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"DO YOU THINK IT WAS A LITTLE RABBIT THAT MADETHE NOISE?" ASKED WILLI, FRIGHTENED.
The children looked at each other perplexed.
"Do you think it was a little rabbit that made the noise?" asked Willi, frightened.
"Do you think it was a chicken?" asked Lili, with a very bad conscience.
Both hoped sincerely they had heard wrongly when it sounded like a child's cry, and that they had only hurt a little animal. They knew they had been very disobedient in handling the weapon, and without saying a word, they carried the bow back to its place.
Here a new dread took hold of them. What would happen if Rolf discovered an arrow was missing?
Just then they heard the others coming back from church. This prevented them from going out and hunting for the missing arrow, which would give them away at once. Rolf, of course, would not know they had shot, but he might ask them. They felt very helpless and entangled by their disobedience. Besides, it seemed quite impossible ever to admit the truth, if somebody asked them for the arrow.
In silence and greatly oppressed by a feeling of guilt, Willi and Lili slipped back to the schoolroom and remained there without making a sound till they were called to dinner. They sat down quietly on their chairs without any joyful expectation of the coming meal. They never raised their eyes and swallowed hard at their soup as if it contained large gravel stones. Whenever the father accosted them, they did not raise their eyes, and their answers were scarcely audible.
"What is the matter again with those two?" the father asked, quite convinced that their contrition was not due to the incident of the day before: the repentance of the twins never lasted so long as that.
He received no answer, as they sat motionless, staring at their plates. The mother anxiously shook her head, while Hun, who guessed at once that something dreadful must have happened, kept a watchful eye on the pair.
The fine pudding with the sauce appeared and each got a nice big helping. Suddenly the father jumped up from his seat. "What is the matter? Can someone over there be ill? I just saw the doctor running in there rapidly as if someone were in great danger."
"I know of no sick people," said the mother. "Mrs. Kurd has rented her rooms to strangers. Perhaps one of them is ill."
First the twins blushed scarlet, then they grew white from fear as an inner voice repeated to them insistently: "Now you'll be found out, now you'll be found out!" They were so petrified that they could not move their limbs and found themselves obliged to leave the tempting pudding with the raisins untouched.
Even Hun, known as the most indefatigable eater of puddings, left his portion behind, for suddenly, leaping from his seat, he cried in terrible agitation, "Mamma, papa, come! Everything will fall to pieces now!" And nearly pulling Jul bodily from his chair, he flew towards the door. He could still be heard shrieking insanely outside, "Come, come! Everything will go to pieces. Jul told me so."
"What evil spirit has come into the children!" inquired the father, amazed. "The twins are acting as if they were screwed to a torture bench, and Hun has completely lost his senses."
Suddenly realizing what had caused Hun's panic, Jul burst into a gale of laughter. The small boy, seeing the twins so frightened and grim themselves, felt sure the pair had begun their fearful work of destruction. In a few moments, the house would crash down over the assembled family, he was quite sure. Under renewed outbursts of laughter, Jul explained what Hun's insane cries signified and even the mother was quite unable to tempt the boy into the room again with soothing words. He danced up and down before the house and violently implored everybody to come outside. At last, his father ordered the door to be shut, so the meal could proceed in quiet. Afterwards, when the family went into the garden, little Hun approached as soon as he saw them all in safety under the apple tree. Then he said, sighing, "If only somebody would fetch me out my pudding before the house falls down!"
The mother drew the little boy up to her, and explained how very foolish both Jul and he had been, the big boy to invent such nonsense, and the other to believe it. She told him to think a little and see how impossible it would be for two small people like Willi and Lili to tear down a large house built of stone; but it took quite a while to remove the fixed idea from the boy's brain.
Dora had been standing at the hedge waiting for the children to come to the garden when the twins approached. She watched their sport with much suspense, and then the arrow happened to fly straight into her bare arm. The pain was so great that she moaned aloud. Fortunately the arrow had not penetrated far enough to remain fixed in her flesh, and had fallen down at once. But such streams of blood poured from her arm over her hand and dress that Dora, in her fright, forgot her suffering. She could not help thinking how terribly Aunt Ninette would worry at her accident. In her anxiety, she sought for some means to conceal the matter and pulling out her handkerchief, she wrapped it firmly round the wound. Next, she ran to the fountain in front of the house, and began to wash off the stains. But the blood immediately soaked through the bandage, and Dora was stained with blood.
That moment, her aunt called her name from upstairs and Dora had to go. Trembling, she went reluctantly upstairs to her aunt, holding her bandaged arm stretched out in front, because the blood was simply dripping from it. The light Sunday frock was spotted with blood, and streaks were on the child's cheeks and forehead, because in trying to wipe it off, Dora had soiled herself everywhere.
"For mercy's sake!" shrieked the aunt at this appalling sight. "Dora, what is the matter with you? Tell me! Did you fall? How dreadful you look! Your cheeks look as white as chalk under the bloodstains! Dora, for heaven's sake, speak!"
Dora had several times been on the point of speaking, but had not got the chance. She answered timidly at last: "It was an arrow."
A storm of worse complaints than Dora had ever heard broke forth now. Wringing her hands and running up and down the room, the aunt exclaimed, "An arrow, an arrow! You were shot! And in the arm! You'll be lame for life now! Your arm will stay stiff and you'll be a cripple forever! You won't be able to sew any more, no, you won't be able to do anything at all! You will have to live in poverty the rest of your life! We'll all suffer most dreadfully! How could such a misfortune break in upon us? How can we go on living now? What on earth shall we do if you become lame?"
"But, Aunt Ninette," Dora said, between her sobs, "perhaps it won't be so terrible. Don't you remember what papa used to say:"
"'Yet God keeps watch above usAnd doeth all things well.'"
"Ah, yes, that is true, but if you are crippled, you are crippled," wailed the aunt anew. "It is enough to drive one to despair. But come here! No, go now. Better come to the water here! But where is Mrs. Kurd? We must send for the doctor at once."
Dora went to her wash basin, while the aunt ran to Mrs. Kurd and urged her to send for the physician without a moment's delay. One could not tell what danger there might be in such an injury.
The doctor came as soon as he was able, examined the wound, stopped the blood and made a tight bandage without saying a word, though Aunt Ninette had several times tried hard to bring him to some declaration. Taking his hat, he was soon at the door.
"But, doctor, won't you tell me?" said Aunt Ninette, accompanying him further, "Tell me, doctor, will her arm remain lame? Lame for life?"
"Let us hope not! I'll come again tomorrow," was the answer, after which the physician was gone.
"'Let us hope not,'" repeated Aunt Ninette, in a despairing voice. "With a doctor that means yes. Oh, what will become of us? What shall we do? We can never pull through now."
The aunt never stopped wailing the entire day.
When the mother that night came to Willi's bed to say his prayers with him she did not find him sitting happily on his bed as usual, eager to detain her for a long talk. He was crouched together and did not look up at her when she sat down beside him. Nor did he speak.
"Willi, what is the matter?" asked the mother. "Something is troubling you. Did you do something wicked?"
Willi gave forth an incomprehensible sound, which was neither yes nor no.
"Come, say your evening song, Willi. Maybe that will open your heart," said the mother again.
Willi began:
"The moon is now ascending,The golden stars are lendingTheir beauty to the night."
But he prayed mechanically, constantly listening to every sound outside. He also gazed at the door, as if something dreadful might enter at any moment. From his restless glances, one could see that he was suffering from some inner terror. When he came to the end of his song:
"Oh, take us in Thy keeping,Dear Lord, while we are sleeping,And watch o'er those in pain."
Willi burst into violent sobs, and tightly clinging to his mother, cried out, "The child won't ever be able to sleep again, and God will punish us frightfully."
"What do you mean, Willi?" asked the mother gently. "Come, tell me what has happened. I have known all day you must have been naughty. What was it?"
"We have—we have—perhaps we shot a child dead," was heard at last.
"Willi, what are you saying?" cried the mother, frightened, for she immediately remembered the doctor's hurried appearance at her neighbor's cottage. "But that isn't possible. Explain to me what happened."
Willi related from the beginning what Lili and he had done, how they had heard the moan, after which they had run away. They were so frightened now, they would rather die at once, he said, than live any longer in such dread.
"Now you see, Willi, what comes from disobedience," said the mother, sternly. "You thought it wasn't very bad for you to play a little with the bow and arrow, but your father knew very well what danger there might be in it. That is why he forbade you to use it. We can't tell yet what terrible thing has happened through your disobedience. Therefore, we will earnestly implore God to make only good come out of your wicked action."
The mother began to say a prayer which Willi continued himself. He had never in his life prayed as fervently as he did at that anxious moment. He could hardly stop, because he felt such intense relief in praying, and it was wonderful to lay his trouble in God's hands. He earnestly begged His forgiveness and His assistance. Willi experienced great happiness in being able to look up at his mother again and he said good-night with a lighter heart.
In the room opposite, Lili was waiting for her mother. As the latter stepped up to her little one's bed, she said seriously, "Will you say your prayers, Lili?"
Lili began, then stopped. Once more she began and stopped abruptly. Dreadfully uneasy, she said now, "Mamma, I can't pray. God is angry with me."
"What did you do, Lili? What makes you so sure God is angry with you?"
Lili remained silent, and pulled her sheet to and fro, for she was an obstinate little person.
"If our God is not satisfied with you, I am not, either. Now I must go. Sleep well, if you can," said the mother, turning to leave the room.
"Mamma!" shrieked Lili, "Don't go! I'll tell you everything."
The mother turned around.
"We shot with the bow, though we were not allowed to do it. And we hit something that cried out. Then we were awfully frightened and ran away. Afterwards, we were still more scared and we can't be happy any more."
"Of course you can't be happy now," agreed the mother. "Just think, Lili! Because of your disobedience, a poor child over there has to suffer dreadful pain. She may even be here without her mother, for she is a stranger. She is probably crying all night in the strange house."
"I want to go over to the child and stay with it," Lili began pitifully crying. "I can't sleep, mamma, I am so scared."
"You see, Lili, that is the way we always feel when we have done wrong. I'll go to the poor child, and you must pray to God for an obedient heart, and beg Him to keep bitter suffering away from the innocent child you wounded."
Lili obeyed, and was glad she could pray again. After confessing her guilt, she did not feel as if God were angry with her any more, and she begged Him from the bottom of her heart to make her good and obedient and to heal the poor hurt neighbor.
Immediately afterwards, the mother sent Trine to Mrs. Kurd in order to find out if a child had been really shot, how it all had happened, and if the doctor had been brought for that reason.
Mrs. Kurd told Trine in detail how the arrow had flown through the hedge and into Dora's arm. She also repeated the doctor's words when asked about the dreadful consequences that might result from the accident. He had promised to return the next day.
Trine carefully told her mistress everything she had learned, and Mrs. Birkenfeld was glad to find the wound had not immediately endangered the child's life. She was especially relieved that the child's eye had not been struck, which possibility had troubled her the most.
IN THE GARDEN AT LAST
QUITE early the next morning, Mrs. Birkenfeld went over to Mrs. Kurd's little house, where she was most joyously received. Mrs. Birkenfeld and Lili, her friend, had gone to school to Mr. Kurd, and the two girls had been his favorite pupils. They had been such diligent students, that he experienced nothing but success and pleasure in his task and often during his life spoke about them to his wife. Mrs. Kurd at once led her neighbor into the house, anxious to talk, for she had not seen her since the strangers had arrived. Of course, there was a great deal to tell about their ways of living and so on, and especially the accident of the day before.
When Mrs. Kurd had talked these things over a little, Mrs. Birkenfeld asked for the pleasure of meeting the boarders, and especially the little girl who had been wounded by the arrow.
Mrs. Kurd went away to give the message to Mrs. Ehrenreich, and soon the latter appeared, followed by Dora, looking very pale and thin, and with a heavy bandage on her arm.
After the first greeting, Mrs. Birkenfeld went up to the child and affectionately taking her hand inquired sympathetically about the wound. Then turning to Mrs. Ehrenreich, expressed her deep regret over the accident, and in friendly words asked after her and her husband's health.
Aunt Ninette was not slow in saying how much his condition worried her. They, had come here purposely for peace and quiet and the fine air besides, but he got none of these. He was obliged to keep his windows shut all day, for he could not stand any noise while working, and the disturbances seemed incessant. In that way, he was deprived of the good air. She also spoke of her anxiety that instead of being benefited by their vacation her husband should get worse here.
"I am so sorry the children have disturbed Mr. Ehrenreich so dreadfully at his work," said Mrs. Birkenfeld with understanding. "If Mr. Ehrenreich won't go on walks, he should have an airy place for working, and that puts me in mind of a little summerhouse in the back part of our garden, which is quite a distance from the house and the frequented places of the property. We keep a table and some chairs in it, and I sincerely hope that Mr. Ehrenreich will make that his workroom. I shall take great pains to keep the children away from that neighborhood."
Aunt Ninette was delighted with this proposition, and accepted the offer gratefully, promising to tell her husband at once.
"And you, dear child," said Mrs. Birkenfeld, turning to Dora, "you must come over to us daily and get strong and well. I hope your aunt will let you, for my children have a great wrong to make satisfaction for."
"May I really go to the lovely garden and play with the children?" asked Dora with sparkling eyes, hardly daring to believe her ears.
Her aunt looked at her, amazed; she had never seen Dora so joyful.
Mrs. Birkenfeld was so deeply touched by the child's visible delight that tears rose to her eyes and she felt herself mysteriously drawn to Dora in deep affection. Those joyfully shining eyes woke in her a whole world of memories. After it was settled that Dora should come over immediately after lunch and spend the rest of the day with the children, Mrs. Birkenfeld went home.
Aunt Ninette at once went to her husband and told him about the remote little summerhouse that had been kindly offered to him. Mr. Titus was much pleased. He had really begun to suffer from the lack of air, and as it was against his principles to lose much precious time, he had not been able to make up his mind to take a daily walk. An airy place for his studies was exactly what he wanted, and he proposed to examine the summerhouse at once. Aunt Ninette went along. They walked around the garden in order to avoid the numerous family and came at last to a little garden gate leading directly to the pavilion, just as Mrs. Birkenfeld had explained to them.
Two old walnut trees and a weeping willow with dense and deeply drooping branches stood beside the little house and behind it a large meadow stretched down the incline. Everything round about lay in silence and peace.
Mr. Titus had brought out two large books under each arm, for he meant to begin on his work at once, if he liked the place. Aunt Ninette was carrying some paper and ink, and Dora marched behind with a wax taper and some cigars. Mr. Titus, liking the spot extremely, lost no time, but settled down at the table to work. He breathed the delicious air deeply into his lungs and rubbed his hands with satisfaction. Then he began to write at once, and Aunt Ninette and Dora returned to the house, knowing he wanted to be left alone.
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DORA MARCHED BEHINDWITH A WAX TAPER AND SOME CIGARS.
The news of the twins' last misdeed had quickly spread in the big house. Rolf, coming back from his Latin lesson, had gone at once for his bow. When he found one of the arrows missing, he had rushed into the house, wild with rage, to find the culprit. It was not at all difficult for him to discover this, for the twins' were still repentant, and at once remorsefully admitted their crime.
They even informed their brother of the cry of pain they had heard after shooting. They took Rolf to Mrs. Kurd's garden and showed him where the arrow might be. Sure enough, there it lay on the ground. As soon as Rolf was reconciled by finding the arrow, he ran at once to Paula and Jul, crying, "Did you know they shot a child?" That was the reason why all six children with Miss Hanenwinkel behind them, stood on the stone steps outside the house waiting in suspense and agitation for their mother's return.
She had hardly come in sight, when Hun cried, "Where did they shoot her?"
And all bombarded her with questions. "Is it a child?" "Is it a boy?" "How big is it?" "What is its name?" "Is it much hurt?"
"Come inside, children," said the mother, trying to keep them within bounds. When they all stood around her, she told them that Willi and Lili had hurt a frail little girl, who could not move her arm, but was obliged to carry it in a tight bandage. The child was of Paula's age and spoke beautifully. She was well brought up, and looked extremely pleasant. Her name was Dora, and she was coming over that afternoon to make their acquaintance.
They were even more interested now and the children wondered what Dora looked like, and whether they could understand her. Each hoped to be her special friend.
But Paula, who was more deeply thrilled than anybody, said, "Oh, mamma, I am so glad that she is just my age. Isn't it nice she is so refined? Oh, how glad I am!" In secret, she already schemed for a great and lasting friendship with her little neighbor and could hardly wait for the afternoon to come. Rolf thought that Dora would be just the right age for him, and hoped secretly she would enjoy guessing his charades. The twins, feeling that Dora was their special property, as long as they had shot her, counted already on her being a useful playmate. For their schemes and games they often wished for a third, and Paula was almost never in the mood to be of help. Hun said, full of satisfaction, "I shall be glad when Dora comes, for I can go to her when no one else has time and all our chairs are topsy-turvy." He was thinking of his dreary hours on Saturday morning, when he never knew what to play or do. Jul in his turn asked his little brother, "But, Hun, what do you think Dora and I could do together?"
"I know," said the little one, after a short reflection. "Dora can help us to take off your riding boots. Last time, there were not nearly enough of us; remember?"
"You are right," said Jul, delighted.
Dora lived through the morning in joyful trepidation, not knowing what to do from happiness. Her great wish at last was coming true, and she was to visit the merry children in their pretty garden. But suddenly she was filled with qualms. She had learned to know and love the children at her place of observation, whereas she was quite unknown to them. Not only that, but the consciousness of being so ignorant and awkward compared to them cast her spirits down. She knew how accomplished and clever they all were, and it was quite possible they would have nothing to do with her at all. These conjectures in turn troubled and delighted her during the dinner hour, and made it difficult for her to eat.
At last the wished for time came, when Aunt Ninette said to Dora, "You can go now."
The child put on her hat and set out at once, entering the front hall of the big house. She walked through the long corridor straight towards the garden at the other end, where the door stood open.
Most unexpectedly, she found herself face to face with the whole family. All were gathered under the apple tree as usual, and Dora was not prepared for this, having only expected to see the children. She therefore stopped short, and gazed at them timidly.
But the little Hun had eagerly waited for Dora, and jumped from his seat the moment he saw her. Stretching out his hand, he called, "Won't you come here, Dora? There is enough room for us both on my chair, come!" He had run up to her and seizing her hand, he pulled her towards the group.
The other children also ran towards Dora and gave her a greeting as if she were the oldest friend of the family. In the midst of questions and greetings, Dora had reached the parents, who welcomed her most affectionately. Soon her shyness completely vanished, and a few moments later, she sat sharing a chair with Hun as if she belonged to them entirely. Father and mother had risen and walked up and down the garden, while the children came closer and closer to Dora, each talking very hard. Paula said less than the others, but quietly made her observations. Rolf and the twins stood as near as possible to the little visitor and Hun had actual hold of her, in the fear she might escape him.
"If you crush Dora the very first time she comes, she won't be able to come again," said Jul, who had stretched himself out full length in his chair. "Give her a little room to breathe, please."
"How old are you, Dora? You aren't much older than I, are you?" asked Lili in great suspense.
"I am just twelve years old," answered Dora.
"Oh, what a shame! Then you are Paula's age," sighed Lili, who had hoped to own Dora more than anybody else.
"No, no," cried Rolf, "Dora is nearer my age than Paula's," a circumstance which seemed most propitious to the boy. "Are you good at guessing rhymed charades, Dora? Do you like doing it?"
"I made a charade, too," cried little Hun, loudly. "Guess this one, Dora! You can't drink my first—but—"
Rolf cut his small brother's charade indignantly in half: "Don't keep on repeating that senseless charade. You know it is no good at all, Hun!" he exclaimed. "Listen to me, Dora! My first tastes—"
But Rolf got no chance to say his riddle, either, for Lili had seized Dora's hand, and pulling her along, said urgently, "Come, Dora, come! I'll play them all now." Dora had asked Lili if she knew how to play the piano, and Lili found that the right moment for claiming Dora had come. Lili quickly won her victory, for Dora rose from her seat, anxious to hear Lili play. But she was sorry to offend Rolf.
"Don't mind my going, Rolf," she said, turning back. "I am sure I couldn't guess your charade, and then it wouldn't be fun for you."
"Won't you try once?" asked Rolf, slightly disappointed.
"If you want me to, I'll try it later," Dora called back, for Lili had already pulled her as far as the house. Hun had not let go, either, and hanging to her hand, had cried incessantly, "Mine, too, Dora, mine too!" With great friendliness, she promised to guess his also.
The little group, including Willi, who also played, had come to the instrument now. The twins had taken lessons from Miss Hanenwinkel the last year, the parents hoping that it would prove first of all a pleasure for the children. Next, they thought that music might have a softening influence on their natures, and besides, while working, at least, they would be kept from mischief.
Lili, who had drawn Dora close to the piano, suddenly remembered how she herself usually felt about the matter and said, "You know, Dora, it is really terribly tiresome to play the piano. Often, I would rather die than practise. Don't you think so, too, Willi?"
Willi eagerly supported that opinion.
"But Lili, how can you talk that way?" said Dora, looking with longing glances at the piano. "It would give me the greatest happiness to be able to sit down and play a pretty song the way you do it!"
"Would it?" asked Lili, surprised, thoughtfully looking up at Dora, whose longing eyes finally proved contagious. Opening the piano, she began to play her song, and Dora sat down beside the child, drinking in the melody, as if Lili were giving her the greatest treat.
Lili, seeing this, became enthusiastic, too, and played very well. Willi, seeing the effect his sister's piece produced, was anxious to show off, too, and said, "Let me do it, too, Lili." But Lili, who was so fired with new spirit, never stopped a moment, but played her little piece over and over again.
"Don't you know another?" asked Dora. "No, Miss Hanenwinkel won't give me another till I play my exercises better," Lili replied. "But I know what I'll do from now on. Just wait till tomorrow, Dora! Yes, I know still something else," continued Lili, turning round on her piano stool, "I'll give you piano lessons, and then you'll learn to play the song, too. Then we can learn to play other pieces together, won't we?"
"Oh, can you do that, Lili?" asked Dora, looking so blissfully happy that Lili resolved to start the lessons on the morrow.
"But, Lili, I can't do it with my arm," said Dora, suddenly looking gloomy.
But Lili was not so quickly discouraged. "It will soon be better, and till then I'll learn so much that I can teach you better," she comforted her prospective pupil.
The large bell rang for supper now. Hastily little Hun seized Dora's hand, showing that no time was to be lost. Papa always appeared punctually at meals and Hun was always ready to go when called.
The table, which was set under the apple tree, was laden with many delightful things. Dora, who sat in the midst of the children, could not help looking about her at the flowers, the lovely tree above her, and the friendly faces that seemed to her like close friends. She felt as if she must be dreaming; it was so wonderful and so much more beautiful than she had imagined, that it hardly seemed real. A fear rose in her heart, that she might suddenly wake up and find it all an illusion. But Dora did not awaken from a dream, and while she wondered about her bliss, a number of substantial objects had been heaped on her plate, giving her the full consciousness that her happiness was real.
"Eat your cake, Dora, or you'll be behindhand," said Hun, much concerned. "Jul and I have already eaten four. Jul and I can do everything well, except take off his riding boots. But you'll help us with that, Dora, won't you?"
"Hun, eat your cake," urged Jul, and Dora was prevented from giving an answer to his curious question.
Mr. Birkenfeld began a conversation with Dora and wanted to know about her father and her life in Hamburg and Karlsruhe.
Till now, Paula had not attempted to go near Dora. When the meal was over, Paula quietly stole up to the latter's chair and said, "Come with me a little while, Dora."
Overjoyed, Dora followed this invitation, for she had been afraid that Paula did not like her and wanted to have nothing to do with her, whereas she herself was drawn to Paula very much. But Paula had been anxious to find out first about Dora's nature and, liking it, she took Dora's arm, and both disappeared in the depth of the garden. However hard the twins, Hun and Rolf, sought for the two and called them, they could not be found, for Paula, making a complete circle around the garden, had led Dora up to her own room.
Here the two sat together, and found many, many things to talk about, things they had never been able to discuss with others. Neither of them ever had a friend of the same age and both experienced for the first time the joy of finding a companion with similar interests and ideals. Paula and Dora formed a firm bond of friendship, and were so happy at having found each other, that they forgot everything else and did not notice that the stars already gleamed in the sky, and night had come.
The mother, finally guessing where the two girls might be, entered the room and Dora jumped up amazed. Her aunt was probably already waiting for her, for it was late.
The other children stood downstairs, a little disappointed that Dora had disappeared, for all had made some plan for the evening.
Rolf was especially angry: "You know, Dora," he said, "you promised to guess my charade. Can you still do it?"
But Dora had to go home. Upon leaving, the mother invited her to come every day, at least as long as it was impossible to sew shirts. This brought loud acclamations of joy from the children, and it was settled that Dora would come every morning and stay all day, for every moment of her holidays must be properly enjoyed by all. The leave-taking seemed to have no end, and every child had something special to tell her. At last, Rolf abruptly cut short the conversation. He had the last chance to talk with her, having received permission to take her home. When they walked over the open space in front of the house, the stars gleamed so brightly, that Dora paused in her walk.
"Do you see those five sparkling stars, Rolf?" she asked, pointing to the firmament. "I have known them for a long time. They always shine into my room in Karlsruhe and here they are again."
"Oh, I know them well," Rolf answered promptly. "They are on my map. Do you know their names?"
"No, I don't! Do you really know the names of stars, Rolf? Oh, you know so much!" said Dora, admiringly. "Don't those five have a name and belong together? I am sure I've seen others, too, that belong together. At least they seem to. Do you know them all, Rolf? Oh, I'd love to learn about them from you."
Rolf was delighted at having a new subject of study to share with Dora.
"We can start right away, Dora," he said eagerly. "Come, I'll show them all to you, one after another, even if it should take us till twelve o'clock."
These words reminded Dora that it was already late.
"No, no, Rolf," she said hastily, "not tonight, but thank you just the same. But will you do it tomorrow?"
"Surely we'll do it tomorrow, and don't forget you promised. Good-night, Dora."
"Good-night, Rolf," Dora called out before hastening into the house. She was so full of happiness over the whole wonderful afternoon, that she ran right up to her waiting aunt and began to tell about everything at once.
Her vivacity and animation quite alarmed her aunt. "Dora, Dora, just think! The excitement might affect your wounded arm. Go to bed and sleep, that will be the best," she said.
Dora went to her room at once, but felt unable to go to sleep. First of all, she knelt down by her bedside and thanked God for the happiness she had experienced. The most blissful holidays were before her, after which she would not mind going back to her dreary work. She resolved in her deepest soul to endure the long, sad winter days without complaints, never forgetting her charming friends. Dora could not shut her eyes for a long time, she was so deeply grateful and overjoyed.
STILL MORE RIDDLES AND THEIR SOLUTION
EARLY next morning, after rattling through the hall with his big boots and spurs, Jul opened the schoolroom door, whence he had heard loud sounds of practising. He knew Miss Hanenwinkel gave no lessons so early in the day and was most surprised to see Lili at the piano, Willi eagerly awaiting his turn to play.
"What is the matter with you?" Jul called in to them. "Is this the beginning of another dreadful scheme of yours?"
"Be quiet, Jul, we don't want to lose any time," Lili replied, in deep earnest.
Jul gave a loud laugh and went his way. He met Miss Hanenwinkel below, and asked her, "What has struck the twins, I wonder? Are they really trying to become virtuous all of a sudden?"
"Children seven years old sometimes succeed better in that, than those of seventeen, Mr. Jul," was the curt answer.
Jul had to laugh, as he went towards the front door. Here he met his mother, who was just about to use this early hour and go to the physician to find out if Dora's injury was really serious. The aunt's frightened words had made her anxious, and she wanted to know if the wound might have serious consequences for the little girl.
"Somebody seems to be playing on the piano, Jul," said his mother. "What can it mean at this early hour?"
"Dear mamma, I think the world is coming to an end," the son replied. "Lili is rushing through her finger exercises as if they were giving her supreme delight, and Willi stands besides her burning to do the same."
"This is curious," remarked the mother, "for only yesterday, Miss Hanenwinkel complained that Lili was even too lazy to practise her little piece, not to speak of her finger exercises, which she would not touch at all."
"As I said before, mamma, the world is nearing its end," concluded Jul, taking leave of his mother.
"Perhaps, on the contrary, it is beginning," she retorted, starting on her errand.
As soon as Mrs. Birkenfeld was admitted to the doctor's office, she inquired after Dora's wound and was informed that it was healing rapidly. To her anxious question if the arm might remain stiff for life, he laughed and said that was out of the question. When young people had been foolish, he often found it advisable to keep them in suspense in order to teach them a lesson, for such a mishap might be more serious a second time. The doctor was quite sure the injury would be healed in a couple of days. Mrs. Birkenfeld was intensely relieved, as she could not have borne the feeling that her thoughtless children had caused the little stranger a permanent injury.
Before returning home, Mrs. Birkenfeld stopped at her neighbor's house to see Aunt Ninette and reassure her, too, about Dora. When talking about the little girl, she heard from the aunt for the first time that Dora, for urgent financial reasons, was to become a seamstress.
This deeply grieved Mrs. Birkenfeld, for Dora seemed too young and frail for such confining, constant work. She was quite glad that the child would have a long holiday before going back to the city. Mrs. Birkenfeld begged the aunt to let Dora off from sewing till her arm was completely healed, and let her be out of doors and play with her own children. A seamstress she knew could sew some shirts meanwhile if necessary.
Mrs. Birkenfeld's quiet, thoughtful ways had a most beneficent influence on Aunt Ninette, who never once complained during their long conversation. All her recent worries had somehow vanished and her outlook had grown bright and cheerful, which made her feel quite strange. She spoke gratefully of her husband's well-being in the pleasant, airy summer house, which he liked so much that he was unwilling to forsake it, even late at night. Upon leaving, Mrs. Birkenfeld invited her neighbor to come to her garden as often as possible, since otherwise she would be so lonely. Aunt Ninette promised to do this, quite forgetting the noisy children who had annoyed her so much at first.
Dora had hardly opened her eyes that morning, when she was out of bed with a jump. The joyful prospect of going over after breakfast had made her wide awake at once. She had to wait quite a little while, though, before she was allowed to go, because her aunt did not approve of being too forward. Only after Mrs. Birkenfeld, who had stayed quite a while, asked for Dora, was she called, and then allowed to go. This time she neither paused nor looked about her shyly, but in a few leaps, was in the corridor of the big house.
Through the open door of the living room, she received a many-sided welcome. The twins, Paula, and Hun, ran towards her and led her into the room.
Jul had just returned from his morning ride and had flung himself into an armchair, stretched out his long legs in front of him, as if extending an invitation for somebody to rid him of his boots. Dora immediately rushed up to him and asked obligingly if she might take them off, taking hold of the boots at once.
But Jul pulled his feet back hastily and exclaimed, "No, no, Dora, how can you dream of such a thing? I won't let you!" Then politely jumping from his seat, he offered it to Dora.
But the twins pulled her along between them and cried loudly, "Come with us, Dora, come with us!"
Hun, who had taken hold of her from behind, cried lustily, "Come with me, come with me!"
Paula whispered into Dora's ear at the same time, "Go with the twins first, or they will only cry and fuss. I will look for you later on."
"Dora," said Jul now, trying to subdue the little ones, "you had better stick to me, if you want to have a peaceful existence in this house. If you spend all your time with Paula, you are bound to become terribly romantic, and that will make you lose your appetite. With Rolf, you will find your whole life turned to an unfathomable riddle."
"Which it is in any case," remarked Miss Hanenwinkel, who at that moment was passing through the room.
"If you spend much time with Miss Hanenwinkel," Jul went on rapidly, in order to give the governess the chance of hearing his words, "you will be salted instead of sweetened like dried plums. If you stay with the twins, they will tear you to pieces, and Hun, sooner or later, will rob you of your sense of hearing."
But despite the threatening dangers, Dora let herself be drawn along by the twins, while Hun followed behind. At the piano, Lili immediately began her song. Whenever she finished playing it, she gazed at Dora, and seeing her listener nod her head, began again. Dora suddenly began to sing, and Willi, who was waiting in vain for his chance to play, joined in with little Hun, thus making a noisy chorus.
"Rejoice, rejoice in lifeWhile yet the lamp is glowing!"
While singing, the musicians got more eager, and little Hun was inspired to the most ear-splitting performance. Suddenly Lili turned about on her stool.
"Just wait, Dora. I'll have a surprise for you tomorrow," the little girl cried with sparkling eyes.
Having practised so faithfully that day, Lili felt herself entitled to learn at least half a dozen new pieces from Miss Hanenwinkel.
A bell rang which called the twins to their lessons, and Hun greatly rejoiced at his chance to have Dora all to himself. She devoted the rest of the morning to him and entered so deeply into the clever tricks of his nutcracker, that he resolved never to let go of her all his life. But his plan was frustrated immediately after lunch. Paula, who had finished her French studies, drew Dora aside, with the mother's full approval. The two felt so much drawn to each other that they would have liked to spend all day and night together, and tell each other everything that they hoped and feared, their past experiences and hopes for the future. Both had the feeling that they could never get tired of each other, even if they spent a lifetime in each other's company.
They again forgot that time was passing, and only at seven o'clock, when the whole family had assembled for supper under the apple tree, the two returned. They seated themselves as quietly as possible, for papa had noticeably cleared his throat as a sign that something was not quite in order. During the meal, Rolf glanced several times at Dora as if to remind her his time had come.
When after supper, they all sat together talking merrily, Rolf kept a watchful eye on the firmament, and as soon as the first star began to sparkle through the branches, he leaped up and ran towards Dora.
"Do you see the star, Dora? Come now!" With this he pulled her with him into the most solitary part of the garden near some walnut trees, thereby preventing his brothers and sisters from taking Dora away from him. Rolf felt secure here, and standing on a suitable post, began to instruct her.
"Do you see your five stars there, Dora? First one alone, then two together and two again. Can you see them?"
"Oh, yes, I know them very well," Dora assured him.
"Good! They are called Cassiopeia, and now I'll show you another. But that reminds me of a charade I made up lately. Could you quickly guess it?"
"I will if I can, but I am afraid your charades are too difficult for me."
"No, no, just listen hard. I'll say it very slowly:"
"'My first in closest bonds can two unite,My second like the shining sun is bright,My Whole's a flower that thrives in summer light.'"
"Did you guess it?"
"No, Rolf, I can never guess that; I am so sorry, I know I am dreadfully slow. It will be awfully tiresome for you to be with me," said Dora regretfully.
"Of course not! You are not used to it yet, Dora," Rolf consoled her. "Try it a few times and you'll do it quite easily. I'll say another quite easy one now:"
"'My first is just an animal forlorn.My second that to which we should be heir,And with my whole some lucky few are bornWhile others win it if they fight despair.'"
"I can't guess that one either. Please don't take such trouble with me, Rolf. You see, I never did it before," wailed Dora.
"Wait, you might guess another," and before Dora could deny him, Rolf had begun to recite with a loud voice:
"'My first one oft bestows upon a pet,My second makes a wholesome kind of bread;My third is something each one tries to get—And often spends my whole before he's dead.'"