone. 

The poor child was so wholly absorbed in these painful thoughts, as theypassed again and again through her mind, that she lost all sense of time, till at last she was aroused, by the clock on the neighboring towerstriking so many times that she was frightened. She raised her head. Itwas perfectly dark. Her little candle had burned out, and not a glimmer oflight came from the street. But the stars; yes, there were the five starsabove still shining so joyfully, that it seemed to Dora as if her fatherwere looking down upon her with loving eyes, and saying cheeringly, "God holds us in his hand God knows the best to send. "

The sparkling starlight sank deep into her heart, and made it lighter. Shegrew calmer. Her father knew, she said to herself, she would trust hisknowledge, and not fear what the future might hold in store. And after shelaid her head on her pillow, she kept her eyes fixed upon the beautifulstars until they closed in sleep. 

On the following evening the doctor came as he had promised. He began tosuggest various places to Uncle Titus, but Aunt Ninette assured him rathercurtly, that she was already on the track of something that promised to besatisfactory. There were a great many things to be taken intoconsideration, she said, since Uncle Titus was to make so vast a change inhis habits. The utmost prudence must be exercised in the selection of thesituation, and of the house also. This was her present business, and wheneverything was settled she would inform the doctor of her arrangements. 

"Very well, only don't be long about it; be off as soon as you can, thequicker the better, " said the physician warningly, and he was making ahasty retreat, when he almost fell over little Dora who had stolen soquietly into the room that he had not seen her. 

"There, there, I hope I did not hurt you, " he said, tapping the frightenedchild upon the shoulder. "It will do this thin little creature a world ofgood too, this trip to Switzerland, " he continued. "She must drink plentyof milk, --lots of milk. "

"We have decided to leave Dora behind, " remarked Aunt Ninette drily. 

"As you please; it is your affair, Mrs. Ehrenreich; but you must let meobserve that if you do not look out, you will have another case on yourhands, as bad as your husband's, if not worse. Good-morning madam, " and hevanished. 

"Doctor, doctor! what do you mean? What did you say?" cried Aunt Ninettein her most plaintive tone, running down the stairs to overtake him. 

"I mean that the little person up there has quite too little good blood inher veins, and that she cannot last long, unless she gets more and betternourishment. "

"For heaven's sake! What unfortunate people we are!" cried Mrs. Ehrenreich, wringing her hands in distress, as she came back into herhusband's room. "My dearest Titus, just lay down your pen for one moment. You did not hear the dreadful things the doctor said would happen toDora, if she did not have more and better blood?"

"Oh, take her with us to Switzerland. She never makes any noise, " andUncle Titus went on with his writing. 

"My dearest Titus, how can you decide such a thing in one second? To besure she never makes any noise, and that is the most important thing. Butthere are so many other things to consider, and arrange for, and thinkover! Oh dear! Oh dear me!"

But Uncle Titus was again absorbed in his work, and paid not the slightestheed to his wife's lamentations. So, seeing that she could expect no helpfrom him, she went into her own room, thought everything over carefullyagain and again, and at last decided that it was best to follow thedoctor's advice, and take Dora with them. 

In a day or two the expected letter came from Hamburg. It was very short. The old uncle knew nothing about his brother's residence in Switzerland, now thirty years back. Tannenburg was certainly quiet enough, for hisbrother had always complained of the want of society there, and that wasall he knew about it. But this was satisfactory so far, and Aunt Ninettedecided at once to write to the clergyman at Tannenburg for fartherparticulars. Solitude and quiet! this was just what Uncle Titus needed. 

This second letter brought an immediate answer which confirmed her hopes. "Tannenburg is a small place, with scattered houses, " wrote the clergyman. "There is just such a dwelling as you describe, now ready for lodgers. Itis occupied by the widow of the school-teacher, an elderly and very worthywoman, who has two good-sized rooms and a little bed-room which she willbe glad to let. " And the widow's address was added, in case Mrs. Ehrenreich should wish farther information. 

Mrs. Ehrenreich wrote immediately, setting forth her wishes at full lengthand in great detail. She expressed her satisfaction that the houses inTannenburg were so far apart, and she hoped that the one in question wasnot situated in such a way as to be undesirable for the residence of aninvalid. She wished to make sure that there was in the vicinity no smithy, no locksmith, no stables, no stone-breaker's yard, no slaughter-house normill, no school, and particularly no waterfall. 

The answer from the widow, very prettily expressed, contained theagreeable assurance, that not one of these dreaded nuisances was to befound in her neighborhood. The school and the mill were so far away thatnot a sound could reach her dwelling from either, and there was nowaterfall in that part of the country. Also there was not a house to beseen far or near, except the large residence of Mr. Birkenfeld, standingsurrounded by beautiful gardens, fields and meadows. The Birkenfelds werethe most respected family in the neighborhood. He was a member of everycommittee, and was a most benevolent man, and his wife was full of goodworks. The widow added that she herself owed a great deal to the kindnessof this family, particularly with regard to her little house which wastheir property, and which Mr. Birkenfeld had allowed her to occupy eversince her husband's death. He had proved to be the kindest of landlords. 

After a letter like this there was no need for farther delay; everythinghad been provided for. Dora now heard for the first time that she was togo with them, and with a light heart and a willing hand, she packed theheavy materials for six large shirts, which she was to make while theywere in Switzerland. The prospect of sewing on the shirts in a new place, and with different surroundings, excited her so much that she looked on itall as a holiday. At last all was ready. The trunks and chests werecarried down to the street door, and the servant-girl was sent out for acabman with a hand-cart, to take them away. 

Dora had been ready for a long time, and stood at the head of the stairswith beating heart filled with expectations of all the new things that shewas to see for the next six weeks. The idea of this coming freedom almostovercame her with its bewildering delight, after all those long, long daysin the seamstress' little, stifling room. 

At last her uncle and aunt came from their room laden with innumerableumbrellas and parasols, baskets and bundles, got down stairs with somedifficulty, and mounted the carriage that was waiting below. And they werefairly off for the country, --and quiet. 

CHAPTER III. 

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 

Mr. Birkenfeld's large house was situated on the summit of a green hillwith a lovely view across a lake to a richly-wooded valley beyond. Fromearly spring to the end of autumn, flowers of every hue glistened andglowed in the bright sunshine that seemed always to lie on those lovelymeadows. Near the house was the stable, in which stamped four spiritedhorses, and there, also, many shining cows stood at their cribs, peacefully chewing the fragrant grass with which they were well-suppliedby the careful Battiste, an old servant who had served the family for manyyears. When Hans, the stable-boy, and all the other servants were away, busy on the estate, it was Battiste's habit to walk round from time totime through the stalls, to make sure that all was as it should be. For heknew all about the right management of horses and cattle, having been inthe service of Mr. Birkenfeld's father when he was a mere lad. Now that hewas well on in years, he had been advanced to the position ofhouse-servant, but he still had an eye upon the stable and over the wholefarm. The mows were neatly filled with sweet-smelling hay, and the binswere piled full of wheat and oats and barley, all the product of the farm, which extended over the hill-side far away into the valley below. On theside of the house opposite the barnyards stood the wash-house with itsspacious drying-ground, and not far away, but quite concealed by a highhedge from the house and garden, was the tiny cottage which the owner hadkindly allowed the school-master's widow to occupy for several years past. 

On the evening of which we write, the warm sunlight lay softly on thehillside, revealing the red and white daisies which nestled everywhere inthe rich green grass. A shaggy dog was basking in the open space beforethe house door, lazily glancing about now and then to see what wasstirring. All was quiet, however, and he peacefully dozed again after eachsurvey. Occasionally a young, gray cat peeped slily forth from beneath thedoor-step, stared at the motionless sleeper and cautiously withdrew again. Everything denoted peace and quiet except certain sounds of voices and ofgreat activity which proceeded from the back of the house, where the doorleading into the garden, stood open. 

Presently wheels were heard, and a wagon drove up and stopped before thedoor of the widow's cottage. The dog opened his eyes and pointed his ears, but it was evidently not worth while to growl at something in the nextplace, so he dozed off again at once. The newly-arrived guests descendedfrom the carriage, and entered the cottage in silence. There they werecordially welcomed by Mrs. Kurd, and shown to the rooms reserved for them, and soon Aunt Ninette was busy in the large chamber unpacking her bigtrunk, while Dora in her little bedroom soon emptied her little box andput her clothes in the other room, which was to be his study, Uncle Titusalso sat at a square table, busy placing his writing materials inreadiness for work. Dora ran again and again to the window, whence she sawvery different sights from any she had ever looked upon before. Greenfields sprinkled with many-colored flowers, the blue lake, the snow-cappedmountains in the distance, and over all, the enchantment of thegolden-green light from the setting sun. The child could scarcely tearherself away from the window. She did not know that the world could be sobeautiful. But her aunt soon recalled her from her wonderment, for therewere still things to be put away which belonged to her, but had beenbrought in her aunt's trunk. 

"Oh, Aunt Ninette, " cried the child, "Isn't it perfectly beautiful?"

She spoke louder than she had ever thought of speaking in Uncle Titus'house, for the new scenes had aroused her natural sprightliness, and shewas herself once more. 

"Hush, hush Dora! Why, I don't know what to make of you, child! Don't youknow that your uncle is in the next room, and is already at work?"

Dora took her things from her aunt's hands, but while passing the window, she asked softly, "May I just look out of these windows a minute now, Aunt? I want to seewhat there is on every side of the house. "

"Yes, yes, you may look out for a moment. There is nobody about. A quietgarden lies beyond the hedge. From the other window you see the big openspace in front of the great house. Nothing else but the sleepingwatch-dog before the door. I hope he is always as quiet. You may look outthere too, if you like. "

Dora first opened the window towards the garden; a delicious odor ofjasmine and mignonette was wafted into the room from the flower-bedsbelow. The high green hedge stretched away for a long distance, and beyondit she could see green sward and flower-beds and shady bowers. How lovelyit must be over there! There was no one in sight, but some one certainlymust have been there, for by the door of the house rose a wonderfultriumphal arch, made of two tall bean-poles tied together at the top, andthickly covered with fir-branches. A large piece of card-board hung downfrom the arch, and swung back and forth in the wind, and something waswritten on it in big letters. 

Suddenly a noise resounded from the open space in front of the greathouse. Dora ran to the other window and peeped out. A carriage stood thereand two brown horses there stamping impatiently in their traces. A crowdof children came bursting out of the door of the house, all together; one, two, three, four, five, six, both boys and girls. "I, I, I must get uponthe box, " cried each one, and all together, louder and louder at everyword; while in the midst of the crowd, the great dog began to jump uponfirst one child and then another, barking joyfully in his excitement. Sucha noise had probably not greeted Aunt Ninette's ears within the memory ofman. 

"What is the matter, in heaven's name, " cried she, almost beside herself. "What sort of a place have we come to?"

"Oh Aunty, look! see; they are all getting into the carriage, " cried Dora, who was enchanted at the sight. Such a merry party she had never seenbefore. 

One lad jumped upon the wheel, and clambered nimbly to a seat on the boxbeside the driver, from which he reached down his hand towards the dog, who was jumping and barking with delight. 

"Come Schnurri, you can come too, " cried the boy at the top of his lungs, at the same time catching at the dog, now by his tail, now by his paw, andagain by his thick hair, until the driver leaned down and pulled thecreature up beside them, with a strong swing. Meantime the eldest boylifted a little girl from the ground, and jumped her into the carriage, and two younger boys, one slender, the other round as a ball, began toclamor, "Me too, Jule, me too, a big high one! me higher still!" and theyshouted with glee, as they too were lifted up and deposited on the seat. Then Jule helped the older girl into the carriage, jumped in himself, andgave the door a good smart bang, for "big Jule" had strong muscles. Thehorses started; but now another cry arose. 

"If Schnurri is going, I can take Philomele with me. Trine! Trine! bringme Philomele, I want to take Philomele!" shouted the little girl as loudas she could call. 

The young, strong-fisted servant-maid who now appeared in the door-way, grasped the situation at once. She seized the gray cat that stood on thestone step casting angry looks at Schnurri, and flung her into thecarriage. The whip cracked, and off they rolled. 

Aunt Ninette hastened into her husband's room in great alarm, not knowingwhat effect all this disturbance would have upon him. He was sittingcalmly at his table, with all the windows in the room closed and fastened. 

"My dear Titus! who could have foreseen this? What shall we do?" shecalled out in tones of despair. 

"It strikes me that the next house has a great wealth of children. Wecannot help that, but we can keep the windows shut, " replied her husbandresignedly. 

"But, my dearest Titus, only remember that you have come here expresslyto breathe the healthy mountain air! As you never go out, you must let theair come in to you. But what will be the end if this is the beginning?What will become of us if this goes on?"

"We must go home again, " said Uncle Titus, continuing to write. 

Somewhat calmed by this proposition, Aunt Ninette returned to her room. 

Dora had been very busy, putting her little room in perfect order, for shehad formed a plan, which she meant to carry out as soon as this was done. The happy noise of the six children had so excited the lonely little girlthat she was filled with the strongest desire to see them come back again, to see them get out of the carriage, and to see what would happen next;whether they wouldn't perhaps come into the garden where the triumphalarch stood, and then she could have a nearer view. She had made a littleplan for watching them if they came into the garden. She thought that shemight perhaps find a hole in the hedge that divided Mrs. Kurd's littlegarden from the large grounds next door, through which she could get agood view of what the children were doing, and how they looked. The childdid not know what Aunt Ninette would say to this, but she determined toask directly. At the door of her aunt's room she met Mrs. Kurd, who hadcome to call them to supper. Dora made her request then and there, to beallowed to go into the little garden, but her aunt said that it was nowsupper time, and after supper it would be quite too late. Mrs. Kurd putin a word in Dora's favor, saying that no one would be out there, and itwould be safe for Dora to run about there as much as she chose, and atlast Aunt Ninette consented to allow her to go out for a while aftersupper. The child could scarcely eat, so great was her excitement. Shelistened all the while for the sound of the returning wheels and thechildren's voices, but nothing was to be heard. When supper was over, heraunt said, "You may go out now for a little while, but don't go far from the house. "

Dora promised not to leave the garden, and ran off to search the hedge forthe opening she wanted. It was a white-thorn hedge, and so high and thickthat the child could see neither through it nor over it, but down nearthe ground were here and there thin places, where one could look into thenext garden; but only by lying close on the ground. Little did Dora mindthat; her one idea was to see the children. She had never seen so large afamily, boys and girls, big and little, and all so happy and merry. And tohave seen them all climbing into the carriage and driving off together!What a jolly party! She lay down on the ground in a little heap, andpeered through the hedge. There was nothing to be heard; the garden beyondwas still; the odor of the flowers was wafted to her on the cool, eveningair, and she felt as if she could not get enough of it into her lungs. Howbeautiful it must be in there, she thought; to be able to walk about amongthe flower-beds! to sit under the tree where the red apples were hanging!And there under the thick branches stood a table, covered with all sortsof things which she could not see plainly, but which shimmered white assnow in the evening light. She was quite absorbed in wonder and curiosity, when--there--that was the carriage, and all the merry voices talkingtogether. The children had returned. Dora could hear very plainly. Now allwas still again; they had gone into the house. Now they were coming outagain; now they were in the garden. 

Mr. Birkenfeld had just returned from a long journey. The children had allgone down to the lake, to meet him at the landing when the steamboat camein. Their mother had remained at home to complete the preparations forthe grand reception and the feast in the garden under the big apple-tree. The father's home-coming after so long an absence was a very joyfuloccasion for the family, and must be celebrated as such. 

As soon as the carriage stopped at the door, the mother came running outto meet her husband. All the children jumped down, one after another, andthe cat and the dog too, and they all crowded into the large hall, wherethe welcomings and greetings grew so loud and so violent that the fatherhardly knew where he was, nor which way to turn as they all pressed abouthim. 

"Now one at a time, my children, and then I can give you each a goodkiss, " he said at last, when he succeeded in making himself heard throughthe tumult, "first the youngest, and then the others according to age. Now, my little Hunne, what have you to tell me?"

So saying, Mr. Birkenfeld drew his chubby five-year old boy to his knees. The child's name was Hulreich, but as he had always called himself Hunne, the other children and the parents had adopted the nick-name. Moreover, Julius, the eldest brother, declared that the baby's little stumpy nosemade him look like a Hun, and so the name was very appropriate. But hismother would not admit the resemblance. 

The little one had so much to tell his father, that there was not time towait for the end of his story, and it had to be cut short. 

"Bye and bye, little Hunne, you shall tell me all about it. Now it istime for Wili and Lili. " And giving the twins each a kiss he asked them, "Well now, have you been very good and happy? and obedient, too, all thislong time?"

"Almost always, " replied Wili rather timidly, while Lili, recallingcertain deviations from perfect obedience during her father's absence, thought it best not to make any answer. The twins were eight years old, and perfectly inseparable, never more so than in planning and carrying outvarious delightful plans, of whose mischievousness they were really onlyhalf conscious. 

"And you, Rolf, how is it with you?" said the father, turning to atwelve-year old lad with a high forehead, and a strong, firm neck. "Plentyof Latin learned? More new puzzles ready?"

"I have been doing both, father, " said the boy. "But the children will notguess my riddles, and my mother has not time to try. "

"That is too bad, " said his father, kindly and turning to the eldestdaughter, a girl of nearly thirteen, he drew her to his side and saidtenderly, "And you Paula, are you still alone in your garden walks? have you no dearfriend with you yet?"

"No, of course not, father, but it is beautiful to have you at homeagain, " she answered as she embraced him. 

"And I hope my 'big Jule, ' is using his vacation in some sensible way?"

"I combine the agreeable with the useful, " said Julius gaily, returninghis father's embrace. "You must know, father, that the hazel-nuts arealmost ripe and I am watching them carefully, and meantime I am ridingCastor a good deal, so that he may not grow too lazy. "

Julius was at home now only for the summer holidays, his school being in adistant town. He was seventeen, and tall, even too tall for his years sothat in the family he was generally called "Big Jule. "

Mr. Birkenfeld now turned to shake hands with the children's governess andthe dear friend of the family, Miss Hanenwinkel, when Jule interruptedhim. 

"Come papa, I beg that you will do the rest of your greetings in thegarden, where a most astonishing reception awaits you. "

But his words cost him dear, for Wili and Lili sprang upon him as hespoke, pinching, pounding and thumping him to give him to understand thatthe "surprise" was not a thing to be talked about beforehand. He defendedhimself to the best of his ability. 

"Lili, you little gad-fly, you, stop, stop, I tell you. I will make it allright, " and he shouted to his father, "I mean you are to go into the garden where my mother has prepared allsorts of delicious things for your supper, to celebrate your return. "

"That is delightful. We shall find a big table spread under my favoriteapple-tree. That is a surprise worth having. Come then let us all go intothe garden. "

He drew his wife's arm in his, and they walked out to the garden, thewhole swarm following, Wili and Lili capering about in most noisy delightthat their father should suppose that he knew what the "surprise" wasalready. 

As they passed out into the garden they passed under the great triumphalarch, with red lanterns hung on each side, lighting up the large tablet, on which was an inscription in big letters. 

"Oh, oh, how splendid!" cried the father, now really surprised, "abeautiful arch and a poem of welcome. I must read them aloud:"

 "Here we stand in welcome Beside the garden door, How glad we are that you're at home! We feared you'd come no more, So long you've stayed--but now to-day Forgot is all our pain. The whole world now is glad and gay, Papa is here again!"

"That is fine--Rolf must have been the author of that, was he not?" andWili and Lili jumped about more than ever, crying out, "Yes, yes, Rolf wrote it, but we planned it all out and he made theverses, and Jule put up the poles and then we fetched the fir twigs. "

"That was a delightful surprise, my children, " said their father, muchgratified. "How pretty the garden looks, all lighted up with red and blueand yellow lanterns. It looks like an enchanted spot, and now for myfavorite apple-tree. "

The garden did look very pretty. The little paper lanterns had been madeup a long time before, and this very morning Jule had fastened them abouton all the trees and high bushes, and while the hand-shaking and kissinghad been going on in the house, Battiste and Trine had lighted thecandles. The big apple-tree was dotted all over with them, so that itlooked like a huge out-of-doors Christmas tree, and the red apples shoneso prettily in the flickering light, that altogether it would have beendifficult to imagine a more charming scene. 

The table, spread with a white cloth and loaded with all sorts of nicedishes, looked irresistibly attractive. 

"What a beautiful banquet-hall, " cried the delighted father, "and how goodthe feast will taste! But what is this? Another poem?" and to be sure, alarge white placard hung by two cords from the high bushes behind theapple-tree, and on it were the following lines:

 "My first is good for man to be-- Better than wealth. My second we have longed to see Our father do in health. My whole with merry hearts we cry Today, and shout it to the sky. "

"A riddle! Rolf made this too, I am sure, " said he, clapping the boykindly on the shoulder. "I will begin to guess it as soon as I can. Now wemust sit down and enjoy these good things before us, and the pleasure ofbeing all together again. "

So they all took their places at the table, and each had his or her ownstory to tell of what had happened, and what had been done during theseparation. There was so much to say that there seemed no chance for apause. 

At last however, came a silence, when lo! Mr. Birkenfeld drew a hugebundle from beneath his chair, and began to open the wrapper, while thechildren looked on with the greatest interest, knowing very well that thatbundle held some gift for each one of them. First came a pair of shiningspurs for "big Jule, " then a lovely book with blue covers for Paula. Nexta long bow with a quiver and two feather arrows. "This is for Rolf, " saidthe father, adding as he showed the boy the sharp points of the arrows, "and for Rolf only, for he knows how to use it properly. It is not aplaything, and Wili and Lili must never dream of playing with it, for theymight easily hurt themselves and others with it. "

There was a beautiful Noah's Ark for the twins, with fine large animalsall in pairs, and Noah's family, all the men with walking-sticks and allthe women with parasols, all ready for use whenever they should leave theark. 

Last of all, little Hunne had a wonderfully constructed nutcracker, thatmade a strange grimace as if he were lamenting all the sins of the world. He opened his big jaws as if he were howling, and when they were snappedtogether, he gnashed his teeth as if in despair, and cracked a nut in twowithout the slightest trouble so that the kernel fell right out from theshell. 

The children were full of admiration over both their own and each others'presents, and their joy and gratitude broke out afresh at every newinspection of each. 

At last the mother stood up and said that they must all go into thehouse, for it was long after the children's usual bed-time. At this theirfather arose, and called out, "Who has guessed the charade?"

Not one had even thought of it, except to be sure, the author. 

"Well, I have guessed it myself, " said their father, as no one spoke. "Itmust be 'welcome, ' is it not, Rolf? I will touch glasses with you, my boy, and thank you very much for your charade. "

Just as Rolf was raising his glass towards his father's to drink hishealth, a terrible shriek arose, "It is burning, it is burning!" Everybodyran from under the apple-tree; Battiste and Trine came from the house withtubs and buckets, Hans from the stable with a pail in each hand; allscreaming and shouting together. 

"The bush is on fire! the hedge is on fire!" There was terrible noise andconfusion. 

"Dora! Dora!" cried a voice of distress from the cottage behind the hedge, and Dora rose from her hiding place and hurried into the house. She hadbeen so completely absorbed by what had been taking place under theapple-tree, though indeed she saw and heard but imperfectly, that she hadentirely forgotten everything else, and it was full two hours that she hadbeen lying all doubled up in the gap under the hedge. 

Her aunt was flying back and forth, complaining and scolding. She hadcollected all her things from the drawers and the presses, and heaped themtogether, ready for flight. 

"Aunt Ninette, " said the little girl timidly, for she knew she had staidout too long, "you need not be frightened; it is all dark again in thegarden; the fire is all out. "

Her aunt cast a rapid glance from the window, and saw that this was true;everything was dark, even the last lantern extinguished. Some one wasmoving about among the trees, evidently to make sure that all was safe. 

"This is too terrible! Who would have believed that such things couldhappen?" said Aunt Ninette, half scolding, half-whimpering. "Go to bed nowDora. To-morrow we will move away, and find another house, or leave theplace altogether. "

The child obeyed quickly, and went up to her little bedroom, but it waslong, very long, before she could sleep. She still saw the illuminatedgarden, the sparkling apple tree, and the father and mother with theirhappy children gathered about them. She thought of the time when she toocould tell her father everything, and the thought doubled her sense of herown loneliness, and of the happiness of those other children. 

And the child had become so much interested in the life beyond the hedge, and so almost fond of that good father and mother, whom she had beenwatching, that the thought of going away again as her aunt threatened, wasa very sad one. She could not go to sleep. Presently she seemed to see thechildren with their kind father again, and her own father was standingwith them, and she heard these words, "God holds us in his hand, God knows the best to send. "

And so she fell asleep, and in her dreams she again saw the shiningapple-tree, and the merry group under its branches. 

On investigating the cause of the fire, it was discovered that Wili andLili had conceived the happy thought of turning the riddle into atransparency, so that suddenly the company might see it shining with redlight behind it, like the motto behind the Christmas tree, "Glory to Godin the highest. "

So they withdrew silently from the company, fetched two candles, climbedupon some high steps, which had been brought when the placard was put inplace, and held the candles as near as possible to the card. As they didnot perceive any expression of surprise on the faces of the company at thetable, they raised their candles higher and higher, nearer and nearer, until the paste-board suddenly took fire, and the flame quickly spread tothe bushes above. 

The twins readily confessed themselves the cause of the mischief, and weresent to bed with but a gentle reproof, so as not to spoil the generaleffect of the festivity, but they were seriously warned never to play withfire again as long as they lived. 

Soon all was quiet in the great house, and the moon looked peacefully downon the trees and the sleeping flowers in the silent garden. 

CHAPTER IV. 

ALL SIX. 

"We shall not be able to remain here; Mrs. Kurd, " were the first wordsspoken by Mrs. Ehrenreich when she came to breakfast the next morning. "Wehave come into such an objectionable neighborhood that we must move awaytoday. "

Mrs. Kurd stood still in the middle of the room, quite speechless, andstared at the lady as if unable to grasp her meaning. 

"I am fully convinced of the absolute necessity of our immediatedeparture, " said Aunt Ninette, with emphasis. 

"But indeed no more respectable, no quieter spot can be found in allTannenburg than this. You cannot hope to be more comfortable anywhereelse; either you or the gentleman, " asserted the good widow as soon as shehad recovered from her surprise. 

"How can you say so, Mrs. Kurd, after hearing that intolerable uproar lastevening? noises far surpassing anything that I described to you in myletters as 'absolutely to be avoided. '"

"Oh, my dear lady, that was only the children! You know they were having afamily festival, and they were of course unusually lively. "

"Indeed! if this is your method of celebrating family festivals in theseparts, first a tempest of shouts and cries and then a fire with all itsaccompanying noise and hubbub, I can only say that such a neighborhoodseems to me not only undesirable for an invalid, but positivelydangerous. "

"I do not think you can call the fire a part of the celebration, " saidMrs. Kurd gently. "It was an accident, and it was very quicklyextinguished, you must admit. A more orderly and well regulated family isnowhere to be found, and I cannot understand how the lady and gentlemancan seriously think of leaving. I can assure you that no other such spotis to be found in all Tannenburg! If the gentleman needs quiet he will dowell to walk into the wood, where it is healthful and quiet too. "

After talking awhile, Mrs. Ehrenreich became more composed, and seatedherself at the breakfast table, where Mr. Titus and Dora also took theirplaces. 

At the other house, breakfast had long been finished. The father had goneabout his business, and the mother was occupied with her householdaffairs. Rolf was off to his early recitations in Latin, with the pastorof a neighboring parish. Paula was taking her music-lesson of thegoverness, and Wili and Lili took this opportunity to look over theirlessons once more. Little Hunne sat in the corner with his newly-acquirednut-cracker before him, gravely studying its grotesque face. 

Presently 'big Jule' came in, whip in hand, all booted and spurred fromhis morning ride. 

"Who will pull off my riding boots?" he asked, throwing himself into achair, stretching out his legs, and gazing admiringly at his new spurs. Wili and Lili sprang quickly from their seats, delighted at the chance ofdoing something that was not a lesson, and each seized a foot and began topull with such force that before Jule knew what they were about he foundhimself slipping from his chair. In the next second he had grasped theside of his chair with the result that that also was pulled along thefloor. He called out hastily "Stop! Stop!" while little Hunne, who saw thesituation from his corner, now flew to his elder brother's assistance, hung on to the chair from behind, planting his little feet firmly on theground, and throwing his weight backward as well as he knew how. Hisefforts were insufficient, however, and he was dragged along the floor asif he were on a coast. Wili and Lili were determined to finish theirundertaking, and kept on pulling and pulling. 

 "Stop! Stop! Wiling and Liling You terrible twinning"

cried Jule, while little Hunne added his voice to swell the tumult. 

At this the mother made her appearance upon the scene, and the uproar wasstilled at once. Jule swung himself panting back into his chair, and Hunneslowly regained his equilibrium. 

"My dear Jule, why do you make the children behave so badly? You ought toknow better at your age, " said his mother reprovingly. 

"Certainly, mother, certainly, in future I will do better, but if youwill look at it from another side, I am doing something, in affording thetwins an opportunity to be of use, instead of carrying on their usualmischievous pranks. "

"Jule, Jule, that does not look like doing better, " said his motherwarningly. "Lili, go down stairs and practise your exercises until MissHanenwinkel has finished Paula's music lesson. Wili, go on with yourstudying, and the best thing you can do, Jule, to help me, is to amuse thelittle one until I am at leisure. "

The "big Jule" was ready to help to restore order after his bit of fun, and Lili ran down stairs to the piano as she was bidden. She found herselftoo much excited after the exertion of playing boot-jack for her brother, and her exercises did not run smoothly, so she took up one of her"pieces" to work off her superfluous energy upon, and began to play withgreat emphasis, "Live your life merrily, While the lamp glows, Ere it can fade and die, Gather the rose. "

Uncle Titus and his wife were just finishing their breakfast in aneighboring house when the affair of the boots began. Uncle Titus hastenedto his room, closing the windows and fastening them against the noise. Hiswife summoned their hostess rather peremptorily, and asked her "just tolisten to that" for herself. It did not seem to make much impression uponMrs. Kurd however, who only said smilingly, "Oh, how merry the dear children are, to be sure, " and when Aunt Ninettewent on to explain that such disturbances were the very worst thing forher poor invalid, the hostess only again recommended the walk in the woodsfor quiet and fresh air! The noise in the next house would not last long, she said, the young gentleman would soon return to college, and it wouldbe much more quiet then. As she spoke, the sound of Lili's merry musiccame across through the open window on the morning breeze. 

"And that too, is that the work of the young gentleman, who will soonreturn to college?" asked Mrs. Ehrenreich excitedly. "It is unendurable;continually some new noise or tumult or uproar. What do you say to thislast, Mrs. Kurd?"

"I never have thought of it as noise, " said the good woman simply, "thedear child is making such progress with her music, it is a pleasure tohear her. "

"And Dora, where can Dora be? Is she bewitched too? It is time for her tobegin her sewing; where can she be? Dora! Dora! Have you gone into thegarden again?"

Aunt Ninette's voice was querulous and excited. To be sure, Dora had creptdown again to peer through her opening in the hedge, and she was nowlistening as if enchanted, to Lili's gay music. She came back at once atthe sound of her aunt's voice, and took her appointed place at the windowwhere she was to sit and sew all day. 

"Well, we cannot stay here, that is certain, " said Mrs. Ehrenreich as sheleft the room. 

The tears started to Dora's eyes at these words. She did so long to remainhere, where she could hear and partly see now and then, the merry healthylife of these children in the beautiful garden beyond the hedge. It washer only knowledge of true child-life. As she sewed, she was planning andpuzzling her brain with plans for prolonging their stay, but could thinkof nothing that seemed likely to be of use. 

It was now eleven o'clock. Rolf came scampering home from his recitations, and catching sight of his mother through the open door of the kitchen, heran to her, calling out before he reached the threshold, "Mamma, mamma, now guess. My first--"

"My dear Rolf" interrupted his mother, "I beg of you to find some one elseto guess. I have not time now, truly. Go find Paula, she has just goneinto the sitting-room. "

Rolf obeyed. 

"Paula, " he called out, "My first--"

"No, Rolf, please, not just now, I am looking for my blank-book to writemy French translation in. There is Miss Hanenwinkel, she is good atguessing, ask her. "

"Miss Hanenwinkel, " cried poor Rolf, pouncing upon her, "My first--"

"Not a moment, not a second, Rolf, " said the governess hastily. "There isMr. Julius over there in the corner, letting the little one crack nutsfor him. He is not busy; I am. Good-bye, I'll see you again. "

Miss Hanenwinkel had been in England, and had taken a great fancy to thisform of expression much in vogue there, and she constantly used it as aform of farewell, whether it was apropos or not. Thus she would say to thepersistent scissors-grinder, who came to the door, "Have you come back so soon? Do go where you are wanted if there is anysuch place. Good-bye. I'll see you again, " and shut the door with a slam. 

Or to the traveling agent who brought his wares to show, if asked todismiss him, she would say, "We want nothing; you know very well. Don't come here again. Good-bye. I'll see you again, " and shut the door in his face. This was apeculiarity of Miss Hanenwinkel. 

Julius was quietly seated in a corner of the sitting-room, while Hunnestood before him watching with grave attention his nut-cracker's desperategrimaces as he gave him nut after nut to crack in his powerful jaws. Hunnecarefully divided each kernel, giving one half to Jule, while he poppedthe other into his own little mouth. 

Rolf approached them, repeating his question, "Will you guess, Jule? Youare not busy. "

 "My first in France, applaudingly The people to the actors cry: With steady aim full in the eye, To hit my second you must try; My whole's a prince of prowess high, Who fought the fight for Germany. "

"That is Bismarck, of course, " said the quick-witted lad. 

"O, O, how quickly you guessed it, " said Rolf, quite taken aback. 

"Now it is my turn; pay attention. You must try hard for this now. I havejust made it up. " And Jule declaimed with emphasis:

 "My first transforms the night, And puts its peace to flight. My second should you now become, You scarce will move, for fife or drum. My whole hath power to soothe you all, Be your delight in church, or camp, or ball. "

"That is hard, " said Rolf, who was rather a slow thinker. "Wait a moment, Jule, I shall get it soon. " So Rolf sat down on an ottoman to think itover at his ease. 

The big Jule and the little Hunne in the mean time pursued theiroccupation without interruption. As an extra proof of his skill, Juliuspractised with the shells at hitting different objects in the room, to hislittle brother's delight and admiration. 

"I have it, " cried Rolf at last, much delighted. "It is Cat-nip!"

"O, O, what a guess! what are you thinking of? It is something verydifferent, entirely different. It is music. Mew--sick--music, don't yousee?"

"Oh, yes, " said Rolf rather abashed. "Now wait Jule, here's another. Whatis this?"

 "My first sings by the water side, My next is Heidelberg's great pride, My whole was a blind poet, who In England lived and suffered too. "

"Shakspere, " said Julius, whose pride it was to answer instantly. 

"Wrong, " cried Rolf, delighted. "How could a _shake_ sing by the waterside, Jule?"

"Oh, I supposed you meant a shake in somebody's voice, as he was riding ordriving along, " said Jule, to justify himself. "Now what are you laughingat?"

"Because you have made such a wrong guess. It is some one 'very different, entirely different, ' Jule. It is Milton, the blind poet Milton. Now tryanother because you failed in this. My first"--

"No, no, I must beg for a rest. It is too much brain work for vacation. Iam going now to see how Castor is after my ride this morning. " And Juliusdashed off to the stable. 

"Oh, what a shame!" cried Rolf, "what a pity! Now there is no one toguess, and I made four splendid charades on my way home. It is too badthat you are not old enough to guess, Hunne. "

"But I can guess; I am old enough, " said the little fellow rather vexed. 

"Well, then try this one, try hard. Stop playing with the nuts and I willcrack some more for you bye and bye. Now listen:

 "My first conceals from light of day The wanderer on his final way; My second sizzling in the pan, Makes hungrier still the hungry man; My whole, bedecked in trappings gay, Goes ambling on the livelong day. "

"A nutcracker, " said Hunne without hesitation. Julius was his beau-idealof all that was best, and he thought that if he imitated Jule, andanswered quickly the first thing that came into his head, that wasguessing. 

But Rolf was angry. 

"How can you be so stupid, Hunne? Just think about it a little, can a nutcover some one on his last way?"

"Why, it can cover--well--the shell covers it. "

"Nonsense! and a nutcracker can not go ambling all day, can it, you stupidchild. "

"Now see, mine can, " said the little boy, who did not like to be calledstupid, and he tied his handkerchief round the neck of the long sufferingnutcracker and dragged it after him up and down the room, lifting it upnow and then at regular intervals. 

"Oh well, yes, you think you're right; and I can't explain it because youdon't understand anything about it. Just try to think a little; can youhear a cracker sizzling as its cooks, and will it make you hungry to hearit?"

"If I throw a cracker into the fire, won't it burn?" said the child, planting himself before Rolf and holding his nutcracker saucily before hiseyes. 

"Oh, there is no use talking to you, " said Rolf, and was just aboutleaving the room, but this was not so easily done, for now Hunne wasbitten with the mania for riddle-making himself. 

"Stop, Rolf, " he cried and grasped his brother by the jacket to hold him. "My first is not good to drink but to eat--"

"Oh dear, well, that must be 'nutcracker' again, " and Rolf ran off, wrenching himself from his tormentor's hands. But the boy followed him, crying, "Wrong, wrong! you are wrong. Try again, try again!"

Moreover, Wili and Lili came scampering in from the other side, cryingout, "Rolf, Rolf, a riddle! guess! try!" and Lili held up a strip of paper andrattled it before Rolfs eyes, repeating, "Guess, guess, Rolf. "

So the riddle-maker was now caught in his own meshes. 

"Well, at least leave me room to guess in, " cried he, striking about himwith his arms to make room. 

"You can't guess anything, " cried little Hunne contemptuously, "I am goingto Jule--he knows. "

Rolf took the little slip of yellowish paper that Lili was waving back andforth, and looked at it in surprise. In a childish hand-writing that hehad never seen before, were written the following words, "Come lay your hand Joined thus we Each the other That our union But behold the That our future We will cut our Half for you and But we still will That our halves And with us Our friendship. "

"It is probably a rebus, " said Rolf thoughtfully. "I shall guess it aftera little while. Just let me stay alone long enough to think it out. "

There was not much time left for this however, for the dinner-bell soundedand all the family assembled in the large hall for the mid-day meal. 

"What nice thing has my little Hunne done to-day?" asked the father, whenthey were at last all busy over their plates. 

"I made a splendid riddle, Papa, but Rolf never tries to guess my riddles, and I couldn't find Jule, and the rest would not listen to me at all. "

"Yes, Papa, " interrupted Rolf! "and I too have made three or four splendidones, but no one has time to guess them, and those who have time enoughare so stupid that there is no use in trying to get any answer from them. When Jule has guessed one he thinks he has done enough, and I can make atleast six in a day. "

"Yes, yes, Papa"--it was now Wili's and Lili's turn--"and we have foundsuch a hard riddle, so hard that even Rolf couldn't guess it. It is reallya rebus. "

"If you will wait long enough I can get it, I am sure, " said Rolf. 

"We seem to have a riddle in every comer, " said their father. "I believewe have a riddle-fever, and one catches it from another. We really need aregular guesser in the house, to do nothing but guess riddles. "

"I wish I could find such a person, " said Rolf, sighing, for to be forevermaking riddles for somebody who would listen with interest and guess withintelligence, seemed to him the most desirable thing in the world. 

When dinner was over, the family went merrily into the garden under theapple-tree, and seated themselves in a circle. The mother and MissHanenwinkel and the girls were armed with sewing and knitting work. LittleHunne also had a queer-looking bit of stuff in his hand upon which he wastrying to work with some red worsted. He said he wanted to embroider ahorse-blanket for Jule. Jule had brought a book at his mother's request, to read aloud to them. 

Rolf sat a little way off under the ash-tree, and studied his Latinlesson. Wili sat by his side, meaning to study his little piece, but firsthe looked at the birds in the branches, and then at the laborers in thefield, and then at the red apples upon the tree, for Wili loved visiblethings, and it was only with the greatest difficulty, and generally withLili's assistance, that he could get the invisible into his little head. Consequently, his afternoon study usually turned to a continuousobservation of the surrounding landscape. 

Jule also seemed inclined to pass his time in looking about him insteadof reading aloud, for he did not open his book, but allowed his eyes towander in all directions, particularly towards his sister. 

"Paula, " he said at last, "the expression of your countenance to-day is asif you were a wandering collection of vexations. "

"Oh, do read to us, Jule; then we shall have something more agreeable thanthese similes which nobody can understand the meaning of. "

"It would be nicer if you would read, Jule, " added her mother, "but I mustsay too, Paula, that you have been for the last few days so short andsnappish that I should really like to know what is amiss with you. Youseem out of sorts with every one about you. "

"But mamma, with whom can I have any real companionship? I have not asingle friend in all Tannenburg. I have nobody in all the world with whomI can be intimate. "

The mother suggested that Paula might be a little more friendly with hersister Lili, and also with Miss Hanenwinkel. But Paula declared, that Liliwas much too young, and the governess much too old. The latter was reallyonly twenty, but to Paula she seemed very old indeed. For girls to beintimate, she declared they must be of the same age, so that they couldthoroughly understand each other's feelings, and they must be alwaystogether. Without such a friend Paula said there was no real pleasure inlife, for a girl needed some one to whom she could confide her secrets, and who would tell her own in return. 

"Yes, Paula is at the romantic age, " said her brother. "I am sure that fora long time she has peeped into every field flower to see if it would notsuddenly unfurl a hidden banner, and turn into a Joan of Arc. Every littlemole that she sees in the fields, she half suspects may wear a seal-ringon his little finger, and be a Gustavus Vasa in disguise, searching amidthe mole-hills for his lost kingdom. "

"Do not be so teasing, Jule, " said his mother reprovingly. "There iscertainly something very delightful in such an intimacy as Pauladescribes. I had such an experience myself, and the memory of that happytime is dear to me even now!"

"Oh, do tell us again about your dear friend Lili, mamma, " exclaimedPaula, who had often heard her mother speak of this intimate friendship, and had indeed formed her own ideal upon that model. Lili also joined hersister in begging for the story, and even more urgently, for she knewnothing about this friend, although she bore the same name. 

"Was not I named for her, mamma?" she asked, and her mother assented. "Youall know the long manufactory under the hill, " continued Mrs. Birkenfeld, "with the large house surrounded by a beautiful garden. Lili, my friend, lived there, and I remember very well the first time I ever saw her. 

"I was about six years old, and I was playing one day in the parsonagegarden with my simple dolls, which I set up on flat stones, that I alwayscollected for seats for my children, whenever and wherever I found them. For I had no such outfit for my dolls as you children have now, no sofasand chairs and other furniture. You all know that your grandfather was thepastor in Tannenburg, and we led a very simple life at the parsonage. Myplaymates, two of the neighbors' children, were standing as usual by meand staring at me while I played, without saying one word. They neverseemed to take the interest in my plays that I thought they deserved. Theystood and looked at me with their big eyes, no matter what I did, and itwas very annoying to me. 

"Well, this evening, I was sitting there, on the ground, with my dolls allplaced in a circle, when a lady came into the garden and asked to see myfather. Before I could reply, a child whom she was leading by the hand, came running to my side, squatted down by me, and began to examineeverything. I had so arranged my stones that each flat one had anotherstuck into the ground edgewise behind it, so that the doll could be placedleaning back against it as if it were a chair. The child was delightedwith this arrangement, and joined in my play at once with the liveliestinterest, while on my side I was so charmed with the little stranger'slooks and ways, with her pretty floating curls and her sweet voice that Iforgot everything else, and looked on bewitched, while she made the dollssay and do all sorts of things that I had never thought of before. I wasquite startled when the lady again asked where she could find my father. 

"From that day forth Lili and I were inseparable friends, and a rich andhappy life was opened to me in her lovely home, such as I had never knownnor thought of. I shall never forget the delightful, untroubled days whichI spent in that beautiful house. I was almost as much loved and petted asif I had been Lili's own sister. Her parents had come from North Germany. Her father had been induced to buy the factory by the advice of anacquaintance, and they expected to remain permanently in our neighborhood. Lili was an only child, and having been hitherto without companionship ofher own age, she clung to me very closely, and I returned her affectionwith equal fervor. 

"What good, kind people her parents were! They asked as a great favor thatI might make long visits at their house, and my parents allowed me topass weeks at a time with my newly found friends. Those visits seemed tome like prolonged festivals. Such lovely toys and playthings as Lili had!I had never even dreamed of anything like them. I shall never forget theinnumerable figures cut from fashion plates which we used for paper dolls!We each had a large family of them, with all their kindred and relatives, each one fitted with a name, a character and a story of its own. Wealmost, nay quite, lived in their imaginary lives, and we shared theirjoys and sorrows as if they had been real. 

"I always returned home laden with gifts, and I was scarcely settled there, when new requests came that I would repeat the visit. When we were alittle older we had lessons together, both from a regular teacher andfrom my father, and when we began to read together, the heroes andheroines of our books were as real to us as our dolls had been, and welived over their lives and histories again and again. What life and energyLili had; what freshness and vivacity; my charming Lili, with her flowingbrown curls and her laughing eyes!

"So the years passed, and no thought of coming sorrow and separationcrossed our young lives, until one day, when we were nearly twelve yearsold, my father told me--I remember the very spot in the garden where wewere standing at that moment--that Mr. Blank, Lili's father, was about togive up his factory and return to Germany. As I understood, Mr. Blank hadbeen deceived from the very beginning; the business was not in theprosperous condition that had been represented to him, and now he wasobliged to give it up, to his great loss. My father was very muchdisturbed, and he declared that Mr. Blank had been very badly treated, andwas consequently ruined. 

"I was broken-hearted. To lose Lili, and to have her lose all her property, were two things which made my life unhappy for a long, long time. The verynext day she came to say good-bye. We cried bitterly, for we could notbear to think of living apart, we were so necessary to each other'shappiness. We promised to be always true to each other, and to use everyeffort to meet again; and then we sat down together and composed a lastpoem, for we had often written verses together. We cut the poem inhalves, and took each a half to keep as a token of our lasting union, andas a sign of recognition when we should some day meet again. 

"Lili went away. We wrote to each other for several years, and ourfriendship continued as fervent as ever. These letters were the only dropsof comfort in the monotonous loneliness of my life after I lost Lili. WhenI was about seventeen, I received a letter which told me that her fatherhad decided to go to America. She promised to write again as soon as theywere settled in their new life. I never heard from her again. Whether herletters were lost, or whether the family never staid long enough in oneplace for her to be able to give me an address, or whether Lili thoughtthat our lives were now so irrevocably separated that we could never hopeto resume our intimacy--these are questions that I have often askedmyself, but that of course I have had no means of deciding. Perhaps Liliis no longer living; she may have died soon after that very time--I cannottell. I have mourned her as an irreparable loss, for she was my first, myonly intimate girl-friend, and nothing can efface from my mind the memoryof her friendship, and of the vast goodness and affection which her familyshowered upon me. I have inquired for them in every direction, but havenever discovered any clue to their existence far or near. "

The mother was silent; a very sad expression rested upon her face. Thechildren sympathized with her and said one after the other, sorrowfully, "What a pity, what a pity!" Little Hunne, however, who had listened veryattentively to his mother's story, put his arms lovingly around her, andsaid, "Don't be so sad, mamma dear! I will go to America as soon as I am bigenough, and bring your Lili back with me; that I will!"

Rolf and Wili had drawn near, to hear the story, and presently Rolf said, looking thoughtfully at a strip of paper which he held in his hand, "Did your piece of paper with the poem look like a rebus, after you hadcut it in two, Mamma?"

"Perhaps so, Rolf. I should think it might look like one. Why do you ask?"

"Look here! is this it?" replied the boy, holding up his strip of paper. 

"Yes, yes, it certainly is it, " cried the mother in great excitement. "Ithought it had been lost long ago. I kept it carefully put away for manyyears, and then in some way I lost sight of it. I thought it was lostforever. Lately I have not thought of it at all, but telling you the storyof my early friendship, brought it again to my mind. Where did you findit, my son?"

"We found it!" cried Wili and Lili triumphantly. "It was in the old biblewith the queer pictures. We thought we would look at Eve, again, to seewhether her face was scratched as it used to be. " The twins talked bothtogether as usual. 

"Yes, that is another thing that brings my Lili to mind, " said theirmother, smiling. "She scratched that picture once when we were saying howlovely it would be if we were in Paradise together, and suddenly she feltso furious with Eve because she ate the apple, that she scribbled all overher face with a pencil, 'to punish her, ' she said. My old verses! I cannotrecall the other half, it is so long ago, over thirty years! only think, children, thirty years ago!"

She laid the paper carefully away in her work-basket, and bade thechildren put their things together and come into the house, for it wasalmost supper-time, and their father approved of punctuality above allthings. 

They gathered up their work and books, and returned slowly to the houseunder the triumphal arch that still spanned the garden-door of the house. 

Dora had been peeping at them as they sat clustered about their mother inan attentive group under the apple-tree. She had now a good chance toexamine each child, as they walked slowly back to the house, and as thelast one disappeared, she said, softly sighing, "Oh, if I could sit onlyjust once with them under the apple-tree!"

At supper that evening Aunt Ninette said, "We have really had a few hoursof quiet. If it goes on so, we shall be able to stay here after all. Don'tyou think so, dear Titus?"

Dora listened breathlessly for the answer. 

"The air in my room is very close, and I suffer more from giddiness than Idid at home, " was the uncle's reply. 

Dora gazed at her plate despondently, and lost her appetite for thatsupper. Mrs. Ehrenreich broke out into lamentations It was provoking tohave made this journey without its being of any use to her husband afterall! If they had only moved away at once! However, perhaps there would beless noise over the hedge after this, and the windows could be opened!Dora's hopes rose again, for as long as they staid, there was always achance that she might go into that garden once, at least once. 

CHAPTER V. 

BEFORE AND AFTER THE FLOOD. 

There were times when it seemed as if little Hunne could find noresting-place for the sole of his foot, when he wandered restlessly backand forth through the house incessantly. No one would pay any attention tohim, he was sent from one person to another, and even his mother only badehim sit quietly at his own little table until she was at liberty to cometo him. Of course Hunne's restless moments were just those when everybodywas particularly busy, such as Saturday morning when no one had a momentto spare. And on this particular Saturday, the child had been wanderingabout the passages among the sofas and chairs which, having been put outthere during the weekly sweeping, looked as restless and out-of-place asHunne himself. 

He spent a long time looking for his mother and he found her at lastup-stairs in the attic, but she sent him down at once, for she was busywith the clothes for the wash. "There, dear, go and find Paula; perhapsshe is not busy just now. " Hunne found Paula at the piano. 

"Go away, Hunne, I must practise, " said she. "I have not time to guessyour riddles; there comes Miss Hanenwinkel; ask her. "

"Miss Hanenwinkel, " cried the little boy, "my first you can eat but notdrink. "

"O spare me, Hunne" interrupted the governess, who seemed in a hurry. "Ifyou break out into charades too, what will become of us? I have not amoment to waste. See, there is Mr. Julius just getting off his horse; askhim. "

Off ran Hunne. 

"Jule, nobody will guess my riddle, and even Miss Hanenwinkel is too busy, so she sent me to ask you. "

"Well, what is it, my little man? out with it, " said Jule good-humoredly. 

So the child repeated his "you can eat but not drink, " and then stoppedshort. 

"Well, go on! What comes next?" said his brother, "what is the rest?"

"You must make the rest, Jule; the whole is nut-cracker. "

"Oh yes, I see; that is all right. Now look here; since Miss Hanenwinkelsent you to me to guess for her, I will send one to her by you. Now sayit over and over until you have learned it. It is rather long:"

 "First cut short your laughter for me, Then spell me a _nun_ with an _e_, Shut quickly with meaning, one eye, Then add me an _el_, and--good-bye-- Good-bye till I meet you again. "

It did not take Hunne long to learn the lines, and he started off at onceto find the governess. She was sitting with Wili and Lili in the schoolroom, patiently trying to get them to finish their examples; but they wereboth so absent-minded, that she was sure that they were planning somethingextraordinarily mischievous. In rushed the little Hunne:

"A riddle, Miss Han--"

"No, positively no! This is not the proper time to bring me things toguess. "

The voice was very firm, almost severe, but Hunne had Jule to back him, sohe was full of courage, and he kept repeating;

"Jule told me to. "

"Well, say it then quickly, " said the governess, relenting a little. 

And Hunne repeated the riddle very slowly but correctly. 

Now Miss Hanenwinkel was a native of Bremen, and therefore very quick atrepartee, and she never hesitated for an answer. She seated herselfdirectly at a table, and dashed off the following in reply:

 "In the long hot hours that mark my first, My whole my second did invite Together gaily to unite. When the ripe nuts their coverings burst, They did the work--he ate his share, Then tossed the nut-shells everywhere. "

"There, take this back to Mr. Julius, " she said, handing the paper toHunne, "and tell him that as he made such a fine charade on my name, I donot wish to be behind-hand with him. Now, after this, stay away, littleone, for we have our examples to do, and we cannot be interrupted again. "

Wili and Lili for their part, did not seem to care if the examples wereinterrupted. It was only too evident that they had something in theirminds; and that it disturbed their little brains to such an extent, thatwork was almost impossible for them. While their teacher was busy with thecharade and little Hunne, the twins had drawn their chairs nearer andnearer, and laid their two heads together over some very importantplans--so very important and engrossing that Miss Hanenwinkel soon closedthe book, with the remark that if the arithmetic were only some foolishnonsensical trick or other, there might be some chance of their beingwilling to work over it and understand it. She was probably right, for thetwins had certainly an unusual talent for tricks of all kinds. No soonerwas the lesson-hour over, than they rushed forth, and betook themselves tothe wash-house, where they stood gazing at the tubs of various sizes, andwhispering mysteriously. 

At dinner-time, Julius taking out a paper, asked, "Who can guess this excellent charade, composed by Miss Hanenwinkel?" andhe read it aloud. 

He had scarcely finished when Rolf called out the answer, "July-us!"

Miss Hanenwinkel however said nothing about the lines which Julius hadcomposed on her name, for she was rather shy about the little slap at herpeculiarity of speech, that appeared in the last line. 

As soon as dinner was over, Wili and Lili ran off to the wash-house again. Saturday afternoon they had no lessons. So they had a beautiful time allto themselves. To be sure, it was understood that the governess shouldlook after them a little. But when she saw the children go into thewash-house, she took it for granted that they were going to have a grandwash of doll's clothes, such as they often had. She was very glad thatthey would be safely occupied for a few hours at least. 

But the twins, be it known, had far greater aspirations this afternoon, than for a simple doll's-wash. They had been playing with the Noah's ark, which their father had brought them, and had thought a great deal aboutthe peculiar and wonderful life those people must have led in the ark atthe time of the Flood. It occurred to Lili that she should like to trywhat it was like, to live in an ark, and even to take a voyage in one, andof course Wili, as usual, agreed with her enthusiastically. Lili's planswere all made; she had thought out all the details, for she was anobserving little maiden, and knew the uses of many things and how to turnthem to her own purposes. She chose one of the middle-sized wash-tubs foran ark. There would be room enough for all the animals, if they would sitquietly in their places. 

Of course the animals were Schnurri and Philomele. The twins tried to coaxthem to take their parts in the play. Schnurri came growling at theircall, but Philomele purred and rubbed back and forth against Lili's legs, till the little girl took her up in her arms, and said, "Ah, my dear little Philomele, you are a great deal nicer than that oldSchnurri. "

This was the way it always was with these two creatures. The cat wascalled Philomele or _nightingale_, because she purred in such a melodiousmanner. The dog was named Schnurri, which means _growler_, because he hada habit of constant growling; though he always had good reason of his ownfor it. They had both been taught to live peaceably with each other, andto do each other no mischief of any kind. Schnurri was very good aboutit; followed the rule most punctiliously, and treated Philomele with greatconsideration. When they ate their dinner from the same dish, he ateslowly, because with her smaller mouth she could not take in as much at atime as he did. But it was quite different with the cat. One moment sheseemed as friendly as possible with Schnurri, and rubbed up against himand was playful and kind; especially if any one of the family was looking;then suddenly, without warning, she would raise her little paw and givehim a sharp scratch behind the ear. Then he growled of course, and as thisbehavior of Philomele's was very frequent, it followed that he seemed tobe constantly growling. So he got his name of Schnurri, though reallyquite unjustly, for by nature he was most friendly and peaceable. 

The first thing needed for the ark-voyage was water. Lili knew how thewater was brought into the wash-house when the clothes were ready for thewash. There was a spring just opposite, with a log through which the waterflowed freely; and when they wanted to fill the tubs, they placed a longwooden spout under the log, and let the water run through. That was simpleenough. Now Lili thought that if she could arrange the spout, so as tolead the water to the floor of the wash-house, it would soon make a pond, on which the tub-ark would float, all ready for the voyage. How to get thelong spout in place; that was the question. 

The children debated for a while whether to ask Battiste or Trine to helpthem carry out their plan. Between old Battiste and young Trine, therewere very much the same relations as between Schnurri and Philomele. Theman had been a servant in the Birkenfeld family for many years, and hisknowledge of all departments of work, in house and stable and farm causedhim to be consulted on every occasion. It must be confessed that Trine wasrather jealous of Battiste's influence, because though she had not beenvery long in Mr. Birkenfeld's service herself, she had an aunt who hadlived in the family many years; indeed until she grew too old to work. When this aunt had to give up, Trine had succeeded to her place; and so itwas that she felt that she had long established rights in the house, andthat Battiste took more upon himself than was quite fair. When any of thefamily were about, she was very civil to her fellow servant, but behindtheir backs she gave many a saucy word, and played tricks upon him now andthen. Just the dog and cat again!

The children understood pretty well how things stood between the two, andprofited by their petty quarrels and jealousy. Wili and Lili really wouldrather have asked Trine than Battiste, for they had more hope of gettingwhat they wanted from her, as she took new ideas more readily than theman, who did not like to be put out of his usual ways. But unluckily, whatthey wanted was under Battiste's charge. So it was settled that Lilishould ask him to help them, while Wili held on to the cat and dog, lestthey should run away. 

Battiste was out on the barn floor, arranging a collection of seeds. HereLili found him, and she planted herself before him with her hands behindher back, just as she had seen her papa stand, when giving orders. 

"Battiste, " she said very firmly, "where is the spout that is used to fillthe tubs in the wash-house?"

Battiste lifted his face from his seeds, and looked curiously at Lili asshe stood there, as if he were waiting to hear the question again; for healways took things moderately. At last he replied with a question in histurn:

"Did your mamma send you to ask me?"

"No, I came of my own self. "

"Then I don't know where the spout is. "

"But, Battiste, I only want a little water from the spring; why can't Ihave just that?"

"I know that kind of a little bird, " said Battiste, grumblingly, "now alittle water, and now a little fire, and always mischief. Can't have it. Can't give it to you. "

"Oh well, I don't care, " said Lili, and went straight to the kitchen, where Trine was scouring pans. 

"Trine, dear, " said she coaxingly, "come and give me the water-spout. Battiste won't let us have it. You'll get it for us, won't you?"

"Of course I will, " said the maid, "a little water you might be allowed, I'm sure. But you must wait till the old bear is out of the way; and thenI'll go and get you what you want. "

After a while Trine saw Battiste coming from the barn; he went past thehouse, down toward the meadows. 

"Come along now, " she said, and taking Lili's hand, she ran with her tothe wash-house, lifted the long wooden spout from its hiding-place, putone end into the log, and the other into a small tub. Then she explainedto Lili that when they had enough water, they could push the spout awayfrom the log, and when they wanted it again, they could lift it up and putit into the log themselves. But now she must go back to her work. 

Away went Trine, and now the preparations for the voyage could begin. Thechildren took the lower end of the spout out of the tub, and put it downupon the floor. Lili got into the new ark, and then Wili, and then theylifted in the cat and the dog. Noah and his wife sat side by side, andrejoiced over their safety and over the delightful voyage they should makeon the rising waters of the flood, as the stream from the spout flowedmerrily in upon the wash-house floor. The water rose very fast. Now, yes, now the ark fairly floated, and Noah and his wife shouted for joy! Theflood had begun, and they were floating backward and forth upon thesurface of the water!

The wash-house floor was lower by several steps than the level of theground outside. The water rose and rose, and the children began to befrightened. 

"Look, Wili, we can't get out again, and it is getting very deep. "

Wili gazed thoughtfully over the edge of the tub, and said, "If it getsmuch deeper we shall be drowned. "

And it went on getting deeper and deeper. 

Pretty soon Schnurri grew restless, and sprang up, making the tub roll sofrightfully as almost to upset it. The water was now so deep that thechildren could not get out without danger, and they became dreadfullyfrightened, and began to cry out as loud as they could, "We are drowning! Mamma! Battiste! Trine! We are drowning!" Then they nolonger used any words, but simply screamed, quite beside themselves withterror. Schnurri barked and howled in sympathy, but Philomele scratchedand bit at everything within reach. Now the true character of the twoanimals showed itself. The cat would not go out of the tub into thewater, and would not stay quietly in it, either, but fought like a madcreature. But when the faithful dog found that, in spite of all thescreams and howls, no one came to their aid, he jumped into the water, swam to the door, shook himself vigorously, and ran away. The childrenscreamed louder than ever, for the dog's movements had made the tub tipback and forth, and they were well scared. 

Dora had run down from her room, and was peeping through her opening inthe hedge, to try to find out the cause of these terrible cries. Thewash-house stood quite near the hedge, but she could not see anythingexcept the logs that carried the water to it from the spring. She heardthe cry "We are drowning!" and she ran back up-stairs, calling out, breathless with fright, "Aunt, aunt! two children are drowning over there! don't you hear themcall?"

Her aunt had closed all the windows, but the screams penetrated even toher ears. 

"Oh dear, what can that be?" she exclaimed, in the greatest alarm. "I heara terrible cry; but who says they are drowning? Mrs. Kurd! Mrs. Kurd! Mrs. Kurd!"

Meantime, Schnurri, all dripping-wet, ran to the shed where Battiste wasshaping bean-poles for the kitchen garden. The dog rushed at Battiste, barking furiously, seized him by the trousers, and tried to pull himalong. 

"Something is amiss, " said the man to himself; and taking a longbean-pole on his shoulder, in case it should be needed, he followedSchnurri to the wash-house. By this time the whole family had assembledthere--the mother, the governess, Julius, Paula, Rolf, Hunne, and last ofall Trine; for the cries had reached every corner of house and garden. Battiste stretched his long pole across the water to the floating tub. 

"Now, catch hold of that, and hold on tight, very tight, " he said, andpulled the ark and its occupants towards dry land. Wili and Lili were aswhite as chalk from their long fright. 

It was no time to question the children about this new mishap, for theywere in no condition to talk about it; so the mother wisely took each bythe hand, and led them to the seat under the apple-tree, to recoverthemselves. Julius followed with little Hunne, saying, "Oh Wili and Lili, you terrible twins, you will come to some dreadful end before long. "

Old Battiste rolled up his trousers and stepped into the water in thewash-house, to pull out the stopper from the waste pipe so that the floodcould subside from the land of Noah. Trine stood looking on. Battistegrowled at her. 

"You have no more sense than the seven-year-old babies! But that is theway things go!" for he had seen at once, who must have given them thewater-spout. Trine did not think it best to reply at that moment, as shehad been fairly caught in the wrong, but she secretly got her claws readyto scratch when her chance came--just like Philomele. When the littleparty under the apple-tree were somewhat tranquillized again, the cat camepurring and rubbing herself fawningly about Lili's feet. The child onlygave her an angry push, and turned to caress old Schnurri, who lay, stillwet, on the ground near by; while Wili patted him affectionately, sayingsoftly, "You shall have all my supper to-night, old fellow. "

"Mine too, " said Lili, and they both understood now the real characters ofthe two pets. 

Hunne sat looking thoughtfully at the rescued party, and at last accostedJule, who was walking back and forth on the gravel path:

"Look here, Jule, what will the 'dreadful end' be like?"

"Oh it may be anything, Hunne. You see they have tried fire and water, andnext they will pull the house down about our ears, I dare say. Then weshall lie under the ruins, and it will be all over with us. "

"Shan't we be able to jump up quick, and get out of the way?" asked Hunne, anxiously. 

"We may; unless the twins should be seized with their great idea in themiddle of the night. "

"You'll wake me up then Jule, won't you?" asked the little fellowpleadingly. 

Mrs. Kurd had come running at the repeated summons of Aunt Ninette, justas Battiste had gone to save the patriarchs of the flood with hisbean-pole; and when she reached her, the tumult was stilled. 

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Kurd? It was frightful! Everything is quiet now, and I hope they are saved!"

"Oh yes, of course, " said Mrs. Kurd, quite unconcernedly, "it is only thelittle ones. They are always crying out about something. There isn'treally anything the matter. "

"No; but children's cries are so shrill; I am shivering all over. How willmy husband stand it? No; this settles it, Mrs. Kurd. We shall go away. This is the last drop. "

With these words Mrs. Ehrenreich hurried into her husband's room to seehow he had borne the shock. He was sitting at his table, with his earsstopped with cotton wool, and he did not hear his wife come in. He hadstuffed his ears when the first cry came, and had therefore escaped therest of the hubbub. 

"Oh, that is very unhealthy, it is so heating for the head;" cried AuntNinette, much distressed. She pulled the wool from his ears, and announcedthat she should go directly after the church-service on the morrow, andask the pastor where they could move to, since this place was unendurable. 

This plan suited Uncle Titus as well as any other; all he wanted wasquiet. Aunt Ninette, thinking over her plans, went back to her own room. 

Dora stood waiting for her aunt in the passage-way. "Are we really goingaway, Aunt?" she asked anxiously. 

"Yes, decidedly;" replied Mrs. Ehrenreich, "we shall move on Monday. "

Poor little Dora! it was a sad trial to her, to have to go away withoutonce having a chance to make the acquaintance of the other family; to gointo the beautiful garden, to smell those delicious flowers, and to jointhe merry child-life that she had watched so closely, and yet from whichshe was so entirely separated. Her future seemed swallowed up in thosestifling cotton shirts that were her fate in dull Karlsruhe. As she sat onthe side of her little bed, that night, sadly cast down by thesemelancholy thoughts, she forgot the five friendly stars in the sky above. Yet there they were, sparkling as ever, as if they were trying to speak totheir child and say, "Dora, Dora! have you quite forgotten your father'sverses?"

CHAPTER VI. 

A FRIGHTFUL DEED. 

It was a beautiful, bright Sunday morning. In the garden all was peacefuland lovely. No sound broke the perfect stillness, save when now and then arosy-cheeked apple fell to the ground, for the apples were ripening fastin the autumn sun. 

Mr. And Mrs. Birkenfeld had gone to church, and with them Paula and MissHanenwinkel. In the sitting-room, Jule and Hunne were harmoniouslydiscussing over a big dish of hazel-nuts, in how many different ways theycould make the nutcracker crack a nut. The twins, since the lesson theyhad had in the wash-house, had returned contented to the mimic ark, withits wooden men and women, and they were now playing with it on theschool-room table, which they had all to themselves to-day. Rolf had earlybetaken himself to the garden, and had settled down in a sequesteredsummer-house, where he could think over all sorts of things, without fearof being disturbed. 

After the flood had subsided (a flood this time without water), and whenthe dove had returned with the olive-branch, and quiet was restored in theland, new schemes began to work in Lili's busy little head. 

"What do you say, Wili, to coming down-stairs to look at Rolf's new bow;he left it in the passage-way last evening. "

Wili was all agog at the idea, and they both scampered down-stairs. Liliknew the corner where Rolf had placed the bow, and there too was thequiver, with its two feathered arrows. 

"Just see how jolly this is;" said Lili, "you pull this string back, andput the arrow here, and then let the string fly, and off goes the arrowlike anything. I saw just how Rolf did it; and suppose we try to see howit works!"

"But we must not shoot with it; don't you remember that papa said so, Lili?"

"I don't mean to shoot, but only to try it. I just want to see how it isdone; don't you understand?"

This explanation satisfied Wili. 

"Where shall we try it? There is not room in this passage. "

"No, no; I know where, in the garden. Come along;" and Lili ran off withthe quiver, while Wili followed with the bow. They chose a nice open spacenear the hedge. 

"Here now, we will both try together, and see if we can do it, " said Lili. 

Wili brought up his bow, and they pressed it against the ground, and thenboth took the cord in their hands, and tugged away till they had snappedit into place. Lili shouted with delight. 

"Now, we must lift it up, " she said, "so; and put the arrow in here, Wili, do you see? and now you pull back that thing underneath, and you will seehow it will go off. There, just try. "

Wili tried; pulled back the "thing, " and the arrow whistled through thehedge. Instantly a cry of anguish sounded from the other side, and thenall was silent. They looked at each other in great fright. 

"Do you think that was a rabbit?" asked Wili. 

"I thought it sounded like a hen;" said Lili. Their consciences weretroubled, and their hearts were filled with fear, for they knew they haddone wrong to take the bow, and they each had the impression that the cryof pain came from a child, though each hoped that the other thought it wasreally only an animal. They carried the bow back to its place in silence. Suddenly a new fear seized them. One arrow was gone from the quiver; whatif Rolf should miss it! The sound of the family coming back from church, added to their embarrassment. It was not possible now to go to look forthe arrow, for that would lead to immediate discovery. Rolf did not yetknow that they had been shooting, but if he should begin to question them!They had got themselves into a fine box, through their disobedience; andthey had no idea how they should ever get out of it, for they felt surethat they should never dare to tell the truth, if the arrow were askedfor. 

Silent, and covered with confusion from their consciousness ofwrong-doing, the twins crept back to the school-room, and there they satwithout stirring or speaking, until they were called to dinner. They didnot dare lift their eyes to the table, to see what dainty Sunday-dish hadbeen prepared, but slipped into their seats and felt almost choked even bythe soup; for something seemed to lie like a lump in their throats, andprevent them from swallowing. They did not look up once during the wholeof dinner-time, and although their father spoke to them several times, they could not find voice to answer. 

"What have you two been about this time?" he said at last; for he knewvery well that this depression was not the result of yesterday'sperformance; their contrition never lasted over night; that was not theway with the twins. There was no answer. They sat as if nailed to theirseats, and stared into their plates. Their mother shook her headthoughtfully. Little Hunne kept a watchful eye on them, for he hadobserved from the first, that something was amiss. Presently a deliciouspudding with wine sauce was brought in, and their mother helped each oneto a good big slice. At that moment their father exclaimed, "What is that? Is there any one very ill in the next house? There goes thedoctor, hurrying along as if some one were in great danger. "

"I do not know of any one's being ill there, " said the mother. "Mrs. Kurdhas let her rooms to some strangers. It may be one of them. "

The twins were by turns as red as fire and as white as chalk. A secretvoice cried out in each little palpitating heart, "Now it is coming! it iscoming!" They were almost paralyzed with fright; the delicious pudding layuntouched on their plates, though it was full of raisins and lookedunusually tempting. But even Hunne, the pudding-eater of the family, neglected his plate today, and suddenly jumping down from his chair, hebegan to shout like a crazy creature, "Mama! Papa! come away! the house is going to fall down! everything isgoing to pieces!" In his excitement he almost pulled Jule off his seat, tomake him come with him, as he ran out of the door. Presently they heardhim outside repeating, "The house will tumble down; Jule said it would!"

"Some evil spirit has certainly taken possession of the children, " saidthe astonished father, "The twins look as if they were sitting on pins, and little Hunne is acting like a mad-man. "

At these words Julius broke out into inextinguishable laughter; for itsuddenly dawned upon him what the little boy had in his mind. The unusualtimidity and silence of the twins was caused, no doubt, by their havingalready begun in secret the work of destruction; and at any moment now thehouse might fall in ruins upon the assembled family. Jule explained withrepeated outbursts of laughter, the meaning of Hunne's fright. In vain themother called the little boy to come in; he was jumping up and down beforethe house door, stamping, and calling to his father and mother and Juleand everyone to come out. At last his father lost patience, and saiddecidedly that the door must be closed, and that the dinner should beended in peace. After dinner they all went into the garden, where Hunnejoined them. When he saw them all seated in safety under the apple-tree, he said with a sigh, "I wish some one would bring me my pudding, before the house falls down. "

His mother drew him to her, and explained to him that big Jule and littleHunne, were two very foolish fellows; the first to invent such sillystuff, and the second to believe it. She begged him to think a bit howimpossible it would be for two children like Wili and Lili to pull down agreat strong stone house like theirs. But it was a long time before theimpression was effaced from the child's imagination. 

Dora had been standing by the hedge, as usual, hoping that the childrenwould come into the garden, when Wili and Lili appeared with the bow. Shehad watched the progress of their undertaking with the greatest interest. At last, off flew the arrow; and in a second, the sharp point pierced thelittle girl's bare arm. Dora groaned aloud with pain. The arrow fell tothe ground; it had not penetrated deep enough to hold at all; but theblood followed, and trickled along her arm and hand, and down upon herdress. At this sight Dora forgot her pain in her fear. Her first thoughtwas, "How Aunt Ninette will scold!" She tried to hide what had happened. She twisted her handkerchief about the wounded arm, and she ran to thespring before the house, to wash out all signs of blood. It was useless;the blood flowed out under the bandage in a stream, and soon her dress wasspotted all over with the red drops. 

"Dora! Dora!" called some one from above. It was her aunt; there was nohelp for it; she must show herself. In fear and trembling, she mounted thestairs and stood before her aunt, hiding the bandaged arm behind her. Herpretty Sunday dress was stained with blood, and her face too; for in hereagerness to wash it off she had spread it everywhere. 

"Merciful Heaven!" cried her aunt, "what is the matter? Speak, child, didyou fall down? How you look! You are as pale as death, and all smearedwith blood! Dora, for heaven's sake, do speak!"

Dora had been trying to speak, but she could not get in a word edgewise. At last she said timidly, "It was an arrow!"

A flood of lamentations followed. Aunt Ninette flew up and down the roomwringing her hands and crying, "An arrow! an arrow! You have been shot!Shot in the arm! You will have a stiff arm all your life! You will be acripple! You can never sew any more, nor do anything else! You will cometo want! We shall all have to suffer for it! How unlucky we are! How arewe to live, how can we ever get along, if your arm is lame?"

"Oh, Aunty dear, perhaps it will not be as bad as all that;" said thechild sobbing, "did not papa tell us to remember:

 "God holds us in his hand God knows the best to send. "

"Certainly, of course that's true; but if you are lame, you will be lame;"said Mrs. Ehrenreich, whimpering, "it makes me perfectly desperate. Butgo--no--come here to the water. Where is Mrs. Kurd? Somebody must go forthe doctor. "

Dora went to the wash-basin, while her aunt ran for Mrs. Kurd, and beggedher to send for the doctor to come immediately; it was a case of shooting, and no one could tell how dangerous it might prove. 

The doctor came as quickly as possible. He examined the wound, stopped thebleeding, bound it up without a word, in spite of Aunt Ninette'spertinacious attempts to make him express an opinion. He then took his hatand made for the door. 

But Aunt Ninette followed him up before he could make good his retreat. "Do tell me, doctor, will her arm be lame? Stiff all the rest of herlife?"

"Oh, I trust not. I will call again to-morrow;" and the doctor was gone. 

"'Oh I trust not, '" repeated Aunt Ninette in a despairing tone, "that's adoctor's way of saying 'yes, of course. ' I understand perfectly. What willbecome of us? How shall we ever live through this misfortune?"

And she kept on fretting in this way until late into the evening. 

When Wili's mother went in to hear her little boy's prayers that night, she did not find him as usual, cheerfully sitting up in bed, ready for agood chat with her, if she would stay. He was crouched down all in a heap, and did not even look up at her, nor speak to her, when she sat down byhim. 

"What is the matter with my little boy?" said she gently, "have yousomething wrong in your heart? have you been doing what you ought not?"

The child made an unintelligible sound, neither yes nor no. 

"Well, say your evening hymn, Wili; perhaps that will make you feelbetter, " said his mother. 

Wili began:

 "The moon climbs up the sky, The stars shine out on high, Shine sparkling, bright and clear"--

and so on, but his thoughts were not on what he was saying; he waslistening to every sound outside the room, and he kept looking towards thedoor as if he expected something terrible to come in at any moment; and inhis restless movements it was plain to see what a state of fear he was in. When he had reached the end of his hymn, "Oh Father, spare thy rod; Send us sweet sleep, Oh God; Let our sick neighbor slumber, too"--

he suddenly burst into tears, and clinging tight to his mother he sobbedout, "The child will not be able to sleep, and God will punish us dreadfully. "

"What are you talking about, dear Wili?" asked his mother tenderly. "Come, tell me what has happened. I have seen all day that something was thematter, and feared that you had been doing something wrong. What is it?Tell me. "

"We, we--perhaps we have shot a child!"

"What do you mean?" cried his mother, now thoroughly alarmed, for sheinstantly recalled having seen the doctor hurry by to the cottage whenthey were at dinner. 

"It cannot be! Do tell me all about it, clearly, so that I canunderstand. "

And Wili gave as good an account as he could, of what he and Lili hadbeen about that morning, and of their being so frightened at the cry ofpain which followed the shooting of the arrow, that they had run away asfast as possible. And now they were so very miserable, that they did notwant to live any longer, and both wanted to die, and to be done with itall. 

"Now you see, my Wili, what disobedience leads to, " were the mother'sserious words after she had listened to the boy's sad story. "You did notmean to do anything but play a little while with the bow, but your fatherknew very well when he forbade your touching it, how great the danger was. We do not know what evil consequences may follow your disobedience, but wewill pray the dear Father in heaven to avert the evil, and turn it to goodif possible. "

Then Wili repeated after his mother a short prayer, and never had heprayed so earnestly as now, with his heart full of dread for the resultsof his naughty conduct. Indeed he could scarcely stop praying; it seemedto relieve his heart to lay all his sorrow before his Heavenly Father, andbeg his forgiveness and help. 

And now he could look in his mother's eyes again as he bade hergood-night. 

Lili was waiting in the next room, for her turn to talk to this same goodmother. 

"Are you ready to say your prayers, Lili?" The little girl began, paused, began again and stopped in the middle. Presently she stammered out, "Mamma I cannot pray, for God is angry with me. "

"What have you done, Lili, to make him angry?"

Lili was silent, and sat pulling at the sheet, for she was naturallyobstinate, and found it hard to own a fault. 

"If the good God is not pleased with you, I certainly cannot be. Goodnight, my child, sleep well--that is if you can. "

"Mamma, do not go away, I will tell you everything; only stay with me. "

Her mother gladly turned back. 

"We were shooting with the bow, though papa told us not to touch it, andwe hit something and it cried out; and we were so frightened that we couldnot be happy any more at all. " Lili's voice was hurried, and full ofdistress. 

"I don't wonder that you could not feel happy, and you cannot yet. Becauseof your disobedience, a poor little child is lying suffering in the nexthouse, perhaps without its mother to comfort it, for it is a strangerhere. Think of it there in a strange house, away from home, crying in painall night long. "

"I will go right over there and stay with it, " said Lili dolefully, andshe began to cry again. "I cannot sleep either mamma; I am so worried. ""We are always worried, my dear child, when we have done wrong. I will gonow and find out whether the child is in need of help; and you will prayto God to give you an obedient spirit, and to turn aside the evil thatyour naughtiness may have caused an innocent child to suffer. "

Lili followed her mother's advice. She could pray, now that she hadconfessed her fault; as she felt that she might now be forgiven. Sheprayed heartily for the recovery of the wounded child, and forforgiveness for herself. 

Trine was sent over to the widow's house, to inquire whether it was reallya child that had been hit by the arrow, and whether it was badly hurt. Mrs. Kurd told Trine the whole story, and that the doctor had said, "Wetrust no serious harm is done, " and that he would come again the next day. Trine carried this report back to her mistress, and Mrs. Birkenfeld wasvery much relieved; for her first fear had been that the child's eye mighthave been hit, even if no mortal wound had been inflicted, and she wasthankful to find that things were no worse. 

CHAPTER VII. 

LONG-WISHED-FOR HAPPINESS. 

The next morning, Mrs. Birkenfeld went early to the widow's house, whereshe was most cordially received; for she as well as her friend Lili hadbeen a favorite pupil of Mrs. Kurd's husband. What pleasure the ardentteacher had taken in these pupils, and what success he had had in teachingthem! He had never been tired of talking about it, and his wife had neverforgotten it. 

Mrs. Birkenfeld was shown into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Kurd insistedon her taking a seat, saying that she had much to tell her, for she hadnot seen her before since she had had the strangers from Karlsruhe in herhouse. There was a great deal to say about them and especially about theaccident of the day before. When the widow had talked herself out, Mrs. Birkenfeld asked if she could speak to the lady, and to the little girlwho had been hurt. 

Mrs. Kurd carried the message to Mrs. Ehrenreich, who came directly, followed by Dora, who wore a thick bandage upon her arm, and looked verypale and delicate. After the first greetings, Mrs. Birkenfeld took Dora'shand tenderly in her own, and inquired with sympathy about the wound. Shethen turned to Aunt Ninette and told her how deeply she regretted theaccident, and inquired in a friendly way after her health and that of Mr. Ehrenreich. Aunt Ninette lost no time in giving her full particulars ofher husband's illness; how he had sadly needed fresh country air, and howshe had made inquiries for a quiet secluded spot, and had at last chosenthis very place; how he had to keep the windows shut tight, because hecould not bear the least sound when he was writing, and therefore he nevergot any fresh air after all; and how anxious she was all the time, lestthe vertigo instead of being cured by his being here, should come on worsethan ever. 

"I am very sorry indeed, that Mr. Ehrenreich should suffer from mychildren's noise;" said Mrs. Birkenfeld, understanding at once the stateof the case, "if Mr. Ehrenreich does not walk out at all, he certainlyought to have an unusually airy place to work in. I have an idea; quite atthe farthest end of our garden, away from the house, and from thefrequented part of the grounds, stands a cool summer house, with seats anda table. If Mr. Ehrenreich would use that for his study, I would directthe children to keep entirely away from that part of the garden. "

Aunt Ninette was delighted with this proposal; she said she would suggestit to her husband, and she was sure that he would accept it with manythanks. 

"And you, my dear little girl, I hope your Aunt will allow you to come tosee us to-day and every day. You shall get well in our garden; my childrenhave much to make up to you for. "

"Can I really go into that beautiful garden where the children are?" askedlittle Dora, who could scarcely believe in her good fortune; and such alook of gladness shot from her eyes at the thought, that her aunt lookedat her with surprise, for she had never seen an expression like that inthem before. This beam of delight that transfigured the child's face, spoke so directly to Mrs. Birkenfeld's heart, that tears came to her eyes, and she loved the child from that moment. She did not know why orwherefore; yet these joyfully-beaming eyes had stirred a whole world ofslumbering recollections in her heart. 

It was arranged that directly after dinner Dora should go over into thegarden, and stay there till late in the evening. Thereupon Mrs. Birkenfeldtook her leave. 

Aunt Ninette hastened at once to her husband's study, and laid the newplan before him. Uncle Titus received it with pleasure, for although thewant of fresh air was becoming very trying to him, yet taking a walk forair and exercise was something he had never been accustomed to, and hecould not make up his mind to the loss of so much valuable time. The offerwas therefore very seasonable. He even proposed to go to the summer-housedirectly, and his wife accompanied him. They took the longest way, roundthe outside of the garden, so as to avoid meeting any one. At the farthestend they came to a little garden-gate which led directly to the secludedsummer-house. Close to the little house were two old nut-trees and aweeping willow, with thick pendent branches, and behind, far away intothe distance, stretched the soft green meadows. Far and near, all wasperfectly still. Uncle Titus had brought several thick books with him, under each arm, for he thought he should like to take possession at once, if he found it to his mind. Aunt Ninette carried the inkstand and paper, and Dora brought up the rear, with cigars and the wax-taper. 

Mr. Ehrenreich was well pleased with the place; he settled himself atonce, took his seat at the table, drew in a long breath of the pure airwhich blew in through the open doors and windows, and softly rubbed hishands with satisfaction. He began to write directly, and Aunt Ninette andDora withdrew, and left him alone to his work. 

By this time the news of the twins' exploit of yesterday, had spreadthrough the house. For when Rolf returned from his morning lessons, hewent straight for his bow, and of course discovered at once the loss ofone arrow. Very much incensed, he ran about the house to find out who hadbeen meddling with his property. He had little trouble in discovering theoffenders, for the twins were so broken down by the suffering they hadbeen through, that they confessed at once, and told him the whole story, including their horror at the cry of pain, and adding that their motherhad now gone to the cottage, to inquire who had been hit. Then they showedRolf where they had fired the arrow through the hedge, and to be surethere it was, lying on the ground, in Mrs. Kurd's garden. The recovery ofhis treasure put Rolf again in good-humor. He rushed back to the house, calling out, "Jule, Paula, did you know that the twins shot a childyesterday?" And so it came about that all six of the children, and MissHanenwinkel, besides, stood on the stone steps, on tip-toe withexcitement, awaiting the mother's return from the cottage. The moment sheappeared, Hunne called out, "Where was it hit?" and then each one asked adifferent question, and all at once:

"Is it a child?" "Is it a boy?" "How big is it?" "What is its name?" "Isit much hurt?"

"Come into the house, first, " said the mother, turning a deaf ear to theshower of questions; and when they were clustered about her in the house, she told them about the pale, delicate little maiden, with a bandage uponher arm, so tight that she could scarcely use it. She said that the childwas apparently about Paula's age; that she spoke excellent German, andlooked very nice and well-bred; that her name was Dora, and last of all, that she was to come into the garden after dinner, and then they couldmake her acquaintance. All was now curiosity and excitement; how did thechild look--what would she say? And each began to speculate what his ownparticular relation would be to the new-comer. 

Paula stood still in intense delight; and only said, "Oh, if she is sonice, and just my age, too, mamma, how happy I shall be!" She had visionsof a great, indissoluble friendship, and she could hardly wait tillafternoon. Rolf was sure that Dora was just the right age to guess hischarades, and that he should make friends with her at once on that ground. The twins had a feeling that Dora belonged especially to them, becausethey had shot her; and they thought she would be the very one to help themin carrying out their schemes; for they often needed a third person, andPaula was never in the mood. 

"Well, I am glad that Dora is coming, " said Hunne, "for I can go to herSaturdays, when all the chairs are standing on their heads, and no oneelse will have me. "

Last of all Jule asked, "Hunne, I want to get some good out of Dora, too, what shall it be?"

"I know, " said the child, after thinking awhile, "she can help you get offyour riding-boots--you know there weren't enough of us, last time. "

"The very thing, " said Jule, laughing. 

Dora was also greatly excited--she fairly trembled. One moment she did notknow what to do for joy that the longed-for happiness had come, and shewas to go into the garden, among the lovely, sweet-smelling flowers, andall those merry children. But the next moment she was afraid. She hadwatched the children from a distance, and she knew them all by sight; shealready felt partly acquainted with them, and each one had excited anindividual interest in her mind. But they had not even seen her, at all;she was a perfectly strange child to them. And then she said to herselfwith real distress, that she was so ignorant and awkward, and they knew somuch, and were so clever, that they would certainly despise her, andwould want to have nothing to do with her. She kept running it all overand over in her mind during dinner, and could scarcely eat a mouthful, inher excitement. Before she knew it, the time had come, and her aunt said, "Now, Dora, you can go!"

So Dora put on her hat and went over to the next house. She went in at thefront door, and passed through the long entry, at the other end of whichthe door into the garden stood open. Going out of this door she foundherself in full view of the whole family. Directly in front of her, underthe apple-tree, sat Mr. And Mrs. Birkenfeld, and round about them were thesix children. Her timidity came back again, at seeing the parents, for shehad expected to see only the children. She stood hesitating, and glancedshyly at the company. Little Hunne caught sight of her, and slipping downfrom his seat, ran toward her with outstretched arms, crying out, "Come, Dora, there is room here on my seat; Come!" and seizing her hand, he pulled her along toward the others, who all came eagerly to meet her, and welcomed her as cordially as if she were an old friend. So, occupiedwith questions and greetings, she came to where the parents sat, and theywere so friendly and kind, that all her shyness passed away, and she wassoon sitting on the same seat with Hunne, in the midst of the circle, asmuch at home as if she belonged there. 

Mr. And Mrs. Birkenfeld soon left their seats and walked up and down thegarden; and then the children pressed round Dora, and each had someparticular thing to say to her. Paula spoke least; but she looked at thenew acquaintance, as if she were making a study of her. Rolf, Wili andLili stood as near Dora as they could squeeze, to make her hear what theywere saying, and Hunne kept fast hold of her, as if afraid that she wouldvanish away. 

"If you squeeze Dora to death the first time she makes us a visit, shewill not come a second time;" remarked Julius, who sat stretched out atfull length on a garden-bench; "so take my advice, and give her room tobreathe. "

"How old are you, Dora? Not much older than I am?" asked Lili eagerly. 

"I am just twelve. "

"Oh, what a shame! then you are as old as Paula;" said Lili regretfully, who had hoped that Dora would belong to her in every respect, even in age. 

"No, no, " cried Rolf, "Dora is my age; at least nearer mine than Paula's, if she is only just twelve. "

Rolf thought this opened a favorable prospect for special companionship. "Are you good at guessing riddles? And are you fond of them?"

"Yes, yes, and I have made a riddle;" cried Hunne, putting in his oar, "Now guess mine, Dora. My first you can eat but not drink"--

Rolf cut the little boy's charade ruthlessly in two with, "Oh, get away with your old riddle, Hunne; it is no riddle at all! Nowlisten, Dora;

"My first conceals from light of day--" But Rolf was not destined tofinish his verses, for Lili had seized Dora's hand and was pulling herwith all her might, saying, "Come, Dora, I will play you everything I know. " Dora had asked her if shewas the one who played on the piano, and Lili thought this a good excusefor stealing the new friend for herself. Lili had her way, for Dora reallywanted to hear the piano, though she did not like to disappoint Rolf. 

"You must not take it amiss, " she said, turning back to speak to him, asLili drew her away, "I am not good at guessing, and I should only botheryou with my stupidity. "

"Won't you try just one?" asked Rolf, rather disappointed. 

"Oh, yes, if you want me to. I will try bye and bye, " she called back, forLili was fairly dragging her towards the house. Hunne had not let go hishold of Dora, and was pulled along too. He kept calling out, "Mine too, guess mine too, " and she promised that she would do her best. Wili alsowent with them, and all four betook themselves to the school-room wherethe piano stood. The twins had been taking music lessons from MissHanenwinkel for more than a year, not so much because their parents caredabout having them learn to play on the piano, as because they thought thelessons would be a pleasant occupation, and the music would have asoothing effect on the children's somewhat restless dispositions; andmoreover, last but by no means least, the twins could not be up to anymischievous pranks, while they were busy practising. 

Now that they stood before the piano, Lili's ardor for playing it somewhatcooled, and she reverted to her usual point of view with regard to it. 

"You know, Dora, of course, " she said, "that playing on the piano is themost tedious thing in the world. Why, when I have to practise, I getperfectly tired to death, don't you, Wili?" Wili assented emphatically. 

"How can you feel so?" asked Dora, casting a longing look at the piano, "Oh, if I could only sit down there and play as you do, Lili, I should beperfectly happy. "

"Do you really think so?" said Lili, struck with the expression of Dora'seyes. She opened the piano quickly, and began to play a little melody. Dora sat by, thirstily drinking in the sounds, and looking as charmed asif Lili were conferring some substantial benefit upon her. The sight ofher pleasure was very inspiriting to Lili, who kept on playing better andbetter, and when Wili saw the impression produced, he wanted to take hisshare. 

"Now let me play, Lili, " he said, as she came to the end; but Lili was nowquite in the spirit of it, and did not stop for an instant, but began torepeat the piece from the beginning. 

"Do you know any other tune?" asked Dora. 

"No; Miss Hanenwinkel will not teach me another till I have learned myexercises better; but I know what I will do, Dora, just wait tillto-morrow, and then I will give you music lessons, and we will learn everso many tunes. Should you like that?"

"Will you really?" asked Dora, and she looked so overjoyed at the bareidea, that Lili at once decided to begin the lessons on the very next day. 

"But my arm!" exclaimed Dora. They had forgotten that. But Lili did notgive up her plans so easily. 

"Oh, your arm will soon be better, " she said, "and meantime I will learnever so many pieces, and be all the more able to teach you. "

At this moment the big bell rang for supper. Hunne grasped Dora's hand, declaring that there was no time to lose, for his father always camepunctually to his meals, and Hunne liked to do the same. The table wasspread under the apple-tree, and covered with a great variety of goodthings. As she sat there looking about at these new acquaintances whoalready seemed like old friends, Dora felt as if she were dreaming; it wasso much more delightful even than she had hoped; and she was almost afraidthat she should wake up all at once, and find it only a dream. But she didnot wake up, except to find that her plate had been loaded with goodthings, so very real, that all anxiety passed away, and she realized thatshe was living, and living remarkably well, into the bargain. 

"Do eat your cake, or you will be the last to get through, " said Hunne, "see, Dora, Jule and I have eaten four. Jule and I can do a great manythings; only we can't pull the riding-boots off very well. You'll helpabout that, won't you, Dora?" "Eat your cakes, and be quiet, Hunne, " saidJule, in a warning tone; and Dora did not answer about the boots, for Mr. Birkenfeld was asking her questions, and she began to tell him about herfather, and of their life together in Hamburg and Karlsruhe. 

Up to this time, Paula had not made any attempt to talk with Dora; butwhen supper was over, she came up to her, and said, softly, "Will you come with me a little while now?"

Dora was delighted with the invitation, for she had begun to be afraidthat Paula did not mean to have anything to say to her, and yet she hadbeen particularly attracted toward this quiet girl, so near her own age. Paula had wanted to see what sort of a girl Dora was, before she madeadvances, and she was evidently well pleased with what she saw, for shenow took her new friend by the hand, and led her away down the gardenpath. The twins and Hunne, and even Rolf, were soon tired of waiting forDora to come back, and went calling and searching everywhere for her; butthey could not find her; she had quite disappeared. In fact, Paula hadtaken her all round the garden, and then up to her own room. There the twogirls sat and talked, and talked, about all sorts of things. They toldeach other their thoughts and feelings on various subjects, and foundthemselves in perfect sympathy. It was a great happiness to both, forneither had ever had an intimate friend, of her own age, one whose tastes, purposes and ideals were like her own. 

"Now we will be 'best friends' forever, " they said, and sat, forgetful ofall the world besides, till the stars stood shining in the heavens above, and all the earth was bathed in shadow. 

The mother found them at last; she had suspected that they had takenrefuge in Paula's room. Dora sprang up hastily when she noticed how darkit had grown, and recollected that her aunt would be expecting her. Theother children were waiting below, rather a dissatisfied little party atDora's disappearance; for they all wanted to talk to her. Rolf wasparticularly annoyed. 

"Why Dora, " he said, "I thought you were going to guess my charade; willyou try now?"

But Dora said it was really time for her to go home; so Mrs. Birkenfeldtold them that they must wait till to-morrow for all they had to say, andthat Dora would come every day to see them and would take lessons withthem too. This satisfied them, and they charged Dora to come very earlyand stay very late, for there was a great deal to do and a great deal toshow her. The leave taking lasted a long time, but Rolf suddenly cut thething short. 

He was going to have the last word with Dora, for he was to walk home withher. As they crossed the grass plot towards the cottage, the stars wereshining so brightly overhead, that Dora stood still. 

"Look up, Rolf;" she said, "do you see those five twinkling stars upthere? I know them very well; they were my own stars in Karlsruhe, andthey are here with me too. "

"Oh yes, I've seen those; they are on our map of the Heavens. Do you knowtheir names, Dora?"

"No, indeed; can you tell the names of the stars Rolf? How much you doknow!" said Dora admiringly. "Don't those five all belong together, andhave one name? There are others too that look as if they belongedtogether. Do you know them all? How I should like to learn them from you!"

Rolf was much pleased with the idea of giving lessons in astronomy, to oneso eager to learn. 

"Let us begin now, " said he enthusiastically; "I will tell them all to youone after another, even if it takes till midnight. "

This reminded Dora how late it was. 

"No, Rolf" she said quickly, "thank you very much, but no more to-night. To-morrow; will you tell me to-morrow?"

"Well, to-morrow then, Dora, don't forget. Good-night. "

"Good-night, Rolf;" and Dora hurried into the house. She was so brimmingover with happiness and the many pleasures of the day, that she sprangup-stairs to Aunt Ninette, and began to tell her everything all mixed uptogether, with such astonishing vivacity, that her aunt drew back ratherstartled. 

"Dora! Dora! think a minute! this excitement may go to your arm! Go tosleep as quick as you can; that is the best thing you can do. "

Dora went to her bed-room, but sleep was impossible. She knelt down at herbed-side and gave heart-felt thanks to God for sending her all thishappiness; she resolved that when these holidays were over she would goback to her work again without complaint; no matter how long the hoursmight be, and she would never forget these happy days that the good Godhad sent her now. It was long before she could close her eyes for verybliss. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

MORE CHARADES. 

Early the next day, as Julius was clattering along the passage with hisbig riding-boots and spurs, he heard the sounds of practising in theschool-room, and knowing that Miss Hanenwinkel did not give lessons atthis hour, he pushed open the door to see what was going on. There satLili at the piano, and Wili stood by, looking as if he were impatientlycounting every minute till he could have his turn. 

"What are you two about?" he called out, "is this the beginning of somemischievous prank?"

"Be quiet, Jule, we haven't a minute to lose, " said Lili seriously. Julelaughed aloud and went on his way. Going down stairs, he met MissHanenwinkel. 

"What has got into the twins now?" he asked. "Have they taken the notionof being virtuous, into their small noddles?"

"That is more likely at seven than at seventeen;" was all the answer hegot. 

He went on down stairs still laughing, and just at the front door met hismother. She was starting at that early hour to try to see the doctorbefore he went from home, to ask him exactly the state of Dora's arm, andwhether there was any danger for the child. Aunt Ninette's anxiety hadinfected her, and she could not rest until she knew the probabilities ofthe case. 

"Do I hear some one playing on the piano, Jule?" she asked. "It is anunusual sound for this time of day. "

"Mother dear, I do believe that the end of the world is coming, " repliedJulius;

"Lili is up there hurrying from one finger-exercise to another as if shecould not get enough of that exquisite amusement, and Wili is seated ather side in a similar condition of nervous industry, waiting for his turnat the piano. "

"A strange state of things, to be sure, Jule, " said his mother; "for itwas only yesterday that Miss Hanenwinkel was complaining to me that Lilidid not show the slightest interest in her music, and that she would noteven play her piece, much less her exercises. "

"It's just as I said; the end of the world is coming, " said Jule, turningtowards the stable. 

"Let us hope rather the beginning, " replied Mrs. Birkenfeld, starting inthe other direction to go down the hill towards the village. When shereached the doctor's house, she was so fortunate as to find him at home, and she asked him the question that so greatly disquieted her. He assuredher that the wound was doing perfectly well, and that there was not theslightest danger of any permanent stiffness of the arm; though helaughingly owned that he had made the worst of it to Dora, in order toimpress her with caution for the future. It would be all over in a day ortwo at farthest. Mrs. Birkenfeld was much relieved, for besides hersympathy for Dora, she had felt keenly her children's responsibility forthe misfortune. 

On her way home Mrs. Birkenfeld stopped to speak to Aunt Ninette; not onlyto carry her the doctor's favorable verdict, but also to talk with herabout Dora. She now learned for the first time, that Dora was to earn herliving by sewing; and that for this reason her aunt felt obliged to keepher so closely to her shirt-making. 

Mrs. Birkenfeld took a warm interest in Dora. She thought the little girlvery delicate for such heavy work, and she was glad that there was stillsome time left for her to grow stronger before she had to go back toKarlsruhe, and settle down to regular work again. She begged Aunt Ninetteto let the child, during the rest of their stay, give up the sewingentirely, and she offered to let her own seamstress make the shirts, thatDora might be free to amuse herself with the children, and gain strengthby play in the open air. 

The self-possessed, quiet manner of Mrs. Birkenfeld had an excellenteffect on Mrs. Ehrenreich, and she acquiesced in this proposal without theslightest demur. Indeed the path of the future, that had looked so besetwith difficulties, seemed now to lie smooth before her, and all herprospects were brightened. She spoke with great thankfulness on herhusband's account; for he already found himself so improved by the freshair and quiet of the summer house, and he was so thoroughly comfortableand contented there, that he could hardly bear to leave it, even to comein at night. 

When Mrs. Birkenfeld rose to go, she cordially invited Aunt Ninette tocome often to see her in the garden, saying that she must find it lonelyin the cottage, and that the open air would be good for her also. AuntNinette was much gratified by this courtesy, and accepted it withpleasure; quite forgetting the noise of the children, which had been sogreat a bugbear to her. 

Dora had sprung out of bed that morning as soon as she opened her eyes, for the thought of the pleasure before her made her heart dance for joy. She had to curb her impatience however for a time, for Mrs. Ehrenreich didnot approve of imposing upon people who were inclined to be neighborly. Itwas not till Mrs. Birkenfeld had come over to the cottage, and aftertalking some time with the aunt had asked after Dora and repeated herinvitation, that the little girl was allowed to go. This time she did notstand still and look shyly about; with a few springing steps she reachedthe house, and at the door of the sitting-room she was received with achorus of welcoming voices; while Wili and Lili and little Hunne and Paulaall ran out to meet her, and draw her in among them. Julius, just returnedfrom his ride, had thrown himself as usual into an arm-chair, stretchingout his legs, as an intimation that he should like to have his bootspulled off. Dora ran forward and offered her services, frankly desirous ofmaking herself useful. But Jule instantly drew in his long legs. 

"No, no, Dora; not for the world; what are you thinking about?" he cried, jumping up and very politely offering Dora his chair. Before she couldtake it, the twins pulled her away; saying "Come with us!" and Hunnetugged at her dress behind, calling loud, "Come with me!" while Paulareaching over him, whispered softly in her ear, "Go first with the twins;or they will keep this up all day; bye and bye I will come to you, andthen we can have some comfort together. "

"Dora, " said Jule, waving off the three noisy creatures, "I advise you tostay by me; it is your only hope of a happy existence in this house-hold;for I can tell you if you go with Paula, you will grow too romantic; youwill scarcely breathe the fresh air, and will lose your appetitecompletely. If you take Rolf for your companion, your whole existencewill become one great perpetual riddle. "

"That it will be at any rate, " remarked Miss Hanenwinkel, who was passingthrough the room at that moment. 

"If you prefer to go with Miss Hanenwinkel, " said Jule quickly, so thatthe governess might be sure to hear what he said; "you will be preservedin salt; quite the opposite you see to plums, which are done in sugar! Ifyour choice falls on the twins, you will be torn in two, and as to littleHunne; if you go with him he will talk you deaf!"

In spite of this melancholy prediction, Dora allowed herself to be carriedoff by the twins, and Hunne ran after them. When they reached the piano, Lili began to play her one piece, and when she came to the end, sheglanced at Dora who nodded so pleasantly that Lili, thus encouraged, beganagain at the beginning. Presently Dora began to sing the words; Wili, whowas waiting in vain for his chance to play, joined her; then Hunne too; sothat a loud chorus rang out cheerily from the school-room--

 "Live your life merrily While the lamp glows; Ere it can fade and die, Gather the rose. "

They were so carried away by their own music that the voices rose louderand louder, and Hunne's out-screamed them all. Presently Lili twirledround on her stool, and said, her eyes shining with joyful expectation:

"Just wait till to-morrow, Dora, and then you'll see!" for the child hadworked so diligently at her exercises that morning that she felt that shehad a right to claim at least half a dozen new pieces from MissHanenwinkel to-morrow. 

At this moment the bell rang for the twins to go to their lessons; a soundthat Hunne was well-pleased to hear, for now he could have Dora to himselftill dinner-time; and the little girl gave herself up to him so cheerfullyand with such warm interest in the artistic performances of hisnut-cracker, that he made a firm resolution then and there never to lether go again. But no sooner was dinner over, than his plan was completelyupset. Paula had finished her French lessons, and with her mother's leave, she now took possession of Dora. As for Dora, she asked nothing better;she would have been glad to spend whole days and nights talking withPaula, telling all the secrets of her heart, and hearing in return all herfriend's thoughts and wishes, hopes and fears. They both felt sure thatthey could never be tired of being together, and of sharing each other'smemories of the past and plans for the future. A long life-time would notbe enough for them. It was seven o'clock before they again joined thefamily group which was gathered under the apple-tree; and being late theyslipped into their places very quickly, for the father had begun to coughsignificantly, to show that things were not just as they should be. Duringthe meal, Rolf cast meaning looks across to Dora, that seemed to say, "We two have a plan together next; don't forget!"

While they all sat chatting merrily after supper was over, Rolf waswatching the sky, to see when the first pale star should peep through thetwilight amid the twigs of the apple-tree; and as soon as he spied one, hecame to Dora, saying

"Now, Dora, look, up there!" and he carried her off to the very farthestcorner of the garden, to make sure that none of his brothers or sistersshould interfere with them. He felt quite securely hidden under protectingnut-trees, and placing himself in the right position, he began his lesson. 

"Do you see, there, your five stars--one two three, and then two more. Doyou see them distinctly?"

"Oh yes; I know them so well, so well, " said Dora. 

"Well, that constellation is Cassiopeia. And now just wait a moment, Dora. I've just thought of a riddle that is very appropriate. You can guess iteasily, if you try. "

"I will if I can, but I am afraid your riddles are too hard for me:"

 "My first's a most delicious drink, But best of all when fresh, I think. Add then my second, and you make An adjective, small pains to take! My third must strait and narrow prove Or 'twill not lead to heaven above. Now for my whole--a countless host In which each separate light is lost. 

"Have you guessed it, Dora?"

"No, and I'm sure I cannot guess it. I am terribly dull at such things. Iam sorry; for it makes it stupid for you, but I can't help it, " said Doradolefully. 

"Of course you can't help it now, because you are not used to them, " saidthe boy consolingly. "I will give you an easier one to begin with:

 "For full enjoyment of our youth My first is needful as the truth, And at man's very farthest end My second comes--and now attend, Master of Greek Philosophy My whole, its shining crown you see. "

"I cannot, I cannot, you are only losing time and trouble, Rolf, I do notknow the least bit about Greek things, " said Dora sighing. 

"Never mind, I will try another country; how is this?" and before Doracould protest, the indefatigable riddle-maker declaimed:

 "My fickle first is said to be England's high-road of industry; But Germany denies the same And with a _Key_ she makes her claim. In Russia, nihilistic power Threatens my second, every hour. But Rome, Imperial Rome, to you, My whole was pride and terror too!"

"That's true!" It was a deep voice that echoed in the surroundingdarkness, and the startled children clung to each other for a moment interror. Then Dora began to laugh. 

"It is Uncle Titus, " she said, "he is sitting there in the summer-house. Come, Rolf, let us go in and see him. "

Rolf assented; and they found Uncle Titus sitting there with his chairtipped back against the wall, looking very much pleased to see them. Rolfreturned his greeting very cordially, and inquired quite casually whetherhe had guessed the riddle. 

"I think it must be 'Caesar, ' is it not, my son?" said Uncle Titus tappingthe lad kindly on the shoulder. 

"Yes, that's right; and did you hear the others I was saying, and did youguess them?"

"Possibly, possibly, my son, " replied the good man. "I am much mistaken ifthe first is not 'Milky-way, ' and the second, 'Plato. '"

"Both right!" cried Rolf, highly delighted. "It is the greatest fun tomake riddles and have them guessed so quickly. I have another, andanother, and one more. May I give you another, Mr. Ehrenreich?"

"Certainly, my dear boy, why not? out with them, all three, and we willtry to guess them all. "

Rolf was enchanted, and set about recalling them. "I will take theshortest first, " he said:

 "My first implies strength and grace; In all things my second finds place; My whole was the scourge of the race. "

"Have you guessed that?"

"Very likely, very likely, my son; now the next:"

 "Take all that the senses attest Add the sign of the beast for the rest, And my glorious whole stands confessed. "

"And now another, " said Uncle Titus, nodding. 

"And now I have a very long one, and rather harder, " said the lad:

 "A thrill through all the nations ran, When he, my whole, the grand old man, Spoke words that e'en my second turn My first, with hopes that glow and burn. But now are hearts to anger spurred; Nations are sick with hope deferred, Alas! small chance for Ireland we know! My first my second at my whole we throw. "

Rolf stopped, quite excited with the declamation of his favorite charade. 

"Now we will begin to guess, my son, " said Uncle Titus, with a pleasedexpression: "First, Bonaparte. Second, Matterhorn. Third, Gladstone. "

"Every one right!" cried Rolf, exultantly. "This is splendid! I havealways wanted to do this with my riddles; that is, find some one who couldguess them all. Before this, I've always had a heap of unguessed riddles. Now they are all guessed, and I can begin again with a new set!" Rolf wasfull of satisfaction. 

"I will make you a proposal, my son, " said Uncle Titus, as he rose fromhis seat, and prepared to return to the cottage; "Come to me here everyevening, and bring me the fresh set. Who knows but that I may have a fewto give you in return?"

By this time it was rather too late for the study of the stars, and thathad to be postponed; so Dora and Rolf returned to the rest of the family;Rolf quite overjoyed with the pleasant interview he had had, and with theprospect of its repetition; while on his side Uncle Titus wended his wayto the cottage, filled with quiet satisfaction at the thought of his newfriend; for he had always wanted a son, a twelve year old son, who shouldhave left behind the noise and follies of childhood, and have become oldenough to be an intelligent and agreeable companion. Now Rolf fulfilledthese conditions; and moreover displayed a decided predilection for UncleTitus, who began to feel a most paternal interest spring up in his hearttowards the lad. So gladly did he feel it, that as he strode through thegarden, in the light of the shining, starry host, he broke out with, "Live your life merrily While the lamp glows; Ere it can fade and die, Gather the rose. "

For the tune was floating in his memory as he had heard it sung thatmorning by the fresh young voices, and out came the joyous notes underthe peaceful heavens. 

At the cottage window, Aunt Ninette stood looking out for her husband; andas she heard his voice singing this merry melody, it was with nothingshort of amazement that she said to herself, "Can that be Uncle Titus?"

CHAPTER IX. 

"WHAT MUST BE, MUST BE. "

Time passed quickly at the two houses, in this new and happycompanionship. 

"Another week gone already!" and "Sunday again so soon!" were theexclamations heard on every side, as each week went by. And Dora was thehappiest of all; the days fairly danced with her: they certainly had notmore than half as many hours as they had had in Karlsruhe, and everyevening she was sorry to have to go to bed, and lose in sleep so much ofthe little time that remained of her visit. If she could only have passedthe whole night at the piano, practising while the others were sleeping, she thought she could have nothing more to desire. Her arm was now whollyhealed, and she was taking music-lessons with a kind of furor; and in Lilishe had a teacher whose zeal equaled her own. A most agreeable teachertoo, who did not trouble her pupil with finger-exercises and scales, butgave her tunes at once without more ado; and first of course the favorite, "Live thy life merrily. " Dora learned the air very quickly with the righthand, and Lili did not require her to learn the left hand yet; declaringthat it was quite too difficult to play both together. All thisplaying-teacher was so improving to Lili, that she began to make wonderfulprogress herself, so that Miss Hanenwinkel was equally surprised andpleased at her improvement, and her mother often paused outside of theschool-room door to listen to the firm but lively touch with which herlittle daughter rendered her studies; for Lili had really great talent formusic, and now that a sufficient motive had been applied, she advancedrapidly. 

Paula was in a state of tranquil blessedness all day long. She had found afriend, and such a friend! The reality of this friendship far surpassedher imagination and her hopes, for such a one as Dora she could not haveconceived of; one who was so attractive not only to her, but to everymember of the family. Like Dora, Paula grudged the hours passed in sleep, now that there were so few left that they could spend together. 

Rolf had abandoned his old plan of charade-making, and had started on anentirely new system, and he spent his leisure hours striding up and downcertain of the garden-walks, sunk in thought with his hands clasped behindhis back, and so lost to outward things that Hunne was charged to keepaway from these paths; for more than once he was almost run down by hisbrother. A new set of riddles was now ready every evening for Uncle Titus, who was always waiting for his young friend in the summer-house, preparedto guess, and showing remarkable skill in finding out even the mostintricate puzzles; and as a natural result, Rolf grew more and more cleverin making them. Before long, Uncle Titus began to give riddles himself inreturn, and his were carefully written out; for they required seriousstudy, as they were in Latin. Rolf carried these home to his father andJule, but they would not even try to guess them. Mr. Ehrenreich declaredthat his Latin was quite too rusty for such work as this, and Julemaintained that during vacation he did not dare to tax his brainunnecessarily; he needed all his wits for his serious work next term. SoRolf worked away by himself, dictionary in hand, and twisted and turnedthe words till he wrung out their meaning. Then he showed them withtriumph to his father and brother, and in the evening carried them toUncle Titus. The pleasure which his kind old friend took in his successspurred the boy on to greater activity. He studied not only the riddlesthemselves, but his Latin lessons more earnestly, and he took to earlyrising, and every morning before breakfast he worked with his Lexicon inthe garden, as if his livelihood depended on the solution of Latinpuzzles. 

Hunne too was a lucky boy in these days, for no matter how often or howlong he hung upon Dora, and claimed her as his own property, never oncedid the good-natured girl avoid or repulse her little friend; but alwayslent herself to his wishes, and took so much pains to amuse him, that itseemed as if she found her own pleasure in pleasing him. Mrs. Birkenfeldhad persuaded Aunt Ninette to leave Dora entirely at liberty both morningand evening, and when in the afternoon she took her sewing and sat withthe family under the apple-tree, she found that even shirt-making mightbe an agreeable occupation, under such favorable circumstances as these. 

One day Dora made a new riddle for Hunne; for indeed his "nut-cracker" onehad become rather an old story; yet he couldn't bear to give upriddle-giving. To his unspeakable joy this new riddle had a triumphantexperience, quite unprecedented in the family annals--no one could guessit. This time nobody could turn him off with, "Oh, go away with that sameold charade. " For as no one knew the answer, no one could laugh at thelittle questioner, and he and Dora agreed not to give the slightest hintthat might lead to the right guess, and so put an end to this delightfulstate of things. 

The riddle was this:

 "My first makes you cry--not for sorrow, For my second a spoon you may borrow, To my whole, you say, 'thank you--to-morrow. '"

What could it be? Julius said it was "Hot-tea, because if the tea is veryhot and you try to drink it, the tears start to your eyes, and then youcool it with a spoon, and you would like to let it stand till to-morrow. "

Hunne jumped for joy, crying "Wrong, wrong!"

Miss Hanenwinkel suggested "Plum-jam, " because Hunne often cried when hecouldn't have plums, and everybody ate jam with a spoon, and if plum-jamwas not on the supper-table to-night, it was sure to be, to-morrow. 

"Wrong! wrong!" cried Hunne again. 

"Well, I guess Tear-ful, " said Rolf; but that was even worse than theothers. 

"I think it may be Snow-drop, " said the mother. "The sight of the snowmakes you cry for joy, and a spoon is used for your drops if you are ill, and you always want snowdrops to-morrow. "

Mamma had failed! "Not Snowdrops; no!" screamed Hunne, almost besidehimself with delight. 

"I guess it is _ice-cream_, " said Mr. Birkenfeld. "Ice makes me crysometimes, it is so cold. Cream certainly needs a spoon, and I have oftenheard the cry, 'To-morrow please, ' when ice-cream has been mentioned. "

Hunne spun round with delight. "No, no!" he shouted. It was almost toogood to be true, that his father should have missed it too. He scamperedabout crying out to everyone, "Guess! guess!"

Rolf was really vexed not to be able to see through this simple little"Hunne riddle" as he called it; and was mortified to perceive that he hadmade a worse guess than any one. 

Meantime the days were passing. One morning at breakfast Uncle Titus said, "My dear Ninette, our last week is drawing near. What should you say if weput off going home, another fortnight? I feel remarkably well here, nodizziness at all, and an extraordinary increase of strength in my legs!"

"You show it in your looks, my dear Titus--" said his wife tenderly, "youlook ten years younger, at the very least, than when we came here. "

"And to my mind, this way of living has done you a world of good too, mydear Ninette;" replied he, "It seems to me that you find much less tolament over of late. "

"Everything is so different, " she answered; "It seems to me thateverything has changed. The noise of the children even doesn't seem thesame, now that I know each one of them. I must say that I am very gladthat we didn't leave here that first week; I feel the loss of somethingpleasant now when I do not hear the children's voices, and I am always alittle uneasy if it is perfectly quiet in the garden. "

"It is just so with me, " said Uncle Titus, "and I cannot get through anevening with any satisfaction unless that bright boy has been in to seeme, full of impatience to tell me what he has been about during the day, and eager to hear the enigmas I have to give him. It is a perfect pleasureto have such a young fellow about one. "

"My dear Titus, you are growing younger every day. We will certainly staylonger, " said Aunt Ninette decidedly, "just as long as we convenientlycan. I'm sure even the doctor did not expect such good results from onecountry visit; it is almost miraculous!"

Dora lost no time in carrying the enchanting news of this decision toPaula, for in her inmost heart she had been very unhappy at the thought ofgoing away so soon. How could she live, away from all this dear familywith whom she had learned to feel so entirely at home? She thought thatwhen the day of separation came her heart would surely break. 

When the good news of Dora's longer stay among them spread through thefamily, there was general rejoicing, and the little girl was in danger ofbeing fairly hugged to death by her friends. 

That evening after the children were all safely in bed, and MissHanenwinkel had withdrawn to her own room, Mr. And Mrs. Birkenfeld sattogether upon the sofa, talking. This was the only quiet time that theycould count upon in the course of the day, when they could talk over theneeds, the pleasures and the pains, of their large and busy family. Theywere talking now about the decision of their new friends, and Mrs. Birkenfeld expressed her great satisfaction with it, adding, "I cannot bear to think of losing Dora. She has grown very dear to me. What a real blessing that child has been in the family! She leaves hermark wherever she goes, and always for good. Wherever I turn I find somenew evidence of her beneficial influence. And to me personally she isparticularly attractive; I can't understand exactly why, but whenever Ilook into her eyes, I feel as if I had known her for a long time, and asif we had been sympathetic friends in days gone by. "

"Ah, my dear wife, how often I have heard you say that whenever you feel aparticular friendship for any one. I recollect perfectly that after we hadknown each other a little while, you said it seemed to you as if we hadbeen intimately acquainted some time before. "

"Well, suppose I did, you most incorrigible tease, " said his wife, "youcannot convince me to the contrary, nor can you take away the fact thatDora is dear and delightful, not only to me, but to all the familybesides. Paula goes about beaming like the sunshine, and with no trace ofher usual discontent. Jule pulls off his own riding-boots without stirringup the whole house about it; Rolf is so full of interest in his pursuitsthat he has not a moment of idleness all day long; Lili has developed alove for music and a talent for playing the piano, that we never dreamedshe possessed; and little Hunne has become so gentle and so contented athis games, that it is a pleasure just to look at the child. "

"I think too, " said Mr. Birkenfeld, "that it is because of Dora's beingwith us, that there has been a cessation of those mischievous pranks thatthe twins were always at, and that kept the house in a constant state ofexcitement. "

"I have not the least doubt of it;" said his wife, "Dora has aroused inLili an enthusiasm for music, and all the child's lively energy is turnedinto that channel. Wili follows his sister's lead, and they are boththerefore so busy that they have not even a thought for mischief. "

"Dora is certainly an uncommon child and I am very sorry she is to leaveus so soon;" said Mr. Birkenfeld regretfully. 

"That is what is weighing upon my mind, " said his wife, "I am constantlytrying to devise some plan for prolonging her stay still farther. "

"No, no;" said her husband, decidedly, "we can't do anything about that. We don't know these people well enough to try to influence theirmovements. They must go away now, but perhaps next year we may see themhere again. "

Mrs. Birkenfeld sighed; there was a long winter to come, and there seemedto her to be but little chance of the visit being repeated. 

The day fixed for the departure was Monday, and on the day before therewas to be a grand feast, a farewell festival; though to tell the truth, none of them felt much like making a jubilee. Rolf alone was in the mood, and he took charge of the preparations, as an important part of which, anumber of choice riddles were to be hung about the summer-house astransparencies: in honor of his patron. 

On Saturday Dora took her seat, as usual, with the family at dinner, butno one had any appetite; the coming separation was too much in theirthoughts. As the mother was helping to soup, one after another exclaimed, "Very little for me, " "Please only a little, " "I really don't care for anyto-day, " "Scarcely any for me, thank you, " "And less for me, to-day. "

"I should like to ask--" said their father, amid this shower of "No, thankyous;" "I can't help wondering whether this 'thank you, to-morrow, ' styleof thing is caused by grief at parting, or by a general dislike foronion-soup. "

"Onion-soup! onion-soup! that is the answer to Hunne's riddle!" cried Rolfwith a cry of victory, for he had really taken it seriously to heart, thatHunne's charade had been so long unguessed. The answer was right. PoorHunne was quite depressed at this unexpected blow, and in a moment he saidsomewhat pitifully, "Oh dear! papa, if you had not said that about 'thank you, to-morrow, ' forthe soup, then no one would ever have found it out. Now I shall have nomore fun with it. "

But Dora had a comforting word for him, even now, and whispered softly, "Yes, Hunne dear, you shall have some more fun with it, for I will bringover my album this afternoon, and I will guide your hand while you writethe charade in it, and then I will take it to Karlsruhe, and show it toall the people I know there, and they will all try to guess it. "

So Hunne was comforted, and was able to finish his dinner happily. Butunder the apple-tree where they were assembled for the last time, thefamily were in very low spirits. For the next day Dora must stay with heraunt to help her, and could not join them until the evening, in time forthe good-bye feast. Paula sat with her eyes full of tears, and did notspeak one word. Lili had already given signs of her state of mind, by allsorts of restless movements, and at last she exclaimed, "Mamma, I wish I never need touch the piano again; it will be terriblytiresome without Dora, and Miss Hanenwinkel will find fault again and sayI am 'not progressing, ' and I don't want to 'progress' when Dora is nothere!"

"Oh dear!" sighed Jule, "what terrible days are before us, with danger tolife and limb, when the twins begin again to find their time hang heavyon their hands. It is a very stupid arrangement anyway, " he went on quiteexcitedly; "it would be far better for Dora to pass the winter with us. Her aunt and uncle could go on in their quiet way in Karlsruhe all thesame without her. "

The mother sympathized entirely in the children's regret at the separationand said she hoped to persuade Mr. Ehrenreich to bring his wife and Doraback for another summer. 

Hunne was the only one more interested in the present than in the future, and he kept pulling Dora's dress and saying, "Go get your book, Dora! get the book!"

So Dora went to get her album, and brought it over for each one of herfriends, in the good old fashion, to write a verse or a motto in it, byway of remembrance. It was no new, elegant, gilded affair. It was an oldbook, faded and worn, and much of the writing in it was pale with age. Here and there had been pasted on, tiny bunches of flowers and leaves allof which had lost their color, and many of which had fallen off. The albumhad belonged to Dora's mother, and the verses were all written inunformed, childish characters. There were also some drawings, and amongthese one of a small house and a well, with a man standing near it, particularly attracted Hunne's attention, and he took the book in his ownhands, and began turning the leaves. 

"Hallo!" he exclaimed with a knowing look, as he took out a piece of paperthat lay folded between the leaves; "Mamma has one like this; it belongsto Lili; the one I am going to America to find. "

Julius laughed aloud. "What in the world are you chattering to Dora aboutnow, Hunne?" But his mother glanced, quickly at the little boy as shecaught his words, took the paper from his hand and read what was writtenthere. 

Great tears fell from her eyes as she read; the memory of long past hoursof her happy childhood rose before her, clear and distinct, and almostoverpowered her, Her own mother's face, and all the sights and sounds ofchildhood! It was the other half of her own poem that she held in herhand, the half that had been kept by her dearly loved friend. She gave itsilently to her husband; she could not trust her voice to read it aloud. 

The children watched her curiously as she took the other half from hernotebook, and laid the two bits of yellow faded paper side by side. Theymade a sheet of the usual size of old-fashioned letter paper. The writingwas the same on both, and as the lines were joined, their meaning becameplain. Mr. Birkenfeld read the verses aloud:

 "Lay your hand in mine dear, Joined thus we need not fear, Each the other clasping fast, That our union should not last, But behold, the fates decree That our future severed be. We will cut our verse in two, Half for me and half for you. But we still will hope forever That the halves may come together, And with no loss to deplore. Our friendship be as 'twas before. "

The mother had taken Dora's hand in hers. "Where did you get this paper, Dora?" she asked, much moved. 

"It has always been in my mother's album, " replied the child withsurprise. 

"Then you are my Lili's child!" cried Mrs. Birkenfeld, "and that is whatyour eyes always said to me, when I looked into them;" and she folded Dorasoftly to her heart. 

The children were intensely excited, but seeing how much moved theirmother was, they restrained themselves, and sat very still, watching Doraand their mother with eager looks. But little Hunne broke the spell. 

"Then I sha'n't have to go to America, shall I, mamma?" he said gaily, forsince he had given his word to go to find the lost Lili, he had oftenthought with alarm of the long journey that he must take alone. 

"No, dear child, we will all stay here together, " said his mother, turningtowards the children with Dora's hand fast in hers; "Dora is the Lili youwere to seek, and we have found her. "

"Oh, mamma, " cried Paula, "Dora and I will be what you and her motherwere; we will carry out the verses. We will say:

 "'But we still will hope forever Now the halves have come together No farther losses to deplore, Our friendship prove as yours before. '"

"Oh yes, and ours, " "me too, " "so will I, " and all the children joined inpromising eternal friendship with Dora. But the mother had taken herhusband's hand and had drawn him away down the shady walk. 

"All right, I agree to it all, " said Mr. Birkenfeld over and over again, as his wife talked eagerly, while they walked back and forth. PresentlyMrs. Birkenfeld left him and crossed over to the next house. She asked forMrs. Ehrenreich, and now as they sat together by the window, she told AuntNinette in words that came from her heart, with what delight she haddiscovered that Dora was the daughter of her earliest and dearest friend;that friend from whom she had been so long separated, but whose memory wasstill green in her heart. She wanted to learn all that could be told ofher friend's life and death, but Aunt Ninette had little to tell. She hadnever known Dora's mother; her brother had spent several years in Americawhere he had married, and his wife had died in Hamburg shortly afterDora's birth. That was all she knew. Then Mrs. Birkenfeld went directly tothe point. She explained to Mrs. Ehrenreich how much she had enjoyed andprofited by, her long visits at her friend's father's house, and howdeeply she felt that she owed these kind friends a debt of gratitude whichshe now saw an opportunity partly to repay, by doing what she could forDora. In short, if Aunt Ninette and her husband would consent, her mostfervent wish would be to take Dora and bring her up as her own child. 

She met with none of the opposition which she had feared. Aunt Ninettesaid frankly that Dora had not a cent of property, and that she would beentirely dependent on her own work as a seamstress; as neither her auntnor her uncle could afford to spend anything on her farther education. Sheconsidered it a great blessing that the child should have found such afriend, and she heartily rejoiced in her good fortune; and was sure thather husband would fully agree with her. So there was nothing farther forMrs. Birkenfeld to do, but to embrace Mrs. Ehrenreich most cordially, andthen to hasten home to tell the children the happy news. She knew how theywould take it. 

There they were all under the apple-tree, all looking towards their motherand impatient for what she might have to tell them; hoping that it mightbe some plan for prolonging Dora's stay. But when the mother told themthat from that day forward Dora was to belong to them, forever, as theirsister and a child of the family, then a shout of joy arose that made thewelkin ring again and awoke the echoes in the farthest corner of thegarden. It aroused Uncle Titus and brought him from his distantsummer-house with a gentle smile, saying half to himself and half aloud, "It is a pity it will soon be over. "

Aunt Ninette was standing at an open window, looking down into the garden, and as she heard the shouts of joy that rose again and again from underthe apple-tree, she said to herself, smiling "How we shall miss all thischeerful noise when we are far away. "

The children were indeed jubilant, and they decided to organize a feast inhonor of Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette, a feast more brilliant than anythat had ever before made the shades of the garden glow with splendor. 

That night Dora went up to her little room for the last time, for the nextmorning she was to move over to the other house. The happy family ofchildren whom she had secretly watched with longing heart, were now to beher brothers and sisters; the lovely garden into which she had gazed withhopeless eyes was henceforth to be her home; she was to have parents whowould surround her always with their protecting love. She was to learnwhat the others learned; yes, to have regular studies with them, as wellas music-lessons. Dora's heart was flooded with the thoughts that welledup within her. One thing she was sure of; that her father was looking downat her, and rejoicing with her. She stood at the window and gazed up atthe sparkling stars, and recalled the sad hours of depression that she hadknown, when these stars did not seem to bring her comfort, and when shehad almost lost faith in that kind heavenly Father, who nevertheless hadnow brought all this happiness to her. 

She fell on her knees and thanked God for his goodness, and prayed thatshe might never again doubt Him, but that even in times of sorrow, shemight be able to say, with heart-felt trust in the words of her father'sverse:

 "God holds us in his hand, God knows the best to send. "

Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette engaged their rooms with Mrs. Kurd for thefollowing summer; Uncle Titus even went farther still, and begged Mrs. Kurd, no matter what happened, never to promise them to any one else; forhe left her house now with keen regret, and hoped to return to it everysummer as long as he lived. 

When Monday morning came, the whole family were on hand before thecottage, to wish the departing guests good-speed. Rolf drew the uncleaside, and asked if he might venture to send a charade to Karlsruhe, nowand then; to which Uncle Titus kindly replied that he should receive anysuch with pleasure, and answer them with punctuality. 

Sly little Hunne, when he overheard these remarks, declared at once, "Iwill also send mine;" for he did not doubt that his would be equallyacceptable to Uncle Titus, if not more so. He thought also that the quietpeople of Karlsruhe would never be able to guess such charades as he wouldmake, and his heart was filled with pride. Dora and Paula wandered arm inarm into the garden, singing gaily, "No farther losses to deplore In friendship live for evermore. "

APPENDIX. 

The Charades in this story, involving play upon the German words andsyllables, are of course nearly all untranslatable; the translator hastherefore substituted English ones; as follows:

 PAGE

_Welcome_ for "Heimkehr" 80

_Music_ " "Katzenmusik" 104

_Milton_ " "Vogelweide" 105

_Palfrey_ " "Milch Strasse" 107

_Plato_ " "Aristotle" 227

_Caesar_ " "Heliogabal" 228

_Bonaparte_ " "Wallenstein" 230

_Matterhorn_ " "Finsteraarhorn" 230

_Gladstone_ " "Semiramis" 231