Mea, however, fought passionately for her friend and never gave way till Kurt had promised not to go on with his ditty. But her mother wanted to know now what had given Mea such red eyes. So she told them that she had followed Loneli in order to comfort her, for she was still crying. Loneli had told her then about being caught at chattering. Elvira, who was Loneli's neighbor, had asked her if she would be allowed to go to Sils on dedication day, next Sunday, and Loneli had answered no. Then Elvira wanted to know why not, to which Loneli had promised to give her an answer after school, as they were not allowed to talk in school. That moment the teacher had questioned them and Loneli had promptly accused herself.

"Don't you think, mother, that Elvira should have admitted that she asked Loneli a question? Then Loneli would not have had to sit on the shame-bench alone. He might have given them both a different punishment," Mea said, quite wrought up.

"Oho! Now she sent Loneli to the shame-bench besides, and Loneli is a friend of mine!" Kurt threw in. "Now she'll get more verses after all."

"Elvira should certainly have done so," the mother affirmed.

"Yes, and listen what happened afterwards," Mea continued with more ardor than before. "I ran from Loneli to Elvira, but I was still able to hear poor Loneli's sobs, for she was awfully afraid to go home. She knew that she had to tell her grandmother about it and she was sure that that would bring her a terrible punishment. When I met Elvira, I told her that it was unfair of her not to accuse herself and to let Loneli bear the punishment alone. That made her fearfully angry. She said that I was a pleasant friend indeed, if I wished this punishment and shame upon her. She should not have said that, mother, should she? I told her that the matter was easy enough for her as it was all settled for her, but not for Loneli. I asked to tell the teacher how it all happened, so that he could say something in school and let the children know what answer Loneli had given her. Then he would see that she was innocent. But Elvira only grew angrier still and told me that she would look for another friend, if I chose to preach to her. She said that she didn't want to have anything to do with me from now on and, turning about, ran away."

"So much the better!" Kurt cried out. "Now you won't have to run humbly after Elvira any more, as if you were always in the wrong, the way you usually do to win her precious favor."

"Why shouldn't Mea meet her friend kindly again if she wants to, Kurt?" said the mother. "Elvira knows well enough who has been offended this time and has broken off the friendship. She will be only too glad when Mea meets her half-way."

Kurt was beginning another protest, but it was not heard. Lippo and Maezli arrived at that moment, loudly announcing the important news that Kathy was going to serve the soup in a moment and that the table was not even set.

The mother had put off preparations for dinner on purpose. During the foregoing conversation she had repeatedly glanced towards the little garden gate to see if Bruno was not coming, but he could not be seen yet. So she began to set the table with Mea, while Lippo, too, assisted her. The little boy knew exactly where everything belonged. He put it there in the most orderly fashion, and when Mea put a fork or spoon down quickly a little crookedly, he straightway put them perfectly straight the way they belonged.

Kurt laughed out loud, "Oh, Lippo, you must become an inn-keeper, then all your tables will look as if they had been measured out with a compass."

"Leave Lippo alone," said the mother. "I wish you would all do your little tasks as carefully as he does."

Dinner was over and the mother was looking out towards the road in greater anxiety, but Bruno had not come.

"Now he comes with a big whip," Kurt shouted suddenly. "Something must have happened, for one does not usually need a whip in school."

The younger boy opened the door, full of expectation. Bruno could not help noticing his mother's frightened expression, despite the rage he was in, which plainly showed in his face.

He exclaimed, as he entered, "I'll tell you right away what happened, mother, so that you won't think it was still worse. I have only whipped them both as they deserved, that is all."

"But, Bruno, that is bad enough. You seem to get more savage all the time," the mother lamented. "How could you do such a thing?"

"I'll explain it right away and then you will have to admit that it was the only thing to do," Bruno assured her. "The two told me last Saturday that they had a scheme for to-day in which I was to join. They had discovered that the lovely plums in the Rector's garden were ripe and they meant to steal them. When the Rector is through with his lessons at twelve o'clock he always goes to the front room and then nobody knew what is going on in the garden. Their plan was to use this time to-day in order to shake the tree and fill their pockets full of plums. I was to help them. I told them what a disgrace it was for them to ask me and I said that I would find means to prevent it. So they noisily called me a traitor and told me that accusing them was worse than stealing plums. I said that it wasn't my intention to tell on them, but I would come and use my whip as soon as they touched the tree. So they laughed and sneered at me and said that they were neither afraid of me nor of my whip. As soon as our lessons were done at twelve o'clock, they ran to the garden and, getting the whip I had hidden in the hallway, I ran after them. Edwin was already half way up the tree and Eugene was just beginning to climb it. First I only threatened and tried in that way to force Edwin down and keep Eugene from going further. But they kept on sneering at me till Edwin had reached the first branch and was shaking it so hard that the lovely plums came spattering to the ground. I got so furious at that that I began to beat first the boy higher up and then the lower one. First, Edwin tumbled down on top of Eugene and then they both ran away moaning, while I kept on striking them. They left the plums on the ground and I followed them."

"It is terrible, Bruno, that such scenes have to come up between you all the time," the mother lamented. "You are always the one who gets wild and loses control. It is hard to excuse that, even if your intention is good, Bruno. I wish I could keep you boys apart."

"It was a good thing he became furious at them to-day, mother," Kurt remarked. "You see it shows that even two can't get the better of him. If he had not been so mad, the two would have been stronger, and our poor Rector would have lost his plums."

It was hard to tell if this explanation comforted the mother. She had gone out with a sign to attend to Bruno's belated lunch. The time was already near at hand when all the children had to get back to school.

When that same evening the little ones were happily playing and the big children were busy with their school work, Kurt stole up to his mother's chair and asked her in a low voice, "Shall we have the story to-day?"

The mother nodded. "As soon as the little ones are in bed." At this Maezli pricked up her ears.

When all the work was done in the evening, all the family usually played a game together. Kurt, who was usually the first to pack up his papers, was still scribbling away after Mea had laid hers away. Looking over his shoulder into the note-book, she exclaimed, "He is writing some verses again! Who is the subject of your song, Kurt?"

"I'll read it to you, then you can guess yourself," said the boy. "The first verse is already written somewhere else. Now listen to the second."

She stares about with stately mien: "O ho, just look at me! If I am not acknowledged queen, I surely ought to be."

Her friend agrees with patient air And fastens up her shoes. Then queenie thinks: That's only fair, She couldn't well refuse.

But if the friend should try to show The queen her faults, look out! She'd break the friendship at a blow And straightway turn about.

Mea had been obliged to laugh a little at first at the description of the humble behaviour which did not seem to describe her very well. Finally, however, sad memories rose up in her.

"Do you know, mother," she cried out excitedly, "it is not the worst that she shows me her back, but that one can't ever agree with her. Every time I find anything pleasant and good, she says the opposite, and when I say that something is wrong and horrid, she won't be of my opinion either. It is so hard to keep her friendship because we always seem to quarrel when I haven't the slightest desire to."

"Just let her go. She is the same as her brothers," said Bruno. "I never want their friendship again, and I wish I might never have anything more to do with them."

"It is better to give them things, the way you did to-day," Kurt remarked.

"I can understand Mea," said the mother. "As soon as we came here she tried to get Elvira's friendship. She longs for friendship more than you do."

"Oh, mother, I have six or eight friends here, that is not so bad," Kurt declared.

"I couldn't say much for any of them," Bruno said quickly.

"It must hurt Mea," the mother continued, "that Elvira does not seem to be capable of friendship. You only act right in telling her what you consider wrong, Mea. If you show your attachment to her and try not to be hurt by little differences of opinion, your friendship might gradually improve."

As Lippo and Maezli felt that the time for the general game had come, they came up to their mother to declare their wish. Soon everybody was merrily playing.

It happened to-day, as it did every day, that the clock pointed much too soon to the time which meant the inexorable end of playing. This usually happened when everybody was most eager and everything else was forgotten for the moment. As soon as the clock struck, playing was discontinued, the evening song was sung and then followed the disappearance of the two little ones. While the older children put away the toys, the mother went to the piano to choose the song they were to sing.

Maezli had quickly run after her. "Oh, please, mama, can I choose the song to-day?" she asked eagerly.

"Certainly, tell me which song you would like to sing best."

Maezli seized the song-book effectively.

"But, Maezli, you can't even read," said the mother. "How would the book help you? Tell me how the song begins, or what lines you know."

"I'll find it right away," Maezli asserted. "Just let me hunt a little bit." With this she began to hunt with such zeal as if she were seeking a long-lost treasure.

"Here, here," she cried out very soon, while she handed the book proudly over to her mother.

The latter took the book and read:

"Patience Oh Lord, is needed, When sorrow, grief and pain"—

"But, Maezli, why do you want to sing this song?" her mother asked.

Kurt had stepped up to them and looked over the mother's shoulder into the book. "Oh, you sly little person! So you chose the longest song you could find. You thought that Lippo would see to it that we would sing every syllable before going to bed."

"Yes, and you hate to go to bed much more than I do," said Maezli a little revengefully. It had filled her with wrath that her beautiful plan had been seen through so quickly. "When you have to go, you always sigh as loud as yesterday and cry: 'Oh, what a shame! Oh, what a shame!' and you think it is fearful."

"Quite right, cunning little Maezli," Kurt laughed.

"Come, come, children, now we'll sing instead of quarrelling," the mother admonished them. "We'll sing 'The lovely moon is risen.' You know all the words of that from beginning to end, Maezli."

They all started and finished the whole song in peace.

When the mother came back later on from the beds of the two younger children, the three elder ones sat expectantly around the table, for Kurt had told them of their mother's promise to tell them the story of the family of Wallerstaetten that evening. They had already placed their mother's knitting-basket on the table in preparation of what was to come, because they knew that she would not tell them a story without knitting at the same time.

Smilingly the mother approached. "Everything is ready, I see, so I can begin right away."

"Yes, and right from the start, please; from the place where the ghost first comes in."

The mother looked questioningly at Kurt. "It seems to me, Kurt, that you still hope to find out about this ghost, whatever I may say to the contrary. I shall tell you, though, how people first began to talk about a ghost in Wildenstein. The origin of these rumors goes back many, many years."

"There is a picture in the castle," the mother began to relate, "which I often looked at as a child and which made a deep impression upon me. It represents a pilgrim who wanders restlessly about far countries, despite his snow-white hair, which is blowing about his head, and despite his looking old and weather-beaten. It is supposed to be the picture of the ancestor of the family of Wallerstaetten. The family name is thought to have been different at that time.

"This ancestor is said to have been a man extremely susceptible to violent outbreaks. In his passion he was supposed to have committed many evil deeds, on account of which his poor wife could not console herself. Praying for him, she lay whole days on her knees in the chapel. She died suddenly, however, and this shocked the baron so mightily that he could not remain in the castle. In order to find peace for his restless soul he became a repentant pilgrim. So he took the emblem of a pilgrim into his coat of arms and called himself Wallerstaetten. Leaving his estate and his sons, he nevermore returned.

"Later on two of his descendants lived in the castle. Both were well loved and respected, because they did a great deal to have the land cultivated for a long distance around and as a result all the farmers became rich. But both had inherited the violent temper of their ancestor, and the truth is that there always were members in the family with that fatal characteristic. Nobody knew what happened between the brothers, but one morning one of them was found dead on the floor of the big fencing-hall. All that the castle guard knew about it was that his two masters had settled a dispute with a duel. The other brother had immediately disappeared, but was brought back dead to the castle a few days afterwards.

"Climbing up a high mountain, he had fallen down a precipice and had been found dead. These events threw all the neighborhood into great consternation.

"That is when the rumors first spread that the restless spirit of the brother murderer was seen wandering about the castle. All this happened many years before my father and your grandfather moved into Nolla as Rector. The rumor had somewhat faded then and all that we children heard about it was that my father was very positive in denying all such reports that reached his ears. Your grandfather was the closest friend of the master of Wallerstaetten, whom everybody called the Baron. I can only remember seeing him once for a moment, but he made an unusual impression upon me. I remember him very vividly as a very tall man going with rapid steps through the courtyard and mounting a horse, which was trying to rear. He died before I was five years old, and I have often heard my father say to my mother that it was a great misfortune for the two sons to have lost their father. I felt so sorry for them that I would often stop in the middle of play to ask her, 'Oh, mother, can nobody help them?' To comfort me she would tell me that God alone could help. For a long time I prayed every night before going to sleep: 'Dear God, please help them in their trouble!' Both were always very kind and friendly with me. I was up at the castle a great deal, because the Baroness Maximiliana of Wallerstaetten was my godmother. My father instructed the two sons and acted as helper and adviser to the Baroness in many things. He went up to her every morning, holding me by one hand and Philip by the other. My brother had lessons together with the boys, who were one year apart in age, while Philip was just between them. Bruno, the elder—"

"I was named after him, mother, wasn't I?" Bruno interrupted here.

"Salo was a year younger—"

"I was called after him," Mea said quickly. "You wanted a Salo so much and, as I was a girl, you called me Malomea, didn't you?"

The mother nodded.

"And I was called after father," Kurt cried out, in order to prove that his name also had a worthy origin.

"I went up to the castle because my godmother wished it. She would have loved to have a little daughter herself, therefore she occupied herself with me as if I belonged to her. She taught me to embroider and to do other fine handwork. Whenever she went with me into the garden and through the estate, she taught me all about the trees and flowers. I was often allowed to pick the violets that grew in great abundance beneath the hedges and in the grass at the border of the little woods. Oh, what beautiful days those were! Soon they were to become more perfect still for us.

"But I received an impression in those days which remained in my heart for a long while like a menacing power, often frightening me so that I was very unhappy. Once my father came down very silently from the castle. When my mother asked him if anything had happened he replied, and I still hear his words 'Young Bruno has inherited his ancestor's dreadful passion. His mother is naturally more worried about this than about anything else.'"

"Look at him," Kurt said dryly, glancing at Bruno, who was sitting beside his mother. For answer Bruno's eyes flashed threateningly at his brother.

"Oh, please go on, mother," Mea urged. She was in no mood to have the tale interrupted by a fight between her brothers.

"It seemed terrible to me," the mother continued again, "that Bruno, my generous, kind friend, should have anything in his character to worry his mother. Often I cried quietly in a corner about it and wondered how such a thing could be. I had to admit it myself, however. Whenever the three boys had a disagreement or anybody did something to displease Bruno, he would get quite beside himself with rage, acting in a way which he must have been sorry for later on. I have to repeat again, though, that he had at bottom a noble and generous nature and would never have willingly harmed anyone or committed a cruel deed. But one could see that his outbreaks of passion might drive him to desperate deeds.

"Salo, his brother, never became angry, but he had a very unyielding nature just the same. He was just as obstinate in his way as his brother, and never gave in. Philip was always on his side, for the two were the best of friends. Bruno was much more reserved and taciturn than Salo, who was naturally very gay and could sing and laugh so that the halls would re-echo loudly with his merriment. The Baroness herself often laughed in that way, too. That is why Bruno imagined that she loved her younger son better than him, and because he himself loved his mother passionately, he could not endure this thought. It was not true, however. She loved his eldest boy passionately and everybody who was close to her could see it.

"When I was ten years old and Philip fifteen, an unusually charming girl was added to our little circle. I above everybody else was enchanted with her. Our friends at the castle and even Philip, who certainly was not easily filled with enthusiasm, were extremely enthusiastic about our new playmate. She was a girl of eleven years old, you see just a year older than I was. She was far, far above me, though, in knowledge, ability, and especially in her manners and whole behaviour, so that I was perfectly carried away by her charm.

"Her name was Leonore. She was related to the baroness and had come down from the far north, in fact from Holstein, where my godmother came from and all her connections lived. Leonore, the daughter of one of her relations, had very early lost her father and mother, as her mother had died soon after the Baroness decided to adopt the child. She knew that Leonore would otherwise be all alone in the world, and she hoped that a gentle sister would have an extremely beneficial influence on the two self-willed brothers. Now a time began for me which was more wonderful than anything I could ever have imagined. Leonore was to continue her studies, of course, and take up new ones. For that purpose a very refined German lady came to the castle very soon after Leonore's arrival. Only years afterwards I realized what a splendid teacher she had been.

"My godmother had arranged for me to share the studies with Leonore, and therefore I was to live all day at the castle as her companion, only returning in the evenings. So we two girls spent all our time together, and in bad weather I also remained there for the night. Leonore had a tremendous influence on me, and I am glad to say an influence for my good, for I was able to look up to her in everything. Whatever was common or low was absolutely foreign to her noble nature. This close companionship with her was not only the greatest enjoyment of my young years, but was the greatest of benefits for my whole life."

"You certainly were lucky, mother," Mea exclaimed passionately.

"Yes, and Uncle Philip was lucky, too, to have two such nice friends," Bruno added.

"I realize that," the mother answered. "You have no idea, children, how often I have wished that you, too, could have such friends."

"Please go on," Kurt begged impatiently. "Where did they go, mother? Doesn't anyone know what has become of them?"

"Whenever our brothers, as we called them, were free," the mother continued, "they were our beloved playmates. We valued their stimulating company very much and were always happy when through some chance they were exempt from some of their numerous lessons. They always asked us to join them in their games and we were very happy that they wanted our company. Baroness von Wallerstaetten had guessed right. Since Leonore had come into our midst, the brothers fought much more seldom, and everybody who knew Bruno well could see that he tried to suppress his outbursts of rage in her presence. Once Leonore had become pale with fright when she had been obliged to witness such a scene, and Bruno had not forgotten it. Four years had passed for us in cloudless sunshine when a great change took place. The young barons left the castle in order to attend a university in Germany, and Philip also left for an agricultural school. So we only saw the brothers once a year, during their brief holidays in the summer. Those days were great feast days then for all of us, and we enjoyed every single hour of their stay from early morning till late at night. We always began and ended every day with music, and frequently whole days were spent in the enjoyment of it.

"Both young Wallerstaettens were extremely musical and had splendid voices, and Leonore's exquisite singing stirred everybody deeply. The Baroness always said that Leonore's voice brought the tears to her eyes, no matter if she sang merry or serious songs. It affected me in that way, too, and one could never grow weary of hearing her. I had just finished my seventeenth and Leonore her eighteenth year when a summer came which was to bring grave changes. We did not expect Philip home for the holidays. Through the Baroness' help he was already filling the post of manager of an estate in the far north. The young barons had also completed their studies and were expected to come home and to consult with their mother about their plans for the future. She fully expected them to travel before settling down, and after that she hoped sincerely that one of them would come to live at home with her; this would mean that he would take the care of the estate on his shoulders with its troubles and responsibilities. Soon after their arrival the sons seemed to have had an interview with their mother which clearly worried her, for she went about silently, refusing to answer any questions. Bruno strode up and down the terrace with flaming eyes whole hours at a time, without saying a word. Salo was the only sociable one left, and sometimes he would come and sit down beside us; but if we questioned him about their apparent feud, he remained silent. How different this was from our former gay days! But this painful situation did not last long. On the fifth or sixth day after their arrival the brothers did not appear for breakfast. The Baroness immediately inquired in great anxiety if they had left the castle, but nobody seemed to have noticed them. Apollonie was the only one who had seen them going upstairs together in the early morning, so she was sent up to look for them in the tower rooms. When she found them empty, she opened the door of the old fencing-hall by some strange impulse. Here Salo was crouching half fainting on the floor. He told her that it was nothing to worry about, and that he had only lost consciousness for a moment. She had to help him to get up, however, and he came downstairs supported on her arm. The Baroness never said a word. She stayed in her son's chamber till the physician who had been sent for had gone away again. Then returning to us, she sat down beside Leonore and me and told us that we ought to know what had happened. Apparently she was very calm, but I had never seen her face so pale. She informed us that when she had spoken to her sons about their future plans, she had discovered that neither of them had ever spoken about it to the other. Now they both declared to her that their full intention had been for years to come home after the completion of their studies and to live in Wildenstein with her and Leonore. Bruno was quite beside himself when he found that Salo had apparently no intention to yield to him in the matter, so he challenged his brother to a duel in order to decide which of them was to remain at home. Salo had been wounded and, losing consciousness, had fallen to the ground. Bruno, fearing something worse, had disappeared. The doctor had not found Sale's wounds of a serious nature, but as he had a delicate constitution, great care had to be taken. When I left the castle that day I felt that all the joy and happiness I had ever known on earth was shattered, and this feeling stayed with me a long while after. Soon after that sad event the Baroness got ready for a journey to the south, where she meant to go with Salo and Leonore. Salo had not recovered as quickly as she had hoped, and Leonore, instead of getting more robust in our vigorous mountain-air, only became thinner and frailer. Only once Bruno sent his mother some news. In extremely few words he let her know that he was going to Spain, and that she need not trouble more about him. But the news of his brother's survival reached him, nevertheless. Now all those I had loved so passionately had gone away, and I felt it very deeply. There the castle stood, sad and lifeless, and its lighted windows looked down no more upon us from the height. All its eyes were closed and were to remain so."

"Oh, oh, did they never come back?" cried out Kurt with regret.

"No, never," the mother replied. "At that time, too, apparently, all the reports which had long ago faded were revived as to a ghost who was supposed to wander about the castle. There were many who asserted they had seen or heard him, and till to-day the ghost of Wildenstein is haunting people's heads."

"Look at him," said Bruno dryly, pointing to the lower end of the table where Kurt was sitting.

"Finish, please, mother," the latter quickly urged. "Where did they all get to? And where is the brother who disappeared?"

"All I still have to tell you is short and sad," said the mother. "Leonore faithfully wrote to me. After spending the first winter in the south it became apparent that the Baroness's health was shattered. She refused to return to the castle and sent her instructions to Apollonie, who had married the gardener of Wildenstein, and who now with her husband became caretaker of the castle, Three years afterwards the Baroness died without ever having returned. A short time after that Leonore became Salo's wife, but they were not fated to remain together long. Not more than three years later Salo died of a violent fever and Leonore followed him in a few months, but they left a little boy and a little girl. After Salo's death Leonore was left alone in life, so an aunt from Holstein came to live with her in Nice. After Leonore's death this aunt took the two children home with her. I heard this from Apollonie, who had been sent Leonore's last instructions by this aunt. I never learned anything further about the two children, and only once did I receive word from Baron Bruno through Apollonie. Your late father, young Rector Bergmann, had married me just about the time when we heard of the Baroness's death. I followed him very gladly to Sils, because Philip had just bought an estate there and was very anxious to have me close to him. One day Apollonie came to me in great agitation. Baron Bruno, never once sending word, had arrived in the castle after an absence of eight years and had brought with him a companion by the name of Mr. Demetrius. The Baron had naturally expected to find his mother, his brother and his erstwhile playmates gathered there as before. When he heard from Apollonie everything that had happened in his absence, he broke into a violent passion, because he believed that the news had been purposely kept from him. Apollonie was able to show him his late mother's letters where she had given her exact orders in case of his return. He could also see from them that she wrote to him frequently and had tried to reach him in vain. Baron Bruno had lived an extremely unsettled existence and all the letters had miscarried, despite the orders he had left in big cities to have them forwarded. Full of anger and bitterness the Baron immediately left, and till the present hour he has not been heard of. Mr. Demetrius, later on called Mr. Trius by everybody, came back a few years ago to the deserted castle. Apollonie had meanwhile lost her husband, had closed up all the rooms at the castle, and had gone to live again in the former gardener's cottage, where she is living now. From the time when he reappeared till to-day, Mr. Trius has led a solitary life and sees no one except Apollonie, and her only when he is in need of her. However hard Apollonie tried to make him tell about his master, he would not do it. You know now about my happy life in Wildenstein and will be able to understand the reason why I moved here again after the death of your father. Another inducement was that our dear Rector, an erstwhile friend of my father's, promised to give Bruno instruction which he could not get at a country school, so that I was able to keep him at home longer, you see. Now you know why the deserted castle attracts me so despite its sad aspect, for it brings back to me my most beautiful memories."

"Oh, please, mother, tell us a little more," Kurt begged eagerly, when his mother rose.

"Oh, mother," Mea joined in, "tell us more about your friend, Leonore."

"Oh, yes, tell us more, mother," Bruno supplicated. "There must be more to know still. Did Baron Bruno keep on travelling in Spain?"

"I think most of the time, but I can't tell you for sure," the mother replied. "I know everything only from Apollonie, who had these reports from Mr. Trius, but he either does not choose to talk or does not know very much himself about his master. I have told you everything now and you must go to bed as quickly as you can. It was your bedtime long ago."

No questions or supplications helped now, and soon the house was silent, except for the mother's quiet steps as she once more visited the children's beds. Her eldest, who could become so violent, lay before her with a peaceful expression on his clear brow. She knew how high his standard of honor was, but how would he end if his unfortunate trait gained more ascendancy over him? Soon she would be obliged to send him away, and how could she hope for a loving influence in strange surroundings, which was the only thing to quiet him? The mother knew that she had not the power to keep her children from pain and sin, but she knew the hand which leads and steadies all children that are entrusted to it, that can guard and save where no mother's hand or love can avail. She went with folded hands from one bed to the other, surrendering her children to their Father's protection in Heaven. He knew best how much they were in need of His loving care.



CHAPTER IV

AN UNEXPECTED APPARITION

Kurt had so many plans the next day that he already rushed to school as if he had not a minute to lose. Mea and Lippo, who started with him, looked full of astonishment at his unusual speed. Arriving at the school, he saw Loneli coming along with a drooping head and not, as usual, with a happy stride.

"What is it, Loneli?" asked Kurt coming nearer. "Why are your eyes swollen already before it is even eight o'clock? Just he happy. I'll help you. Did anybody hurt you?"

"No, Kurt, no one, but I can't be happy any more," and with these words Loneli's eyes filled again with tears. "I wish you could see grandmother since I've been on the shame-bench. I would not mind if she were angry, for she generally forgives me again after a while; but she is sad all the time. It is worst when I go to school in the morning, because she says that I brought down shame on us both, and that I have given her gray hairs. She said to me that after having lived an honorable life and spent most of it with the most noble family, this was very hard for her. She felt as if she had raised me only to bring down shame on both for the rest of our lives."

Loneli broke out anew into tears. This neverending disgrace, together with the constant reproaches she had had to bear, seemed to choke her,

"No, no, Loneli, you don't need to cry any more. It is not at all the way your grandmother is taking it," Kurt said consolingly. "I'll go to her ever so soon to explain what happened. Please be happy and everything will come out all right."

"Do you think so?" Loneli asked, pleasantly surprised. Her eyes were clear again, for she always believed whatever Kurt said to her. Now he rushed over to the noisy crowd of children, who seemed to have been waiting for him. Kurt was always glad to have such numerous friends, for he usually needed a large following for the execution of his schemes. To-day he had two large undertakings in his head, and he needed to persuade his comrades to join him. He was explaining with such violent gestures and eager words that they entirely neglected the first strokes of the tower bell. At the last and eighth stroke the little crowd dispersed as suddenly as a flock of frightened birds. Then they rushed into the school house. Kurt was home to-day ahead of everybody, too. He approached his mother with a large sheet of paper.

"Look, mother, Mr. Trius got a song. Yesterday evening he threatened two more of my friends with the stick, but they were luckily able to save themselves. It seems as if he had at least four eyes and ears which can see and hear whatever is going on. I finished the song. Can I read it to you?"

"I wish you had no friends that Mr. Trius has occasion to frighten with a stick," said the mother. "I hope that it won't ever happen to you."

"Oh, he often threatens innocent people," Kurt replied. "Listen to a true description of him."

A SONG ABOUT MR. TRIUS, THE BOY BEATER.

Old Trius lives in our town, A haughty man is he, And every one that he can catch He beats right heartily.

Old Trius wears a yellow coat, It's very long and thick, But all the children run away At sight of his big stick.

Old Trius of the pointed hat He wanders all around, And if he beats nobody, why There's no one to be found.

Old Trius thinks: To spank a boy Is really very kind, And all he cannot hit in front At least he hits behind.

Old Trius makes a pretty face With every blow he gives. He'll beat us all for many years, I'm thinking, if he lives.

The mother could not help smiling a little bit during the perusal, but now she said seriously: "This song must under no condition fall into Mr. Trius' hands. He might not look at it as a joke, and you must not offend him. I advise you, Kurt, not to challenge Mr. Trius in any way, for he might reply to you in some unexpected fashion. He has his own ways and means of getting rid of people."

Kurt was very anxious to get his mother's permission to run about that same evening by moonlight with his friends, and his mother granted it willingly.

"I hope you are not going on one of the unfortunate apple-expeditions I hear so much about," she added.

Kurt quite indignantly assured her that he would never do such a thing. Lippo was pushing him to one side now. The little boy had made attempts to reach his mother for several minutes, and he was delighted at his brother's quick departure.

"Mr. Rector sends you his regards and he wants to know if you wanted to give him an answer. Here is a letter," said Lippo.

"Where did you bring the letter from?" asked the mother.

"I didn't bring the letter. Lise from the rectory brought it," was Lippo's information. "But Lise saw me in front of the door and said that I should take the letter up with me and give it to you, and tell her whether you wanted to give the Rector an answer or not."

"Oh, that is just the way a message ought to be given," the mother said with a smile. "Did you hear it, Maezli? I wish you could learn from Lippo how to do it. Whenever you have one to give, I have such trouble to find out what really happened and what you have only imagined."

Maezli, whose knitting-ball was at that moment in the most hopelessly knotted condition, was ever so glad when her mother suggested a new activity. Quickly flinging her knitting away, she jumped up from her stool. Then she began to repeat Lippo's speech, word for word: "I did not bring the letter. Lise from the rectory—"

"No, no, Maezli, I do not mean it that way," the mother interrupted her. "I mean that the reports you bring me so often sound quite impossible. I want you to be as careful and exact in them as Lippo."

In the meantime the mother had opened the letter and looked suddenly quite frightened.

"Tell the girl that I shall go to Mr. Rector myself and that she need not wait for an answer," was her message entrusted to Lippo.

The thing she had dreaded so much was settled now. The Rector let her know in his letter that he had realized the time had come for his pupils to be put into different hands. He wrote that he had decided to discontinue the studies with them next fall, but that he would be only too glad to be of assistance to Mrs. Maxa in consulting about Bruno's further education. He closed with an assurance that he would be the happier to do so because Bruno had always been very dear to him.

Mrs. Maxa, sitting silently with folded hands, was lost in thought. This was something that happened very seldom.

But Mea stood before her and trying to get her sympathy with passionate gestures. "Just think, mother," she cried out, "Elvira is so angry now that she will never have anything more to do with me, no never. But she was most offended because I told her that it was wrong of her; not to admit that she had chattered in school. She said quite sarcastically that if I chose to correct her on account of that raggedy Loneli, I should keep Loneli for a friend and not her."

"Let her be for once," said the mother. "Till now you have always gone after her; so do what she wishes this time. It is wrong to call Loneli raggedy; few people are as honest and agreeable as Apollonie and her grandchild."

Mea was ready with many more complaints, for whenever anything bothered her, she felt the need to tell her mother. She realized, though, that she had to put off further communications for a quiet evening hour.

Bruno had approached, and turning to his mother, asked in great suspense: "Mother, what did Mr. Rector write to you? Have the plum-thieves been discovered?"

"I do not think that they have brought his decision about, but I am sure they hastened it. Read the letter," said his mother, handing it to him.

"That is not so bad," Bruno said after reading it. "As soon as you send me to town I shall be rid of them at last, and I won't have to bother about them any more. You know, mother, that all they care about is to do mean and nasty things."

"But they will go to town, too, and then you will be thrown together. There won't be anybody then who cares for you and will listen to you," the mother lamented.

"Do not worry, mother, the town is big and we won't be so close together. I'll keep far enough away from them, you may be sure. Don't let it trouble you," Bruno reassured her.

Kurt was so much occupied at lunch with his own plans and ideas that he never even noticed when his favorite dessert appeared on the table. Lippo, seriously looking at him, said quite reproachfully, "Now you don't even see that we have apple-dumpling." Such an indifference seemed wrong to the little boy.

But Kurt even swallowed the apple-dumpling absent-mindedly. After lunch he begged his mother's permission to be allowed to leave immediately, because he still had so much to talk over with his friends. "I'll tell you all about it afterwards, mother. Be sure that I am doing something right that ought to be done," he reassured her. "If only I can go now." Having obtained permission, he shot away, and arriving at the school-house, flew into the midst of a crowd of boys. But before their plan could be carried out the children were obliged to sit two whole hours on the school-benches. It truly seemed to-day as if they would never end.

Lux, the sexton's boy, who preferred pulling the bell-rope and being violently drawn up by it to sitting in school, tapped his neighbor's sleeve.

"How late is it, Max?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Max," Lux whispered again, "the second expedition will be more fun than the first. I look forward to it more, don't you?"

"You can look forward to the shame-bench if you don't keep quiet," Max retorted, squinting with his eyes in the direction of the teacher.

The latter had actually directed his eyes to the side where the whisperers sat. Lux, bending over his book, kept quiet at last. Finally the longed-for hour came and in a few minutes the whole swarm was outside. With a great deal of noise, but in a quick and pretty orderly fashion they now formed a procession, which began to move in the direction of Apollonie's little house. Here a halt was made. Kurt, climbing to the top of a heap of logs, which lay in the pathway, stood upright, while the others grouped themselves about him. Apollonie opened the window a little, but hid behind it, for she was wondering what was going on. Loneli stood close behind her. She had just come back breathlessly, for she had heard that a procession was coming towards her grandmother's house.

"Mrs. Apollonie," Kurt cried out with loud voice, "two whole classes from school have come to you to tell you that it was not Loneli's fault when she had to sit on the shame-bench. It only happened because her character is so good. Out of pure politeness she answered a question somebody asked her. When the teacher wanted to know who was chattering, she honestly accused herself. She did not tell him that she answered a question in fear of accusing somebody else. We wanted to tell you all about it so that you won't think you have to be ashamed of Loneli. We think and know that she is the friendliest and most obliging child in school."

"Long live Loneli!" Lux suddenly cheered so that the whole band involuntarily joined him. "Long live Loneli!;" it sounded again and the echo from the castle-mountain repeated, "Loneli."

Apollonie opened the window completely, and putting out her head, cried: "It is lovely of you, children that you don't want Loneli disgraced. I thank you for justifying her. Wait a minute. I should like to do you a favor, too."

With that Apollonie disappeared from the window. Soon after she came out by the door with a large basket of fragrant apples on her arm. Putting it in front of the children, she said encouragingly, "Help yourselves."

"Good gracious," cried out Lux, with one of the juicy apples between his teeth, "I know these. They only grow in the castle-garden, on the two trees on the right, in the corner by the fence. Do you know that, Kurt," he said confidentially, "I only wonder how she could get hold of such a basket full, you know, without being—you know—" With this he made the unmistakable motion of Mr. Trius with his tool of correction.

"What on earth do you mean?" Kurt cried out full of indignation. "Mrs. Apollonie did not need to steal them. Mr. Trius certainly could give her a few baskets of apples for all the shirts she sews and mends for him."

"Oh, I see, that is different," said Lux, now properly informed.

In the shortest time the huge basket was emptied of its delicious apples and the whole band had dispersed after many exclamations of thanks. They all ran home and Kurt outran them all. It was important now to do his home-work as speedily as possible, as the second expedition was to take place a little later. When he reached the front door he noticed that Mrs. Knippel was coming up behind him.

Running ahead quickly, he flung open the living-room door and called in, "Take Maezli out of the way or else something horrible will happen again."

After saying this he ran away. Bruno and Mea, who were busy in the room with their work, did not find it necessary to follow Kurt's command. If he found it so necessary, why didn't he do it himself, they thought, remaining seated. Maezli had risen rapidly and looked towards the door with large expectant eyes, wondering what was going to happen. Mrs. Knippel now entered.

"Why does something horrible always happen when Mrs. Knippel comes?" Maezli asked in a loud voice.

Mea, quickly getting up, went out of the door, pulling Maezli after her; to explain her hasty retreat, she said that she wanted to fetch her mother. She simply had to take that horrible little Maezli out of the way; who could know what she might say next. She always brought forward her most awful ideas when it was least suitable. The mother, who was on the way already, entered just when Mea was running out with Maezli. Bruno also slipped quickly after them. He had only waited for his mother's appearance in order to fly.

"Your children are certainly very peculiar," the district attorney's wife began. "I have to think so every time I see them. What do all your admonitions help, I should like to know? Nature will have its way! Not one of my children has ever been so impertinent, to say the least, as your little daughter is already."

"I am very sorry you should have to tell me that," Mrs. Maxa replied. "Isn't it possible that the child should have unconsciously said an impertinence? I hope you have never had a similar experience with my older children."

"No, I could not say that," Mrs. Knippel answered. "But I should say that all of them have inherited the love of preaching, especially your daughter Mea. Children can be unlike by disposition without its being necessary that one of them should constantly make sermons to the other."

"My children are very often of different opinions, but I could not say that they preach much to each other," said Mrs. Maxa.

"It is certainly Mea's habit to do so, and that is why she is not able to keep peace with her friends. I suppose you received a letter from our Rector telling you of the refusal to teach the boys any further."

This was said with a less severe intonation.

Mrs. Maxa confirmed the statement.

"So the change we have looked forward to has really come," the visitor continued, "and my husband agrees with me that prompt action should be taken. He is going to the city to-morrow; in fact, he has left already in order to visit his sister on the way. He will look for a suitable, attractive home in town that the three boys can move into next fall."

"You do not mean to tell me, Mrs. Knippel, that your husband is ordering living-quarters for Bruno, too?" Mrs. Maxa said in consternation.

"Oh, yes, and this is why my husband has sent me here, to let you know how glad he is to do it for you," the attorney's wife said soothingly. "He was positively sure that you would be glad if he decided and ordered everything to suit himself and you."

"But, Mrs. Knippel, I am not prepared for this. I have not even spoken to my brother about it. You know very well that he is the children's guardian."

Mrs. Maxa was quite unable to hide her excitement.

"You can be reassured, for we have thought of that, too," the visitor said with a slightly superior smile. "My husband's sister does not live very far from Mr. Falcon in Sils. So he planned to visit your brother and talk the plan over with him."

This calmed Mrs. Maxa a trifle, for her brother knew already how it stood between the three comrades and how little she wanted them to live together. But she could not help wondering why these people were trying to force the boys to live together.

"I do not really understand why the boys should have to live together," she said with animation; "they do not profess to feel much friendship for each other, and never seek each other out. You yourself, Mrs. Knippel, do not seem to get a very good impression from my children's ways. I do not see why you wish your sons to live with mine at all."

"It is a matter of decorum," the attorney's wife replied, "and my husband agrees with me. What would people in town say if the sons of the two best families here, who have always studied together, should not live together? Everybody would think that something special had happened between the families. Both parties will only gain in respect by joining."

"I do not believe that people in the city will be interested in what the three boys are doing," said Mrs. Maxa, smiling a little.

That same moment the door was flung wide open. With a triumphant face as if she wanted to say, "Just look whom I bring you here," Maezli stood on the threshhold leading Apollonie in. The latter hastily retreated.

"No, no, Maezli," she said quite frightened, "you should have told me that there was company."

Mrs. Knippel had risen to take her departure: "It seems to me that other visitors are greeted very joyfully by your children. Well, I must say they have rather odd tastes," she said, walking towards the door.

"Apollonie is a very old friend of ours. All the children love her very much. They may have inherited this attachment, though," Mrs. Maxa replied with a smile.

"I only want to say one more word," said the lady turning round before stepping outside the door. "The scene your son Kurt enacted to-day in front of Apollonie's cottage with his crowd of miscellaneous friends can only be called a vulgar noise."

But Mrs. Maxa did not yet know what Kurt had done. The visitor turned to go now, as it seemed not worth her while to waste words about it. As soon as the field was clear, Maezli rushed out of a hiding-place, pulling Apollonie with her. The old woman was terribly apologetic about having gone into the room. When she had told Maezli that she wanted to see her mother, the little girl had taken her there without any further ado. She informed the Rector's widow that she had come to her with a quite incredible communication.

Mrs. Maxa found it necessary at this point to interrupt her friend. She had noticed that Maezli was all ears to what was coming.

"Maezli, go and play with Lippo till I come," she said.

"Please tell me all about it afterwards, Apollonie," was Maezli's instruction before going to do as she was bid.

Apollonie's communication took a considerable time. She had just left when the family sat down to a belated supper.

Kurt swallowed his meal with signs of immoderate impatience. As soon as possible he rushed away, after having given his promise not to come home late. The friends that were to join him in this expedition had to be sought out first. When he neared the meeting place, he felt a little disappointed. In the twilight he could see that there was a smaller number assembled than he had hoped for. This certainly was not the crowd he had had together at noon when at least all the boys had promised to take part in his new enterprise.

"They were afraid, they were afraid," all voices cried together. Kurt heard now, while each screamed louder than the other that many boys and girls had left when the darkness was beginning to fall. Among the few that were left there were only four girls.

"It doesn't matter," said Kurt. "There are enough people still. Whoever is afraid may leave. We must start, though, because we have rather far to go. We are not going up the well-known path, because Mr. Trius watches for apple-hunters there till midnight, I think. That suits us exactly, for he must not hear us. We are going up to the woods at the back of the castle. First, we'll sing our challenge, then comes the pause, to give the ghost enough time, then again and after that for the third and last time. If there really is a ghost, he will have appeared by then. You can understand that he won't let himself be teased by us. So when he hasn't come, we can tell everybody what we did. Then they'll see that it is only a superstition and that there is no wandering ghost in Wildenstein. Forward now!"

The little crowd set out full of spirits and eagerness for the adventure, for Kurt had clearly shown them that there could be no ghost. To go up there and sing loudly to a non-existent ghost was capital fun. Furthermore, they looked forward to boasting of their daring deed afterwards. Faster and faster they climbed, so that only half of the usual time was taken in reaching their destination. It was dark at first, but the moon suddenly came out from behind the clouds, cheerfully lighting up the fields.

Having reached the rear of the castle hill, they hurried up the incline and into the pinewoods, where the trees stood extremely close together. This made it very dark, despite the fact that the wood was small. Soon clouds covered the moon, and the little band became stiller and stiller. Here and there one of the children sneaked off and did not reappear. Three of the girls, after mysteriously whispering together, were gone, too, and with them several more stole away, for there was a strange rustling in the bushes. Kurt with Lux and his enterprising sister Clevi were at the extreme front.

When it became very still, Kurt turned around.

"Come along! Where are you all?" he called back.

"We are coming," several voices answered from some children immediately behind him. It was Max, Hans and Simi, and then Stoffi and Rudi behind them, but they were all. Kurt halted.

"Where is the whole troup?" asked Kurt. "Let us wait till they catch up. We must all stay together up there."

But none followed. All the answer Kurt got to his question was the screaching of an owl.

"Oh, they've gone, they were afraid," said Max. "They were there, though, when we came into the woods."

"The cowards!" Clevi cried indignantly,

"To be afraid of trees! That certainly is funny."

"Well, we aren't afraid anyway; otherwise we shouldn't be here any more. Call to those who are gone," Max called back.

"Come on now, come!" Kurt commanded. "There are eight of us left to sing, so we must all sing very loud."

On they went speedily till they could see the end of the woods. One of the gray towers was peering between the trees. They had at last reached their goal.

"Here we stop!" said Kurt, "but we must not go outside the woods. The Wildenstein ghost might otherwise step up to us, if he walks around the terrace. Here we go!"

Kurt began and all the others vigorously joined him:

Come out, you ghost of Wildenstein! For we are not afraid, We've come here in the bright moonshine To sing the song we've made Come out, come out, and leave your den; You'll never scare the folks again.

Everything was quiet roundabout, only the night wind was soughing in the old pine-trees. Between them there was a clear view of the terrace, which the moon was now flooding with light; the space before the castle lay peaceful and deserted.

"We must sing again," said Kurt. "He didn't hear us. If he doesn't give us an answer this time we'll tell him what we know. Then we'll sing fearfully loud:

Hurrah! We have a certain sign, There is no ghost in Wildenstein.

"Then we'll start again."

Clevi, who was gifted with a far-carrying voice, began:

"Come out, you ghost of Wildenstein!"

And the boys with voices of thunder chimed in:

"For we are not afraid."

"Just look! Who is coming there? Who can it be?" said Kurt, staring at the terrace.

An incredibly tall figure, which could not possibly be human, was wandering across the terrace with slow steps. It could not be a tree either, for it slowly moved over towards the woods. Did he really see straight, or was it the moonlight which was throwing a flitting shadow.

That moment Max, who was very big, turned about and fled. The four others followed headlong, leaving only Lux and Clevi beside Kurt.

The horrible figure came nearer and nearer, and it could now be clearly discerned. Full moonlight fell on the armor he was garbed in and made it, as well as the high helmet with waving plumes, glitter brightly. A long mantle fell from his shoulders down to his high riding boots, half hiding his fearful figure. Could this be a human creature? No, impossible! No living man could be as enormous as that. With measured steps the apparition walked silently towards the pine trees. Here the three singers stood horror-stricken, not uttering a sound.

Lux, like one crazed, suddenly rushed headlong away between the trees and down the hill. Clevi once more looked at the approaching figure with wide-open eyes. Before following her brother she wanted to see exactly what the knight looked like.

Kurt was left quite alone, and still the fearful creature stalked nearer. With a desperate leap he sprang to one side and left the woods abruptly. Hurrying towards the meadow, he ran down the mountain, leaped over first one hedge and then a second. Then he flew on till he stood in the little garden at home where a peaceful light from the living-room seemed to greet him.

Breathing deeply, he ran in and his mother met him at the door.

"Oh, is it you, Kurt?" she said kindly. "But you are a little late after all. Was it so hard to leave the beautiful moonlight? Or was it such fun rushing about? But, Kurt, you are entirely out of breath. Come sit down a moment with me. After that you have to go to bed; all the others have gone already."

Usually Kurt would have adored being able to sit alone with his mother and have all her attention directed towards him. This he could not enjoy now. Might not his mother ask him further details about his walk? So he said that he preferred to go to bed right away, and his mother understood that he was glad to get to rest after running about so ceaselessly. Only when Kurt lay safely and quietly in bed could he think over what had happened and how cowardly he had acted.

After all, his mother had clearly told him that there was no ghost in Wildenstein. Whom then, had he seen in armor and helmet and with a long mantle? It could not have been Mr. Trius, because he was a short, stout person, whereas the apparition was a tree-high figure. Might it be a sentinel at the castle who was ordered to go about? May be the old castle-barons had always wished an armed sentinel to keep watch. If only he had not run away! He could have let the sentinel walk up to him and then he could have told him of his intention. The sentinel could only have been pleased by his endeavor to get rid of such an old superstition. If only he had not run away!

Oh, yes, now that Kurt was safely under cover and Bruno's breathing beside him spoke of his big brother's nearness, it seemed easy enough to act bravely! If only he had done it! The thing he could not explain to himself was how anybody could be so horribly tall. That was hardly credible. Kurt felt at bottom quite sure that it was impossible for anybody to look like that.

"If only I could have told mother about it!" he sighed. But he felt dreadfully ashamed. She had absolutely forbidden him troubling himself about this matter. Even with his intention to get rid of the talk he had acted against her command. Well, and what had he accomplished? More than ever the whole village would say to-morrow that the ghost of Wildenstein was wandering about again. Furthermore he did not know how to gainsay it. If it only had not been so huge!

When the mother stepped up to her children's bedside later on as usual, she stopped a little while before Kurt. Hearing him moaning in his sleep, she thought he was ill.

"Kurt," she said quietly, "does something hurt you?"

He woke up. "Oh, mother," he said, seizing her hand, "is it you? I thought the ghost of Wildenstein was stretching out his enormous arm towards me!

"You were dreaming; don't think about such things in daytime," the mother said kindly. "Have you forgotten your evening prayer after the excitements of the day?"

"Yes, I had so much to think about that I forgot it," Kurt admitted.

"Say it now, then you will fall asleep more quietly," said the mother. "But please, Kurt, never forget that God hears our prayers and comforts and calms us only when we open our hearts entirely to him. You know, Kurt, don't you, that we must hide nothing from him?"

Kurt moaned "Yes" in a very low voice.

After giving him a good-night kiss the mother withdrew.



CHAPTER V

OPPRESSIVE AIR

It seemed as if for several days a heavy atmosphere was weighing down the limbs of all Mrs. Maxa's household, so that its wonted cheerfulness was entirely absent. Even the mother went about more silently than usual, for the worry about Bruno's future weighed heavily on her heart. She had written to her brother to come to her as soon as possible, so that they could talk the matter over and come to a united decision. He had answered her that urgent business was forcing him to a journey to South Germany, and that it would be time enough to settle the matter after his return. Bruno, having heard about the situation, was already wrought up by the mere possibility of his being obliged to live with the two boys. Secretly he was already making the wildest plans in order to escape such an intolerable situation. Why shouldn't he simply disappear and go to Spain like the young Baron of Wallerstaetten? Probably the young gentleman had had some money to dispose of, while he had none. He might hire himself out as a sailor, however, and travel to China or Australia. He might study the inhabitants and peculiarities of these countries and write famous books about them. In that way he could make a good livelihood. Might he not join a band of wandering singers? His mother had already told him how well his voice sounded and that she wanted him to develop it later on. With wrinkled brows Bruno sat about whole evenings, not saying one word but meditating on his schemes. He found it extremely hard to tell which one of them was best and to think of means to carry it out.

Mea's forehead, also, was darkened by heavy clouds, but she was not as silent as her brother. Every few moments exclamations of pain or indignation escaped her. But had she not fared badly?

When they had moved from Sils to Nolla, Elvira had immediately approached Mea as if she wanted to become her friend. Mrs. Knippel had sent her an invitation in order to cement the bonds of friendship, and she had done the same with Bruno, who was to become her sons' close comrade. It was quite true that Bruno had declared from the beginning that he would not make friends with the two who were to share his studies, and every time they came together fights and quarrels were the result.

But Mea had a heart which craved friendship. She was overcome with happiness by the advances of the Knippel family, and immediately gave herself to her new friend with absolute confidence and warm love. Soon many differences of opinion and of natural disposition showed themselves in the two girls, but Mea, in her overflowing joy of having found a friend, was little troubled by this at first. She thought that all these things would come right by and by when they came closer to each other. She hoped that the desired harmony would come when they became better acquainted. But the more the two girls got to know know each other, the deeper their differences grew, and every attempt at a clear understanding only ended in a wider estrangement.

Mrs. Maxa had always tried to fill her children with a contempt not only of all wrong, but also of low and ugly actions. She had made an effort to keep her children from harmful influences and to implant in them a hate for these things. Whenever Mea found Elvira of a different opinion in such matters, she was assured that she was in the right by the mother's opinion, which coincided with her own; so she felt as if Elvira should be shown the right way, too. Whenever this happened, Elvira turned from her and told her that she wanted to hear no sermons.

So the two had not yet become friends, despite the fact that Mea was still hoping and wishing for it, and her brother Kurt had proved himself in the right when he had doubted it from the beginning. Since the incident with Loneli, when Mea had told her friend her opinion in perfectly good faith, Elvira had not spoken to her any more and had remained angry. But Mea's nature was not inclined to sulk. Whenever she felt herself injured, words of indignation poured out from her like fiery lava from a crater. After that everything was settled. She had been obliged to sit day after day on the same bench with the sulking girl, and to come to school and leave again without saying a word. Should this situation, which had already become intolerable to her, continue forever? Mea could only moan with this prospect in view. She was glad that Kurt was in a strangely depressed mood, too, and hardly ever spoke. He would otherwise have been sure to make several horrible songs about her experiences with the moping Elvira.

Kurt, who was usually cheerful, had been as terribly depressed for the last few days as if he had been carrying a heavy weight around with him all the time. He had kept something from his mother, and therefore the weight seemed to get heavier and heavier. It oppressed Kurt more than he could say that he had not immediately confessed his fault. But how could the mother have believed him when he told her that he had seen a figure which could not possibly be human. He really felt like a traitor towards his mother. All people in Nolla believed anew that a ghost of Wildenstein went about, for the apparition had actually been seen. Kurt knew quite well that it was all his fault. He hardly dared to look at his mother and he longed for somebody to help him. He was filled with the craving to be happy again.

Only Lippo and Maezli pursued their usual occupations and were untroubled by heavy thoughts. As soon as Maezli noticed that the usual cheerfulness had departed from the house, she tried to get into a different atmosphere at once. She always knew a place of refuge in such a case. "Oh, mama, I have to go and see Apollonie," she would repeatedly say with firm conviction to her mother. Having the greatest confidence in Apollonie's guarding hand, and knowing, besides, that Maezli's visits always were welcome, the mother often let her youngest go there. The little girl was well able to find her way to the cottage and always went without attempting any digressions from the path. In the evening Loneli generally accompanied her home. Maezli would arrive carrying a large bunch of flowers, the inevitable gift from Apollonie, Presenting them to her mother, she would shout: "There they are again, just look! I have some for you again, mother."

The mother then looked full of delight at the bunch and said, "Yes, those are the same lovely mignonette that used to grow in the castle-garden, Apollonie has transplanted them into her own. But they were much finer in the castle, nowhere could their equal have been found," she concluded, inhaling the delicious fragrance of the flowers.

Maezli promptly poked her little nose into the bouquet, uttering an exclamation of unspeakable delight.

Loneli's eyes were very merry again, and was full of her usual gaiety. Since Kurt had made his little speech and had rehabilitated Loneli's honour before the school children, the grandmother was as kind to her as of yore and never mentioned the shame-bench again. Loneli's heart was simply filled with gratefulness for what he had done and she often wished in turn for an opportunity to help him out of some trouble. She had noticed that Kurt was no longer the merriest and most entertaining of the children, and had given up being their leader in all gay undertakings. What could be the matter? Loneli hated to see him that way and could not help pondering about this remarkable change. Being extremely observant, she had noticed that it was very hard to find out the truth about the night expedition to the castle. All the boys' answers consisted in dark allusions to the fact that the ghost was wandering about Wildenstein more than ever. As not one of them wanted to admit the hasty retreat before the ghost had even been properly inspected, they only dropped vague and terrifying words about the matter.

Brave little Clevi, who usually relished telling of her dangerous adventures when they had turned out well, was as silent as a mouse about it all. Whenever Loneli asked her a straight question needing a straight answer, Clevi ran away, and Loneli got none. The report was sure to have some foundation, and the most noticeable thing of all was that Kurt's change had come since that night. That same day he had taken the load off her heart and had been so gay and merry. So Loneli put two and two together, and having made these observations, was filled with sudden wrath.

As soon as school was ended, she rushed to the astonished Clevi: "Oh, I know what you have done, Clevi. Kurt was your leader and you didn't obey him; you all ran away because you were afraid. Oh, you have spoiled it all for him."

"Yes, and what about him? He was afraid himself," Clevi cried out excitedly, for the reproach had stung her. "I could see with what terrified bounds he flew down the mountain-side."

"Was he afraid, too, do you really mean? But of what?" Loneli questioned further.

"Of what? That is easily said: of what! You ought to have seen that huge creature coming towards us from the castle."

Since it had come out that they had been so frightened, Clevi now told in detail about the horribly tall armoured knight with the high boots and the long cloak hanging down to his boot-tops.

"Was the mantle blue?" Loneli, who had been listening intensely, interrupted.

"It was night-time, and you can imagine we did not see the color clearly," Clevi said indignantly. "But the color has nothing to do with it, it was the length, the horrible, horrible length of that thing! It looked just too awful. He had a high helmet on his head besides, with a still higher bunch of black plumes that nodded in the most frightful way."

A gleam of joy sparkled in Loneli's eyes. Flying away like an arrow, she sought out Mrs. Maxa's house. Kurt was standing at the hawthorn hedge in front of the garden with his schoolbag still slung around him. He had not rushed in ahead of the others according to his custom.

With puckered brow he was pulling one leaf after another from the hedge. Then he flung them all away, as if he wanted with each to rid himself of a disagreeable thought.

"Kurt," Loneli called to him, "please wait a moment. Don't go in yet, for I want to tell you something."

When Loneli stood beside Kurt she was suddenly filled with embarrassment. She knew exactly what she had to say, but it would sound as if she was trying to examine Kurt. This kept her from beginning.

"Tell me what you want, Loneli," Kurt encouraged her, when he saw her hesitation.

So Loneli began:

"I wanted to ask you if—if—oh, Kurt! Are you so sad on account of what happened at the castle and because you thought there was no ghost?"

"I don't want to hear anything more about it," Kurt said evasively, pulling a handful of leaves from the hedge and throwing them angrily to the ground.

"But it might only have been a man after all," Loneli continued quietly.

"Yes, yes, that is easily said, Loneli. How can you talk when you haven't even seen him?"

Kurt flung the last leaves away impatiently and tried to go. But Loneli would not yield.

"Just wait a moment, Kurt," she entreated. "It is true that I did not see him, but Clevi told me all about him. I know why he looked that way and why he was so enormous. I also know where he got the armour, the long blue mantle, and the high black plumes."

"What!" Kurt exclaimed, staring at Loneli as if she were a curious ghost herself. How can you know anything about it?"

"Certainly I know about it," Loneli assured him. "Listen! You must remember that grandmother lived a long time at the castle, so she has told me everything that went on up there. In the lowest story there is a huge old hall, and the walls are covered with weapons and things like armour and helmets. In one corner there is an armoured knight with a black-plumed helmet on his head. Whenever the young gentlemen from the castle wanted to play a special prank, one of them would take the knight on his shoulders, and the knightly long mantle would be hung over his shoulders so as to cover him down to his high boot-tops. This figure looked so terrible coming along the terrace that everybody always ran away, even in bright daylight. Once the two young ladies shrieked loudly when they suddenly saw the fearful knight. That pleased the young gentlemen more than anything."

"Oh, then my mother saw him, too, and knows what he looks like," Kurt exclaimed with a sudden start, for he had been breathlessly listening.

"Certainly, for she was one of the young ladies," Loneli said.

"But now nobody is at the castle except Mr. Trius, and he couldn't have been there," Kurt objected. "I know that he sneaks about the meadows till late in the evening in order to catch apple-thieves. That is so far from the little woods that he could not possibly have heard us."

"But it was Mr. Trius just the same, you can believe me, Kurt," Loneli assured her friend. "My grandmother has often said that Mr. Trius always knows everything that is going on. He seems to hide behind the hedges and then suddenly comes out from behind the trees when one least expects him. You know that the boys have known about your plan several days and that they don't always talk in a low voice. Besides, they have been trying to get hold of apples every night. You can be sure that Mr. Trius heard distinctly what your plan was."

"Yes, that is true, but I have to go to mother now," Kurt exclaimed, as he started toward the house. Then, turning back once more, he said: "Thank you ever so much, Loneli, you have done me a greater service than you can realize by telling me everything. Nothing could have made me happier than what you have said." As he spoke these words he shook the little girl's hand with all his might.

The boy ran into the house, while Loneli hastened home with leaps and bounds, for her heart was thrilling with great joy.

"Where is mother, where is mother?" Kurt impetuously asked Lippo, whom he met in the hall carrying a large water-pitcher entrusted to him by Kathy.

"One knows well enough where mama must be when it is nearly lunch-time. You came home late from school," Lippo answered, carefully trotting away with his fragile burden.

"Yes, I did, you little sentinel of good order," Kurt laughed out, passing Lippo in order to hasten to the dining-room.

Now Kurt could laugh again.

"Oh, are you as far as that already," he cried out in surprise when he found everybody settling down to lunch. "What a shame! I wanted to tell you something, mother."

She gazed at him questioningly. He had not had any urgent news for her lately, and she was glad to hear his clear voice and see his merry eyes again.

"You must wait now till after lunch, Kurt," she said kindly, "for you were rather late to-day."

"Yes, I was rather slow at first," Kurt informed her. "Then Loneli ran after me to tell me something she has found out. I have often said before that Loneli is the most clever child in all Nolla, besides being the most friendly and obliging one could possibly find. Even if she is only brought up by simple Apollonie, she is more refined at bottom than a girl I know who adorns her outside with the most beautiful ribbons and flowers. I would rather have a single Loneli than a thousand Elviras."

Lippo had been anxiously looking at Kurt for some time.

"Here come the beans and you have your plate still full of soup," he said excitedly.

"Kurt, I think that it would be better for you to eat your soup instead of uttering such strange speeches. Besides, we all agree with you about Loneli. I think that she is an unusually nice and sympathetic child."

"Oh, Kurt," the observant little Maezli exclaimed, "do you have to talk so much all at once because you talked so little yesterday, the day before yesterday and the day before that?"

"Yes, that is the exact reason, Maezli," Kurt said with a laugh. His soup was soon eaten, for his spirits had fully come back now, and in the shortest time he had emptied his plate.

Kurt was only able to get his mother to himself after school. The elder children were busy at that time and the two little ones had taken a walk to Apollonie. His mother, having clearly understood his wish to have a thorough talk with her, had reserved this quiet hour for him. Kurt made an honest confession of his disobedience without once excusing himself by saying that he had only done it to destroy all foolish superstition and by this means to become her helper. He could therefore tell her without reserve how terribly he had been cast down the last few days. The weight had been very heavy on his heart before his confession, because he had been so ashamed of the miserable end of the undertaking. He had, moreover, been very much afraid that she would tell him that no ghost of Wildenstein existed, after he himself had seen the incredible apparition. What Loneli had told him had relieved him immensely. Now his mother, who had seen the terrible sight herself, could understand his fright.

"Oh, little mother, I hope you are not angry with me any more," Kurt begged her heartily. "I shall never do anything any more you don't want me to, for I know now what it feels like. I know that this was my punishment for doing what you had forbidden me to do."

When his mother saw that Kurt had realized his mistake and had humbly borne the punishment, she did not scold him any further. She confirmed everything Loneli had told him about the knight. She also agreed with the little girl that the watchful Mr. Trius had probably discovered long ago what Kurt had planned to do that night. With the horrible apparition he had probably meant to punish and banish the boys for good.

"Oh, Kurt," the mother concluded, "I hope I can rely on you from now on not to have anything more to do with the matter of the fabulous ghost of Wildenstein."

Kurt could give his honest promise, for he had enough of his endeavour to prove the non-existence of the ghost. It put him into the best spirits that there had been nothing supernatural about it, and that he was able again to talk with his mother as before. With a loud and jubilant song he joined his brothers and sisters.

Mrs. Maxa was also very happy that Kurt had regained his cheerfulness. What met her ears now, though, was not Kurt's singing, but loud cries of delight. Opening the door, she distinguished the well-known calls of "Uncle Philip, Uncle Philip!" So her longed-for brother was near at last. Her two little ones, who had met with him on their stroll home, were bringing him along. All five children shouted loudly in order to let their uncle know how welcome he was.

"Oh, how glad I am that you have come at last! Welcome, Philip! Please come in," Mrs. Maxa called out to him.

"I'll come as soon as it is possible," he replied, breathing heavily. He held a child with each hand, and three were between his feet, all welcoming him tumultuously, so that for the moment it was impossible for him to move forward.

Gradually the whole knot moved into the house and towards the uncle's armchair. Here ten busy hands fastened him down so that he should not at once get away.

"You rascals, you!" the uncle said, quite exhausted. "A man is lucky to escape from you with his life. Are you trying to throttle your godfather, Lippo? Whoever put two fat little arms about a godfather's neck like that? You seem to have climbed the chair from behind and to have only your foot on the arm of the chair. If you slip, I shall be strangled. Who then will find out for whom I brought a harmonica that's buried in the depths of my coat-pocket? It gives forth the most beautiful melodies you ever heard, when you have learned to play it."

A harmonica was the most wonderful thing Lippo could imagine. His neighbor in school, a little girl called Toneli, owned one and could play whole songs on it—he had always thought it splendid. If a harmonica was really destined for him, he had better let go his uncle's arm.

Uncle Philip dove into his deep pockets with both hands, and soon the wonderful, coveted object really came to light. And how much bigger and finer it was than Toneli's little instrument. Such a one must be able to sound the loveliest tones. Lippo, holding his treasure in his hand, could hardly believe it to be his own property, but Uncle Philip reassured him, saying: "Come, Lippo, take it, the harmonica is meant for you."

There were presents for all the children in the depths of the pockets, and one child after another ran away to show his gift to his mother. Lippo saw and heard nothing else just then. In expectation of the melodies which would well up he blew with all his might quite horrible, ear-shattering sounds.

"Lippo, you must learn how to play a little first. Everything has to be learned. Give it to me," said Uncle Philip; "you see you must do this way." Setting the instrument to his lips and pushing it up and down, he played the merriest tunes. Lippo looked up in speechless admiration at his god-father. He was tremendously impressed that Uncle Philip could do everything, even blow a harmonica, which generally only boys were able to do. How fine it sounded! He was sure that nobody else could bring forth such beautiful melodies.

Lippo was interrupted by his brothers and sisters, who were noisily announcing supper. So Uncle Philip was taken in their midst into the dining-room, and he might have been likened to a prisoner-of-war captured by the victors amidst shouts of triumph.

The mother had purposely ordered supper a little early, and she noticed that her brother was satisfied with the arrangement. If his intention had been to shorten the time he could have with the children, he had no intention of cheating them of amusement, and he told them so many entertaining things that they felt they had never had a better time with him. At last, however, it was quiet in the living-room. Uncle Philip was sitting there alone, waiting for his sister, who had gone upstairs with the children.

"First of all, Philip," she said on her return, as she settled down beside him, "what shall be done with Bruno? I am sure you told Mr. Knippel not to engage board and lodging for him."

"On the contrary, I gave him full power to do so," the brother replied. "Mr. Knippel gave me the impression that you would agree to it and would be very grateful if he took the matter in hand, so I thought that that would be the simplest way out. It won't be so very terrible if the boys live together. Don't always imagine the worst. But I must tell you something else."

Uncle Philip seemed to be rather glad to pass quickly over the hard problem. He guessed in fact that his communication would cause his sister great consternation. And he had guessed rightly. In her fright over his first words she had not even heard the last.

"How could you do such a thing," she began to complain. "I can see quite clearly what will happen without unduly imagining anything. The low nature and character of the two boys rouses Bruno's ire, and he constantly flies into a rage when he is with them. It is my greatest sorrow that he can't control himself. What on earth will happen if the three are compelled to be together daily, nay constantly, and will even live together. The matter frightens me more than you can realize, Philip, and now you have made it impossible for me to change the plan."

"But, Maxa, can't you see that I could not act otherwise. Mr. Knippel was terribly anxious to arrange it all, and you know how quickly he is offended. He always imagines that his low birth is in his way, for he cannot understand our utter indifference to all the money he has heaped up. You must not be so anxious about it. It can't possibly last very long," the brother consoled her. "There is sure to be a violent quarrel between them soon, and as soon as that happens, I promise to take the matter in hand. That will give us good grounds to separate them."

The prospect of a horrible fight was, however, no consolation to Mrs. Maxa. But she said nothing more for the matter was irrevocably settled.

"I have to tell you something now which will put you into a happier mood," he began, clearly relieved that his unpleasant communication had been made. "Yesterday evening the two ladies from Hanover who were my travelling companions some time ago came to me to ask my advice about something which troubled them very much. They have received an urgent call to return home to their aged mother, who has fallen very ill and has asked to see them. The little girl who is in their care, however, has been so sick for a few days that they had to call the doctor. They summoned him again yesterday in order to consult him as to whether there might be danger if the child travelled. He told them positively that they could not think of letting her go now, and that she might not be able to go for weeks. A slow fever showed that she was on the point of serious illness, Which would not quickly pass. The ladies were extremely frightened and told the doctor their dilemma, for they were both absolutely compelled to leave. One of them might be able to return in about two weeks, but they had to find a reliable person in the meantime who could nurse the child. This was terribly difficult for them as strangers. The doctor's advice was to bring the young invalid to the hospital in Sils, where she would be well taken care of and he could see her every day. The ladies wanted my opinion before deciding. They realize that doctors always favor hospitals because the care of their patients is made simple and easy, so they wondered if I advised them to have the young girl sent there. I told them that the place was not at all badly equipped, but that it was rather small, and the patients were of course very mixed. When I asked the ladies if it would not be better if the child's parents decided that difficult question, I received the information that Leonore von Wallerstaetten was an orphan and that the aunt who had put her in their care had also died."

"Oh, Philip, now there is no doubt any more that she is our Leonore's little daughter," Mrs. Maxa cried in the greatest agitation. "Oh, Philip, how could you ever advise them to send her to the hospital? Why didn't you say right away that your sister would immediately take the child into her house."

"How could I do that? Just think a moment, Maxa!" said the brother. "Did you want me to add to your troubles and anxieties by bringing a patient sick with fever into your house? It might turn out to be a dangerous illness, which all your five might catch; what should you have said to me then?"

"Philip, I shall go to Sils with you to-morrow and I'll ask you to take me to the ladies. I want them to know who I am, of course. I shall tell them that I have the right as her mother's nearest friend to receive Leonore into my house and to nurse her. I am sure that the little patient can take the trip in your closed carriage. You can quickly go to the doctor to tell him of our plan and have the carriage sent to us. Please do this for me, Philip! I can't stand that the child of our Leonore should go to a strange hospital all by herself."

Mrs. Maxa had spoken with such decision that her brother had listened to her in greatest surprise.

"So you have resolved to carry this through, Maxa? Are you sure that you won't have to take it all back after your excitement has vanished?" he asked her.

"You can rely on me, Philip. I have absolutely made up my mind to do it," the sister assured him. "You must help me now to put it through. I shall be able to take care of things when she gets here, but do all in your power to prevent the ladies from putting obstacles in my path. You see, I do not even know them."

"I shall do whatever you wish," the listener said willingly. "It certainly is hard to tell where a woman will set up complaints and where she will suddenly not know either fear or obstacles! I have already told the two Miss Remkes about you. As soon as I knew the child's name, I realized the situation. I told the ladies about your being the best friend of their charge's mother, and that you would surely go to see her now and then in the hospital. This pleased them greatly."

Uncle Philip began now to lay minute plans for the morrow. His sister had to give her promise to be ready very early in order to reach Sils in good time, for the patient was to be taken to the hospital in the course of the forenoon. He also gave her all the needed instructions relating to the coachman and the carriage.

She listened quietly till he had finished and then said, "I have some news for you, too. Just think! Baron Bruno has come back. He arrived in the middle of the night when nobody could see him. He is absolutely alone now in the desolate castle. Just imagine how he must feel to be within those walls again where he spent his happy years with all those loved ones he has not seen since he left the castle in a fit of terror."

"Yes, and why did it happen? Wasn't it his own will?" the brother said harshly. "Whenever you speak about him, your voice takes on a tone as if you were speaking about a misunderstood angel. Why did the raging lion come back all of a sudden?"

"Please, Philip, don't be so hard!" his sister said, "He is entirely left alone now. Is sorrow easier to bear when it is our own doing? I heard that he was ill. That is probably the reason why he has come home. I know all this from Apollonie, who is in communication with Mr. Trius. She keeps on scheming to find a way to set the rooms in order for her young master, as she still calls him. She knows how his mother would wish everything to be for her son. I understand quite well that she worries night and day about the state things are in at the castle. Her former master has for nurse, servant, cook and valet only that peculiar and ancient Mr. Trius. She can hardly think about it without wishing that she might do something for her old friend. The poor woman is so anxious to make his life at the castle a little more the way it used to be in the old times."

"For heaven's sake, Maxa, I hope you are not trying to interfere. Do you intend to undertake that, too?" the brother exclaimed in perturbation. "If he wanted things different, he certainly would find a way. Please have nothing to do with it, otherwise you'll be sorry."

"You can be perfectly reassured, for unfortunately nothing whatever can be done," Mrs. Maxa replied. "If I had known a way to do something for him, I should have done it. My great wish is to let a little sunshine into the closed up, sombre rooms, and may be even a little deeper. I had great hopes of doing something through Apollonie, who knows so much about the castle, but she has explained the state of affairs to me. She was going to enter and take things in hand as soon as she heard from Mr. Trius that her master had returned, for she still considers herself his servant as in times gone by. It was her intention, naturally, to put everything into the usual order in the house. But Mr. Trius won't even let her go into the garden. He let her know that he had received orders not to let anyone into the place. His master knew no one here and had no intention of meeting anyone. I know quite well, therefore, that I shall he unable to gratify my great desire of doing something for that miserable, lonely man."

"So much the better," the brother said, quite relieved. "I am glad that the villain has bolted you out himself. If I should have tried to keep you out, you certainly would have found means to resist me, I know."

"I willingly admit it," Mrs. Maxa replied with a smile. "But Philip, I should consider it wise for us to go to bed now, if we have to make an early start to Sils to-morrow."

Brother and sister separated, but Mrs. Maxa had many arrangements to make before she came to rest. If the ladies would consent to put the little girl in her charge, she meant to bring her immediately home with her. Therefore everything had to be made ready for the little patient.