About midnight Mrs. Maxa still went to and fro in a bedroom on the top floor, which was entirely isolated. When everything necessary had been made ready, she tried to place various embellishments in the little chamber. Finally she placed in the middle of the table a round bowl, which was to be filled to-morrow with the most beautiful roses from her garden. Mrs. Maxa wanted the child of her adored Leonore to receive a pleasant impression from her room in the strange new house. When the morning sun would shine in through the open windows and the green slope of the castle would send its greeting to her, she did not want little Leonore to feel dissatisfied with her new quarters. With this thought Mrs. Maxa happily closed the door of the room behind her and sought out her own chamber.



CHAPTER VI

NEW FRIENDS

Early next morning brother and sister started towards the valley. Before going Mrs. Maxa had given her orders and had arranged for Maezli to spend the day with Apollonie, in order to prevent her from getting into mischief. As it was a sunshiny morning and the paths were dry, walking was delightful. The distance they had to traverse occupied about two hours, but it did not seem long. As soon as brother and sister arrived in Sils, they went to see the two Misses Remke. Both ladies were kneeling before a large trunk, surrounded by heaps of clothes, shoes, books and boxes, and a hundred trifles besides. When the visitors arrived, they immediately stood before the open door of the room used for packing.

Mrs. Maxa's first impulse was to withdraw with an excuse, but the ladies had jumped up already and most cordially greeted their kind friend, Mr Falcon, whom they called their helper and saviour in all difficulties. They received his sister joyfully, too, for they had been most eager to know her. Both ladies regretted that their meeting had to take place in a moment when their house appeared in its most unfavorable light. Mrs. Maxa assured them, however, that she understood the preparations for their impending trip and said that she would not disturb them longer than was necessary. She intended, therefore, to voice her request immediately. Mr. Falcon, steering straight for some chairs he had discovered, brought them for the ladies despite all the assorted objects on the floor. Mrs. Maxa spoke of her intention of taking the child to her house and her sincere hope that there would be no objection and the ladies could feel their visitor's great eagerness manifested in her words. They on their part did not hide the great relief which this prospect gave them and were extremely glad to leave their young charge in such good hands.

"It has been very hard for us to decide to leave Leonore behind," one of them said. "Unfortunately we must go, and she is not able to travel. But as long as our plans seem to coincide so well, I shall ask you if it would be inconvenient to you if we put off the date of our return a week longer. You must realize that we are taking the journey for the sake of our sick mother, and that everything is uncertain in such a case. One can never tell what change may come, and we might wish to stay a little longer."

Mrs. Maxa hastened to assure them that nothing could suit her better than to keep Leonore in her house for several weeks and she promised to send frequent news about the little girl's state of health. She begged them not to be anxious about her and not to hurry back for Leonore's sake. As she was longing to see the child instead of remaining in their way, she begged to be allowed to greet Leonore. She was sure that her brother, who had already risen, also wanted to take his leave. As soon as he had seen how completely the ladies entered into his sister's plans, he wished to arrange the details and so said that he was now going to the doctor in order to get his permission for the little trip. After obtaining this, as he sincerely hoped to do, he would prepare the carriage and send it directly to the house, as it was important for the patient to make the journey during the best portion of the day. Thereupon he hastened off.

One of the ladies took Mrs. Maxa to the sick room, which was situated in the uppermost story.

"You won't find Leonore alone," she said, "her brother is with her. He is taking a trip through Switzerland with his teacher and some friends, and came here ahead of them in order to see his sister. His travelling companions will join him here to-morrow, and then they are all going back to Germany."

"I fear that the poor boy will lose his day with his sister if I take her with me," Mrs. Maxa said regretfully.

"Well, that can't be altered," the lady quickly replied. "We are all only too happy that you are willing to take Leonore into your house. Who knows how her stay in the hospital might have turned out? Poor Leonore was so frightened by the thought; but we knew no other way. It does not matter about her brother's visit, because they can see each other again in Hanover, for he is at a boarding school there."

The lady now opened a door and led Mrs. Maxa into a room.

"Leonore, look, here is Mrs. Bergmann, a great friend of your mother's." Miss Remke said, "and I am sure you will be glad of the news she is bringing you. I shall accept your kind permission to get back to my work now, Mrs. Bergmann. Everything is ready for Leonore, because she was to leave for the hospital very shortly."

With these words she went out. The sick child sat completely dressed on a bed in the corner of the room, half reclining on the pillows.

Mrs. Maxa had to agree with her brother who had said that she had her mother's large, speaking eyes, the same soft brown curls, and the same serious expression on her delicately shaped little face. Mrs. Maxa would have easily recognized the child even without knowing her name. Leonore only looked more serious still; in fact, her glance was extremely sad and at that moment tears were hanging on her lashes, for she had been crying. The boy sitting by her got up and made a bow to the new arrival. He had his father's gay blue eyes and his clear, open brow. After giving him her hand Mrs. Maxa stepped up to the bed to greet Leonore and was so deeply moved that she could barely speak.

"My dear child," she said, seizing both slender hands, "you resemble your mother so much that I have to greet you as my own beloved child. I loved her very much and we meant a great deal to each other. You remind me of both your father and mother, Salo. What happiness my friendship with your parents has brought me! I want you both to be my children now, for your parents were the best friends I ever had in the world."

This speech apparently met a response in the two children's hearts. As answer Leonore took Mrs. Maxa's hand and held it tight between her own, and Salo came close to her to show what confidence he felt. Then he said joyfully: "Oh, I am so glad that you have come; you must help me comfort Leonore. She is terribly afraid of the hospital and all the strange people there. She even imagines that she will die there alone and forsaken and was crying because she thinks that we won't see each other again. I have to go so far away and I can't help it. To-morrow they are coming to fetch me and then I have to go back to school. What shall we do?"

"As to that," Mrs. Maxa replied, "nothing can be done. But if Leonore has to spend a little while in the hospital, she won't be an absolute stranger there. I won't let you be lonely for I shall often go to see you, dear child, and it is not even quite certain that you have to go there."

"Oh, yes, they are going to take me there this morning, maybe quite soon," said Leonore. Listening anxiously, she again grasped Mrs. Maxa's hand as if it were her safety anchor.

Mrs. Maxa did not gainsay her, because she did not yet know what the doctor might decide. All she could do to calm Leonore was to tell her that she was not dangerously ill. She might recover very quickly if she only stayed quiet for a while. In that case she could soon see her brother again, for the ladies had promised to take her home as soon as she was well.

Mrs. Maxa had hardly said that when Leonore's eyes again began to fill with tears.

"But I don't feel at home there. We really have no home anywhere," she said with suppressed sobs.

"Yes, it is true; we have no home anywhere," Salo exclaimed passionately. "But, Leonore, you must have faith in me!" Fighting against his rising agitation, he quickly wiped away a tear from his eyes, which were usually so bright. "It won't be so long till I have finished my studies and then I can do what I please. Then I shall try to find a little house for us both, which will be our home. I am going to get that if I have to work for twenty years in the fields till it is paid for."

Salo's eyes had become sunny again during this speech. He looked as if he would not have minded seizing a hoe that very moment.

Rapid steps were now heard approaching, the door was quickly opened, and Miss Remke called out on entering: "The carriage is at the door. Let us get ready, for I do not want the gentleman to wait. I am sure you will be so kind as to help me lift Leonore out of bed and to carry her down stairs."

Leonore had grown as white as a sheet from fright.

"May I ask if it is my brother's carriage, or—" Mrs. Maxa hesitated a little.

"Yes, certainly," the lady interrupted, while she rapidly pulled some covers and shawls out of a wardrobe. "Your brother has come himself in order to see that the carriage is well protected. He also means to give the coachman the directions himself, but we must not keep him waiting. What a kind friend he is!"

Mrs. Maxa had already lifted Leonore from her bed and was carrying her out.

"Please bring all the necessary things downstairs. I can do this easily alone, for she is as light as a feather," she called back to the lady who had hastened after her in order to help.

Going downstairs Mrs Maxa said, "Leonore, I am going to take you home with me now. The doctor is letting me do what I wished: you will stay with me till you are well again, and I shall take care of you. Shall you like to come with me? We know each other a little already and I hope you won't feel so strange with us."

Leonore, flinging both arms about Mrs. Maxa's neck, held her so tight that she could feel the little girl considered her no stranger any longer.

Suddenly Leonore called back in jubilating tones, "Salo, Salo, did you hear?"

Salo had heard her call but comprehended nothing further. Miss Remke had piled such heaps of shawls and covers on his arms that one always slid down after the other and he was obliged to pick them up again. As quickly as the circumstances allowed, he ran after his sister.

Arrived at the carriage, Mrs. Maxa immediately looked about for her brother. She wanted to hand Leonore to him while she prepared everything in the conveyance for the child's comfort.

He was already there. Understanding his sister's sign, he took the child into his arms, then lifted her gently into the carriage. His glance was suddenly arrested by the boy, who was standing beside the carriage with his burdens.

With the most joyful surprise he exclaimed, "As sure as I am born this must be a young Salo. It is written in his eyes. Give me your hand, boy. Your father was my friend, my best friend in the world; so we must be friends, too."

Salo's eyes expressed more and more surprise. This manner of being taken to a hospital seemed very odd to him. The strangest of all, however, was that Leonore sat in the corner of the carriage smiling contentedly, for Mrs. Maxa had just whispered something into her ear.

"Do we have to say good-bye now, Leonore," Salo asked, jumping up the carriage step, "and can't I see you any more?"

"Salo," Mrs. Maxa said, "I was just thinking that you could sit beside the coachman if you want to. You can drive to Nolla with us, for you will want to see where Leonore is going. I can have you brought back to-morrow in time to meet your friends. Do you approve of that, Philip?"

"Certainly, certainly," the brother answered, "but if that is the plan, I am going along. I thought at first that this trip would prove a very mournful one. It seems more like a festal-journey to me now, so I've come, too. Salo and I will sit high up and to-morrow I promise to bring him back here."

With shining eyes the boy climbed to the seat which the coachman had just relinquished. He understood now that the hospital was not to be their destination. With many hearty handshakes and good wishes the two Remke ladies at last let their friend and adviser go. After many more last greetings to all the party the carriage finally rolled towards the valley.

Leonore was so exhausted that, leaning against her companion, she fell asleep, but she staunchly held on to Mrs. Maxa's hand, which seemed to her that of a loving mother. It was the first time in her life that she had felt this.

On the high seat outside the conversation was extremely lively. Young Salo had to tell where and how he lived, and then his companion explained in turn the places they were passing through and told him whatever unusual had happened in the neighborhood. The uncle found out that neither Salo nor his sister had the slightest remembrance of their parents. The boy's earliest memory went back to an estate in Holstein where they had lived with an elderly great-aunt, his grandmother's sister. They were about five or six years old when the aunt died, after which they were sent to Hanover to their present abode.

Twice a year a relation of their great-aunt came to see them, but he was such a stiff, quiet gentleman that they could not enjoy his visits. It was, however, this man who always decided what was to be done with them. For the present they were to remain where they were till Salo had finished his studies. After that the choice where to settle was left to them.

"But I know what I shall do first of all," Salo added with sparkling eyes.

Just then the old castle came in view.

"Oh, what a wonderful castle with great towers!" Salo exclaimed. "It is all closed up; there can't be anybody living there. It doesn't seem to be in ruins, though. What is it called?"

"This is Castle Wildenstein," the boy's companion curtly answered, throwing a searching glance at the young Baron. The latter looked innocently up at the gray towers, remarking that anybody who owned a castle like that would simply be the happiest man in the world.

"He knows nothing about the castle of his ancestors and the whole tragic story. So much the better," said Uncle Philip to himself.

When the carriage drove up before Mrs. Maxa's door, everything was very quiet there, for the children were still in school. Kathy came running towards them with astonished eyes. She did not know at all what was going on, and that was a novelty for her.

Salo had the reins pressed into his hands before he knew it. With a bound his new friend had jumped to the ground and called back, "If you don't move, the horses will stay quiet, too." Quickly opening the carriage, he lifted Leonore out and carried her up to the little room which had been got ready for her. Mrs. Maxa followed at his heels. He then turned hurriedly back to his young substitute, for he felt a little uneasy at the thought of what might happen to the horses and carriage. The boy might want to drive about and the horses might begin to jump. But no; stiff and immovable, the boy sat at his post, firmly holding the reins.

Even now when a party of eight feet came running towards him, Salo did not move. The calls of "Uncle Philip, Uncle Philip!" sounded with more vigor than usual, because the children had not expected him back so soon, and therefore had to celebrate his coming with double energy. Uncle Philip was immediately surrounded, and eight arms held him so tight that there was no use in struggling.

"Just look at my young nobleman up there," he said, vainly trying to get free. "He certainly knows what it means to remain firmly at his post and do his duty. If he had not held the reins tightly, your wild cries would have driven horses and carriage down the ravine long ago."

All arms suddenly dropped and all eyes were directed towards the figure on the coachman's seat. In the unexpected joy of their uncle's return nobody had noticed the boy. Uncle Philip, who was free now, let Salo get down and introduced him to the children.

Salo had a friendly greeting for every one and his eyes sparkled gaily when he shook their hands. His whole appearance was so attractive and engaging that the children immediately took a liking to him. With lively gestures they surrounded him like an old acquaintance, so that Salo quickly felt that he had come among good friends. Even the reserved Bruno, whom nobody had ever been able to approach, linked Salo's arm confidentially in his in order to conduct the guest into the house.

Here Bruno sat down beside Salo and the two were immediately immersed in the most eager conversation. Mea, Kurt and Lippo were hunting everywhere for their mother, for they had not the faintest idea where she had gone.

When Uncle Philip came back, he called them together and told them where their mother was and what she wished them to know through him. As she had brought a sick child with her, she could have no intercourse with the children for two or three days. The doctor had also forbidden them to go up to the sick-room, and they were to do the best they could during that time. If the sickness should get worse, a nurse was to come to the house and then the mother would be free again. If the illness was to be slight, on the contrary, the children would be admitted to the sick-room and make Leonore's acquaintance. They could even help a little in her care, for the mother would not then be obliged to keep them apart. Maezli was to be sent to Apollonie every morning and was to spend the day there. Not to be able to have a glimpse of their mother for two or three days was depressing news indeed. The three children's faces were absolutely disconcerted, for the obstacles were clearly insurmountable.

"Well, is this so terrible?" Uncle Philip said cheerily. "Who needs to let his wings droop? Just think if you were in the place of the sick girl, who has no mother at all! Can't you let her have yours for a few days? No? Just think what is to follow. Your mother will come down then and bring you a new playmate. Leonore is friendly and charming and has sweeter manners than you have ever seen. Kurt is sure to make dozens of songs about her and Mea will be carried away with enthusiasm for her. Lippo will find an affectionate protectress in her who will be able to appreciate his little-recognized virtues. Are you satisfied now?"

This speech really had splendid results. All three were willing enough now to let the sick Leonore have their mother, and they were anxious besides to do everything in their power to make Leonore's recovery speedy. The uncle's description of the new playmate had wakened such a lively sympathy in them that they were ready to assist him in many ways, and he was even obliged to cool their zeal. As their guest was to remain such a short while, Uncle Philip suggested a walk in order to show him the surroundings, but when they looked around for Salo, they could not find either him or Bruno.

"They thought of the same thing," Uncle Philip said. "It will be great fun to hunt for them." So they started off.

Uncle Philip had guessed right. Bruno had found his new friend so much to his liking that he wanted to keep him entirely to himself. While the uncle had talked with the younger children, he had led Salo out to take him on a stroll in the beautiful sunset. Salo was perfectly satisfied, too, as he felt himself likewise drawn towards Bruno. In this short time the two boys had grown as confiding as if they had known each other for years and they were just then wandering towards the castle hill, absorbed in lively conversation.

"Can you guess why I am taking you up there?" Bruno suddenly asked, interrupting the talk.

"Because it is so lovely," Salo replied quickly.

He had stopped walking and was looking across the flowering meadows towards the castle over which rosy clouds were floating on the bright evening sky.

"No, not for that reason," said Bruno, "but because it belongs to an uncle of yours."

Salo looked at him, full of astonishment.

"But Bruno, what an idea!" he called out laughing. "That would not be so bad, but it can't be true. We only have one uncle, who has been living in Spain for a number of years and who expects to stay there."

"The castle belongs to just that uncle who lives in Spain," Bruno asserted.

He reminded Salo of the fact that their mothers had known each other while living in the castle and had grown to be such friends there. Salo admitted this but was firmly persuaded that the castle had long since been sold and that his uncle would never come back, he had heard that from his great-aunt. So Bruno had to agree with him that the castle had probably been sold, if the uncle did not think of returning.

"Do you know, Salo," said Bruno while they continued their walk, "I should love to do what your uncle did. I want to go away from here and disappear for a long time. Then I would not be obliged to be fettered to those two horrid boys. I can't stand it, and you now know yourself what they are like."

Bruno had described his two comrades to his new friend, their mean attitude and their frequent and contemptible tricks. Salo had repeatedly shown his feeling by sudden exclamations and he said now with comforting sympathy, "I am sure it must make you feel like running away if you are obliged to spend all your days with two such boys. But don't listen to them, pay no attention to them, and let them do and say what they please. If they want to be mean, let them be, for they can't make you different."

"Oh, if you could be with me, that would be much easier," Bruno said. "I should know then that you felt with me and shared my anger. When I am compelled to be alone with them and they do sneaky acts to people who can't defend themselves, I always get so mad that I have to beat them. That always brings nasty talk and makes my mother unhappy, and then I feel worse than ever. If only I could go far away and never have to meet them any more!"

"If you had an idea what it is like not to have any home at all, you would not wish to leave yours without even knowing where to go," said Salo. "You would not think that anything was too hard to bear if you could go home and tell your mother all about it. If you have that consolation, it should make you able to stand a lot of trouble. I shouldn't mind living with those two during school term, if I could go to a place during the holidays that were a real home for me and Leonore. Every time I come to her she cries about having no home in the whole wide world. I try to think out something so that we won't have to wait so long before we can live together. But that is hard to carry out, for the gentleman in Holstein who decides about our upbringing wants me to study for many years. That will take much too long. Leonore might even die before that, and I want to do it all for her. I am so glad now that Leonore has fallen ill and has therefore come to you," he said with a brighter glance. "I wish she would stay sick for a while—of course not awfully sick," he corrected himself rapidly, "I mean just sick enough so that your mother would not let her go. I know quite well how happy Leonore will be with her. She was so kind and friendly with us right away. Since our old aunt died nobody has been so good and sweet with us as your mother and that will do more good to Leonore than anything else on earth."

Salo's words made a deep impression on Bruno. He had never before realized that everyone did not have a lovely home like his, and a mother besides who was always ready to greet him affectionately, who could be told everything, could help him bear everything, who shared all his experiences and had a sympathy like no one else. All this he had accepted as if it could not be otherwise. Now came the realization that things might be different. Poor Salo and his sister, for instance, had to suffer bitterly from missing what he had always enjoyed to the full without thinking about it. He was seized with a sudden sympathy for his new friend, who looked so refined and charming, and who already had to bear such sorrow for himself and his sister. Bruno now flung behind him all the thoughts and schemes he had had in connection with his coming fate and with all the fire of his nature he fastened on the thought of doing everything in his power to help Salo. He wanted to further his friend's plan to found a home for himself and his sister as soon as possible. That was something much more important than his disinclination to DC with the Knippel boys.

"Now I shall not think about anything but what you can do to make your plan come true," he said at the conclusion of his meditation. "If there are two of us who are so set on finding a way we are sure to succeed somehow."

"It seems so wonderful to me," said Salo, quite overcome by Bruno's warm sympathy. "I have various friends in boarding school, but there isn't one to whom I could have told what I am always thinking about, as I have told you. You are so different from them. Will you be my friend?"

Bruno firmly grasped Salo's proffered hand and cried out with beaming eyes, "Yes, Salo, I will be your friend my whole life long. I wish I could do you a favor, too, as you have done me."

"But I have not done anything for you," Salo said with surprise.

"Oh, yes, you have. Now that I know I have a friend I have lost my dread of living with the Knippel boys. I know that I can let them do as they please, for I'll know that I have a friend who thinks as I do and would have the same feeling about their actions, I'll be able to tell you everything, and you will tell me what you think. I can let them alone and think of you."

"Do you know, Bruno, the way I feel a real friendship ought to be?" Salo said with glowing eyes, for this had made him happy, too. "I think it ought to be this way: if we have to hear of anything that is ugly, mean or rough, we ought to think right away: I have a friend who would never do such a thing. If we hear of something though that pleases us, because it is fine, noble and great, we should think again: My friend would do the same. Don't you agree with me?"

Bruno judged himself very severely, because his mother had held up his own faults to him so that he knew them very well. He replied hesitatingly, "I wish one could always be the way one wants to be. Would you give up trusting a friend right away if he did not act the way you expected him to?"

"No, no," Salo said quickly, "such a friend could not trust me any more either. I mean it differently. The friend ought to hate to do wrong and ought to want to do right. He ought to be most sorry if he did not come up to the best."

Bruno could now gladly and joyfully assent. Suddenly the two boys heard their names called out loudly. Turning round they saw Kurt and Lippo hurrying towards them and the uncle following with Mea at a slower pace.

"Wait, wait!" Kurt cried out so loudly that the echo sounded back again from the castle, "Wait, wait!"

The two friends were doing just what had been asked of them, for they were sitting quietly on the turf. The brothers had now reached them, and Mea soon followed with the uncle, whose face showed signs of perturbation.

"I hope you have not run up to the castle with Salo, Bruno," he cried out with agitation.

"Oh, no, uncle," Bruno replied, "we sat down here on the way up. I just wanted to show Salo the castle that belonged to his uncle, but he does not know anything about it. He thinks that it has been sold long ago because he never heard about it."

"Good!" said Uncle Philip with satisfaction. "Now let us quickly go home. It is not right to starve a guest on his first visit; he might never come again."

"Oh, I certainly shall, Mr.—," here Salo hesitated, "I do not remember the name," he added, quite concerned.

"My name here is Uncle Philip," the kind gentleman answered, "just Uncle Philip, nothing else!"

"Am I allowed to call you Uncle, too? That makes me feel so much at home!" Salo exclaimed after nodding cordially. "Well, Uncle Philip, I mean to come to you again with the keenest pleasure every time I am invited. I would even come with the greatest joy if you never gave me anything to eat."

"No, no, we don't have institutions for starving people," Uncle Philip replied. "We are returning home now to a little feast I have told Kathy to get ready. It will consist mostly of country dishes. Our guest must know he has been received by friends."

"Oh, Uncle Philip, I felt that the first moment I met you," Salo exclaimed.

The little group now strolled happily down the incline towards the house.

Maezli was standing in the doorway with eyes as big as saucers. She had received the news from Kathy that they were to have omelette apple-souffle, ham-pudding, sour milk and sweet biscuits for supper in honour of a charming guest and Uncle Philip, who had come back. So Maezli looked out at them, and as soon as they were near enough, studied Salo very carefully.

He must have pleased her, for she quickly ran towards him and, reaching out her hand, said, "Won't you stay with us for a while?"

Salo laughed: "Yes, I should love to."

Taking him by the hand, Maezli led him into the house and to the room where the inviting table was already set. Kathy had been so many years in the house that she knew exactly how things ought to be. Everyone sat down now and Uncle Philip was amusingly talking. Everything he had ordered for the meal tasted so delightfully that it seemed like a feast to them and Salo said, "I should never have been able to conceive such a wonderful end of my holidays, if I had imagined the most marvellous thing in the world."

"If Salo could only stay here a few days, if only one day more," Bruno urged. All the rest were of the same opinion and they loudly begged Uncle Philip to persuade him to spend the next day with them. They thought that even one day together would be perfect for everyone.

"Yes, and for me most of all," said Salo, "but I cannot. My teacher and comrades are coming to fetch me at Sils to-morrow at ten o'clock. This is absolutely settled and there is not the slightest chance for my staying here, even if I wished it more than anything in the world."

"That is right, Salo, that is the way to talk," Uncle Philip said. "What has to be, has to be, even if we don't like it. Please do not beg him any more to stay. Let us play a nice game now and let us enjoy ourselves while he is with us."

Uncle Philip soon started the game, and their merry mood returned with the fun.

At the exact time when their mother always called the little ones for bed Lippo cried, "Uncle Philip, we must sing the evening song now and after that Maezli and I must go to bed."

This did not suit Maezli at all, however, for she was full of the game just then. Salo, who was sitting beside her, had been so funny, that it suited her better to stay here than to go to bed, Quickly climbing up the uncle's chair from behind, she put both round arms caressingly about his neck and whispered in his ear, "Oh, darling Uncle Philip, to-day is a feast-day, isn't it? Can't we stay up a little longer? The game is such fun and it's so tiresome to go to bed."

"Yes, yes, it is a feast-day," the uncle assented; "the little ones can stay up a little longer. Let us all keep on playing."

Maezli joyfully skipped back to her place, and the merriment was resumed. The game, which was very amusing, was made more so by Uncle Philip's funny remarks. Nobody had noticed therefore how quiet Maezli had grown.

Salo suddenly remarked, "Oh, look! Maezli is sound asleep. She is nearly tumbling from her chair." And the little girl would have dropped had not Salo held her by quickly putting his arm about her.

Uncle Philip went to her.

"Come, Maezli, come," he said encouragingly, "open your eyes quickly and Mea will take you to bed."

"No, no," Maezli lamented, and would not move.

"But you must! Just look, we are all going," the uncle said vigorously. "Do you want to stay behind?"

"No, no, no," Maezli moaned, full of misery.

"Mea, give her some cake," the uncle ordered, "then she'll wake up."

"We have no cake, uncle," Mea replied.

"What, you don't have a thing so necessary as that in a house full of children! Well, I shall get some to-morrow," he said, quite agitated. "Do you want a candy, Maezli? Come, just taste how sweet it is."

"No, no, no," Maezli moaned again in such sorrowful tones as no one had ever heard from the energetic little child.

Suddenly a most disturbing thought shot through the uncle's brain: "Suppose the child has already caught the fever? What should I do? What ought one to do?" he cried out with growing anxiety.

Kathy had entered the room in the meantime to see if anything more was needed.

"That is the way, Mr. Falcon," she said, going up to Maezli, and quickly lifting her in her strong arms, she carried her upstairs. Despite all her lamenting the child was then undressed and put to bed. In the shortest time she was sound asleep again without a trace of fever.

"Well, that's over now," Uncle Philip said, quite relieved when Kathy came back with the news. "I really think that the time has come for us all to seek our beds. Lippo actually looks as if he could not stand on his little legs."

The boy was as white as chalk from staying up so late. From time to time he tried to open his eyes, but they always fell shut again. The uncle, taking his hand, wanted to lead him away, but he fought against it.

"Uncle Philip, we have not sung the evening song yet," he said, clutching the piano.

"Mercy!" the uncle cried out disturbed. "Is this going to start now? No, no, Lippo, it is much too late to-night. You can sing two songs to-morrow, then everything will be straightened out."

"Then we shall have sung two songs to-morrow, but none to-day," Lippo began in a complaining voice, holding on to the piano and pulling his uncle towards him.

"Nothing can be done, we have to do it," Uncle Philip said with resignation, for he knew the obstinacy of his godson in regard to all customs.

"Kurt, you can tell me about the songs; please find the shortest in the song-book, or we shall have to sing till to-morrow morning. Please spare us such a miserable scene. But wait, Kurt! The song must have a tune I can sing, for as nobody plays the piano, I have to set the tune. Do you want to sing with us, too, Salo, or is it too late for you? You can retire if you prefer. You go upstairs to the room at the right corner."

"Oh, no, I want to stay as long as anybody is left," Salo replied. "I shall enjoy singing and doing everything with you. It is all so funny and strange."

Kurt had chosen a suitable song and Uncle Philip began it so vigorously that everybody could join and a full-voiced chorus was formed. Lippo's voice sounded dreadfully weak, but he sang every note to the last word, fighting mightily against his growing sleepiness. Now the little company could wander upstairs to their respective rooms without further obstacle.

"Oh," Uncle Philip breathed relieved when they had reached the top. "At least we are as far as this. It really is an undertaking to keep in order a handful of children where one always differs from the last. Now I have luckily gotten through for today. What? Not yet? What is the matter, Bruno?"

The latter, approaching his uncle with clear signs that he wanted him for something, had pulled him aside.

"I want to ask you for something," said Bruno. "I wonder if you will do me a great favor, Uncle Philip. Salo and I have so much to talk about still and he must leave to-morrow, I wanted to ask you if Kurt can sleep beside you in the guest room and Salo could sleep in Kurt's bed in my room."

"What are you thinking of," the uncle said irritably. "You should hear what your mother would say to that. The idea of having a Wallerstaetten for a guest and offering him a bed which has been used already. That would seem a real crime in her eyes. That can't be; no, it mustn't. I hope you can see it, too, don't you?"

"Yes," Bruno said, much depressed, for he had to agree. But Uncle could not stand such downcast spirits.

"Listen, Bruno," he said, "you realize that we can't do it that way. But an uncle knows how to arrange things and that is why he is here. This is the way we'll do. I'll sleep in your bed, and Salo and you can sleep in the guest-room. Will that suit?"

"Oh, thank you, Uncle Philip! There is no other uncle like you," Bruno cried out in his enthusiasm.

So Uncle Philip's last difficulty was solved for to-day and everybody was willing to go to bed. Soon the house lay in deep quiet: even the sick child in the highest story lay calmly sleeping on her cool pillows. She did not even notice when Mrs. Maxa stepped up once more to her bedside with a little lamp. Before herself retiring she wanted to listen once more to the child's breathing. Only the two new friends were still talking long after midnight.

They understood each other so thoroughly and upon all points that Bruno had proposed in his enthusiasm that they would not waste one minute of the night in sleep. Salo expressed his wish over and over again that Bruno might become his comrade in the boarding school. But finally victorious sleep stole unperceived over the two lads and quietly closed their eyes.



CHAPTER VII

THE MOTHER'S ABSENCE HAS CONSEQUENCES

Next morning Salo was allowed to go into his sister's room in order to say good-bye to her. She looked at him so cheerfully that he asked with eager delight, "Do you feel so much better already, Leonore?"

"Oh, yes, I feel as if I were at home," she replied with shining eyes. "I feel as if our mother had come down from heaven to take care of me."

"When you can get up and go downstairs you will be happier still. I know how much you will enjoy meeting the whole family," said Salo. "Then you will feel as if you were in a real home that belongs to you."

"It is such a shame that you have to go," Leonore sighed, but this time the tears did not come quite so urgently. How things had changed since yesterday—how different it was now to stay behind!

At this moment Mrs. Maxa entered the room.

She had left it as she wanted to give brother and sister an opportunity to see each other alone, but the time had come for Salo to depart, and he was obliged to leave his sister. To-day it seemed harder for him to go away than leave Leonore behind.

"I can't even say that I wish you to come soon. I have to hope that you can remain here a long while," he said cheerily, while Leonore was smiling bravely. Uncle Philip, ready for the journey, stood beside the carriage. All the children ran towards Salo as soon as he appeared, and when he said good-bye, he was treated like a friend of the family of many years' standing. Each of the children showed his grief in a special manner. Maezli cried loudly over and over again, "Oh, Salo, please come soon again, please come soon again."

When the carriage was rolling away and the handkerchiefs that fluttered him last greetings were all Salo could see from the distance, he rapidly brushed away a few tears. He had never felt so thoroughly at home anywhere in the world before. How happy he had been! The thought of going far away and possibly never coming back gave him a little pang of grief.

When the children returned at noon from school they were still full of their vivid impression of Salo's sudden appearance and departure. They were all anxious to tell their mother about it, because they knew that they could always count on her lively sympathy. One or the other of the children kept forgetting that the mother must not be sought and would absent-mindedly make an attempt to go upstairs, but they were always met by unexpected resistance. Lippo on his arrival home from school had posted himself there to see that his mother's orders were strictly kept. He also had missed her desperately, but he had nevertheless remembered her injunctions and was quite certain that the others might forget and act contrary to her orders. Placing himself on the first step, he would hold any of his brothers or sisters with both hands when they came towards him as they dashed upstairs. When he cried out loudly, "We mustn't do it, we mustn't do it," they ran away again, quite frightened, for his horrified shrieks might have penetrated into the sick-room. Kathy was the only one who appreciated Lippo's worth. She had received orders to remind the children of the strict command, and she knew quite well from previous experiences that she could never have succeeded as effectively as he. Maezli, meanwhile, was sitting at Apollonie's table, gayly eating a snow-white milk-pudding which Apollonie knew so well how to prepare. Whenever Maezli came to a meal at her house, she always set this favorite dish before the child.

The days when Maezli came for a visit here were happy days for Loneli. There was always something funny going on at meal-time, because Maezli had so many amusing things to speak about. On those days she was never obliged to tell her grandmother exactly what lessons she had known in school and which she had not. Usually Apollonie was dreadfully anxious to hear how punctually she had fulfilled her duties, and she always chose lunch-time for that purpose because then no other affair interfered with talking. Beaming with joy, Loneli now sat beside Maezli, who was telling uninterruptedly about Salo. She told them that he was friendlier and nicer than any boy she had ever seen, and she quoted Bruno, Mea and Kurt as saying exactly the same thing. Usually they disagreed on such points. Apollonie was quite absorbed in listening, too, and nodding her head once in a while, she seemed to say: "Yes, yes, I know that he couldn't be called Salo for nothing." This interesting subject of conversation kept her longer than usual to-day.

"Suddenly she started up, quite frightened. Oh, is it possible? It is nearly one o'clock. Hurry up, Loneli, or you'll be late for school. Maezli, you and I have something to do, too, this afternoon. I shall take you on a walk and I'll tell you where we are going as soon as we start."

As the dishes had to be washed first, Apollonie thought that Maezli might go out to play in the garden. But Maezli preferred to see the plates washed and dried and afterwards set in neat rows. After these tasks Apollonie put on a good apron, a beautiful neck-cloth, and after packing up several shirts, cloths and stockings into a large basket the two set out.

"Where are we going?" Maezli asked, inspecting the basket. "Who are you taking these things to?"

"They belong to Mr. Trius," replied Apollonie. "We are going all the way up to the castle, as far as the great iron door. When I pull the bell-knob, Mr. Trius comes and gets this basket. You'll be able to peep in through the door till he comes back again with the empty basket."

"Can one look into the garden from there and see the big mignonette-bushes that mama liked so much?" Maezli asked.

"Yes, yes, the garden is there," Apollonie replied with a profound sigh, "but the great rose and mignonette beds are gone. It would take a long time nowadays to find even a couple of the flowers."

"We could surely find them inside," Maezli said with great certainty.

"But Maezli, what are you thinking of? Nobody is allowed to go in. You see, Mr. Trius lets nobody either into the garden or into the castle," Apollonie repeated with great emphasis. "I should have gone in long ago if he had let me. Oh, how I should have loved to go, and I know how badly needed I am. What a dreadful disorder all the rooms must be in! If I could only go a single time to do the most necessary things!" Apollonie in her great trouble had quite forgotten that she was speaking to little Maezli.

"Why should you bring him so many shirts and stockings if he doesn't let you in? Don't bring him anything," Maezli cried out indignantly.

"No, no, Maezli. You see, these are his shirts and stockings, and I have only washed and mended them for him," Apollonie explained.

"Besides, Mr. Trius can't do as he pleases. Do you see the open windows up there? No, you couldn't see them from here. Well, up there lives a sick gentleman, a baron, who won't let anybody come into the garden. He is the master there and can give orders, and people must not disobey him. Look, one can see the open windows quite plainly now."

"Can we see the bad baron, too?" asked Maezli peeping up searchingly.

"I did not say that he was bad, Maezli, I only said that he can give orders," Apollonie corrected. "And you can't see him because he is lying sick in bed. Look, look! the fine, thick raspberry bushes used to be there." Apollonie was pointing to wild-looking shrubs that were climbing up the castle incline. "Oh, how different it all used to be! Two splendid hedges used to run up there, then across and down again on the other side. Both girls and boys used to feast on them for whole days at a time, and there were always enough left for pots and pots full of jam. And now how terrible it all looks! Everything is growing wild. Nobody who has known the place the way I knew it could have ever thought that it would look like this."

Maezli was not very deeply moved by the change. She had long been gazing at the high gate which was to be their destination and which they were nearing rapidly.

"Does Mr. Trius take his big stick along when he comes down to the gate?" she asked, looking cautiously about her.

"Yes, yes, he never goes about without it, Maezli, but you need not be afraid," Apollonie calmed her. "He won't hurt you, and I should advise him not to. Look! there he comes already. He has been spying about, and nothing ever escapes him."

Mr. Trius was already standing at the gate with his stick and opened it. "That is fine," he said, receiving the basket, and was in the act of closing the door again immediately.

"No, no, Mr. Trius, don't do that!" said Apollonie, restraining him. She had vigorously pushed back the door and posted herself firmly in the opening. "I always do my duty punctually and I like to do it because you belong to the castle. But you can at least let me have a word about the master's health."

"The same," was the reply.

"The same; what does that mean?" Apollonie retorted. "Do you watch him while he sleeps? Are you cooking the right things for him? What does the master eat?"

"Venison."

"What? How can you cook such things for him? Such rich and heavy meat for a sick man! What does the doctor say to that?"

"Nothing."

"What, nothing? He certainly must say what his patient ought to eat. Who is his doctor? I hope a good one. I am afraid the master is not troubling much about it. Did you fetch the one from Sils? He is very careful, I know."

"No."

"Who do you have?"

"No one."

Apollonie threw up her arms in violent agitation. "So the baron lies up there sick and lonely and nobody even fetches a doctor. Oh, if his mother knew this! That simply won't do, and I am going in. Please let me in. The master won't have to see me at all. All I want to do is to cook something strengthening for him. I shall only put his room in order, and if he happens to get up, I can make his bed. Oh, please let me in, Mr. Trius! You know that I'll do anything in the world for you. Please let me nurse the sick master!"

Apollonie's voice had grown supplicating.

"Forbidden," was the curt reply.

"But I am no stranger here. I have served in this house for more than thirty years," Apollonie went on eagerly. "I know what is needed and what the master ought to have. Things are not attended to at all, I fear, and indeed I know it. After all I am an old acquaintance, and I'll only come an hour a day to do the most urgent task."

"Nobody is allowed to come," Mr. Trius said again in his unchangeable, dry tone. It was all the same to him whether Apollonie begged or scolded. In her anxiety about the sick master she had forgotten everything else.

"Where is the child?" she suddenly cried out in great anxiety. "Good gracious, where is she? She must have run into the garden."

Mr. Trius had suddenly grown more lively. Throwing the gate to with great violence, he turned the huge key before pulling it rapidly out. He realized that Apollonie was capable of doing anything in her excitement about the lost child.

"Witch's baggage!" he murmured angrily. Swinging his stick in a threatening way, he ran towards the castle.

"Mr. Trius," Apollonie screamed after him with all her might, "if you touch the child you will have to reckon with me, do you hear? Hold the stick down. She can't help being frightened if she sees you."

But he had quickly been lost from view. While Apollonie and Mr. Trius had been absorbed in their violent altercation and had stared at each other, she in wild excitement and he in stiff immovability, Maezli had slipped from between the two as swiftly as a little mouse. Then she had merrily wandered up towards the castle hoping that she would soon see the garden with the lovely flowers. But all she could see were wild bushes and stretches of grass with only the yellow sparkling flowers which grow in every common meadow. This was not what Maezli had expected, so she went up to the terrace of the castle and looked about from there for the flower garden. At the end of the terrace where the little pine wood began she saw something that looked like fiery yellow flowers and quickly ran there. But instead of flowers she saw a lion skin shining in the sun. To see what was under the skin Maezli came closer. A head was raised up and two sharp eyes were directed towards her. It was a man who had half raised himself on the long chair which was covered by the skin. As soon as she saw that it was a human being and not a lion, she came nearer and asked quite confidentially, "Do you happen to know where the beautiful old mignonette is, that mama saw in the garden here?"

"No," the man answered curtly.

"Maybe Mr. Trius knows, but one can't ask him. Are you afraid of Mr. Trius, too?" Maezli asked.

"No."

"But he always goes about with a big stick. Kurt has made a song about him where he tells everything that Mr. Trius does," Maezli chattered on. "It begins like this:

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

I don't remember the rest, but it is quite long. But he wants to make a song about Salo now, because he is so awfully nice. He said it as soon as Salo went away today. We all like him, and Bruno said that if he made a stupid song he would tear it up."

"Is everybody here called Salo and Bruno?" the gentleman burst out angrily.

"No, nobody except Bruno, you know; he is my big brother," Maezli explained. "Salo only came yesterday and went away again to-day. But he did not want to go and we wanted to keep him. But he was not allowed to. If his sister is well again, she has to go away, too. But we don't know her yet. Her name is Leonore."

"Who sent you here?" the gentleman ejaculated harshly. But Maezli only looked at him in astonishment.

"Nobody has sent me. Nobody knows where I am, not even Apollonie," Maezli began to explain. "I only ran away because Apollonie had to tell Mr. Trius so many things and I wanted to see the mignonette. I am visiting Apollonie because mama has to nurse Leonore, who is ill and can't come down. Because I don't obey Kathy very well and she has to cook, I spend the days with Apollonie. Oh, here he comes!" Maezli interrupted herself suddenly, for she was frightened. Coming close to her new acquaintance, as if to seek his protection, she whispered confidentially. "Oh, won't you help me, please, if he tries to hurt me?"

Mr. Trius was rushing towards them, holding out his stick in front like an emblem of his profession. The gentleman only made a light gesture with his hand, and Mr. Trius disappeared as he had come.

"Won't he hurt me if I come down to the door where he stands?" Maezli asked. She retreated slightly from her protector, whom she had held tightly in her fear of the stick.

"No," he replied curtly, but his voice did not sound as severe as before, a fact which Maezli noticed immediately. She was very grateful to him for chasing Mr. Trius away and she now felt desirous of doing him a service in return.

"Do you always have to sit alone here all the time? Does no one come to see you?" she asked, full of sympathy.

"No."

"Oh, then I must come to you another time and I'll keep you company," Maezli said consolingly. "Does the bad baron never come down to you here?" she asked anxiously.

"Where is he?" came a second question.

"Don't you know that?" Maezli said in great surprise. "He is up there where the windows are open." With this Maezli looked up, and walking close to the chair, whispered cautiously, "A sick baron lies up there. Apollonie says that he is not bad, but I know that one has to be afraid of him. Are you afraid of him?"

"No."

"Then I won't be afraid of him either," Maezli remarked, quite reassured. The gentleman who had chased away Mr. Trius so easily and was not afraid of the bad baron gave her all the confidence in the world. Under his protection she could face every danger.

"I'll go home now, but I'll come soon again," and with this Maezli gave her hand in a most winning way. When she wanted to say good-bye she realized that she did not know either the gentleman's name or title, so she stopped.

"I am the Castle Steward," said the gentleman, helping Maezli. When the leave-taking was done Maezli ran back towards the door. Sure enough, Mr. Trius was standing inside the portals and Apollonie on the outside, for the careful man had not opened them again. He thought that the excited woman might forcibly enter the garden in order to seek the child.

"God be thanked that you are here again!" she cried when Maezli came out. She quickly took her hand. Mr. Trius, after violently shutting the gate, had immediately turned his back upon the visitors.

"I was simply frightened to death, Maezli. How could you run away from me? I did not know where you had got to."

"You didn't need to be so frightened," Maezli said with calm assurance. "I was with the Castle-Steward. I don't need to be afraid of anything with him, not even of Mr. Trius."

"What, the Castle-Steward! What are you saying, Maezli? Who said it was the Steward?" Apollonie's words were full of anxiety, as if Maezli might be threatened with great danger.

"He told me so himself. He was sitting all alone under a big tree. He sits there alone all the time. But I am going up to see him soon again," Maezli informed her.

"No, no, Maezli, what are you thinking of? You can't do it if he has not told you to. I am sure Mr. Trius will see that you won't get in there any more," said Apollonie, and she was quite sure that Maezli's plan would never succeed.

But if Maezli ever made a discovery, she was not easily led away.

"Yes, but he won't be allowed to stop me," she said a little scornfully.

That evening Loneli was allowed to bring Maezli home. She always loved to go to Mrs. Maxa's house, because Kurt and Mea were her best friends. Loneli was always so friendly and obliging to everybody that the school children often asked her to deliver messages. This often took place in cases of estrangements when a third person was needed. Loneli had been asked after school to-day to give a message to Mea and she was glad of the chance to deliver it.

Mea had sent a proposal of peace to Elvira through Loneli, for she hated the constant sulking of her friend and the unpleasant new manner she exhibited in turning her back upon her. Mea had twice before tried to be reconciled to the embittered Elvira, but unfortunately in vain. She did not dare to admit this to Kurt, who would not have approved of her behaviour but would have even made a horrible song about it. But one could always rely on Loneli, who was discreet. Mea, standing at the window, saw Loneli coming towards the house and ran down to meet her.

"I have to tell you something terribly sad about Elvira," Loneli said, quite downcast.

"What is it? What is it?" Mea asked.

"She doesn't ever want to renew her friendship with you and she has asked me to tell you that. You may be sure that I should not tell you if I did not have to," Loneli added, "because it makes me so sad."

Mea reflected a moment, wondering what she had really done. All she had been guilty of was accusing Elvira of an act of injustice. So all friendly feelings between them were to be withdrawn for all time as her punishment.

"Elvira can sulk for the rest of eternity, if she wants to," Mea said now without the slightest trace of sadness. Loneli was greatly surprised. "There are other people in this world besides her. I should have loved to tell Elvira who was staying with us. Never has anybody been so nice and pleased us so. I wish I could have told her who is here now, though we don't know her yet; but Elvira keeps on turning her back on me. You see, Loneli, the nicest boy, about Bruno's age, came to see us, and his sister is sick upstairs. We are not allowed to see her just yet, but I can hardly wait till she comes down. If she is as nice as her brother, she is the nicest child any of us have ever seen."

At this description Loneli's vivacious eyes fairly gleamed with sympathy.

"What is her name," she asked expectantly.

"Leonore," Mea answered.

"Oh," Loneli immediately began, "my grandmother also knew a young lady called Leonore. She always says that that young lady was as lovely as an angel and that there could not be anybody in the world as wonderful as she."

"I am rather glad if Leonore is not like an angel, for she might not be my friend then," Mea said quickly. "Elvira even, who certainly is not at all like an angel, has to break her friendship with me every few weeks."

"Maybe she does that because she is so little like an angel," Loneli suggested.

At this both children laughed. Often Loneli found exactly the right word to say which would throw light on the matter. Kurt always enjoyed these remarks of hers.

At that moment shrieks of joy sounded from the house: "Mama is coming! Mama is coming!"

Lippo, the watchman, had posted himself again on the stairs as soon as he had returned from school, and he had found ample work there. Kurt had again forgotten the command and had to be chased away, and even Bruno had made an attempt to quietly steal up to his mother. But all this had only brought horrified cries from the little boy.

They had both meant no wrong whatever. All they had wanted was to quickly say a word to the mother through the open door. Nevertheless, Lippo had grown terribly wrought up about it. A firm command had been given, and they had tried to break it, so they all had been obliged to give way before his violent noise.

A strange gentleman had come, too, who was half-way up the stairs with two leaps. But Lippo had grabbed the tails of his coat and, holding on to them with both hands, shrieked, "Nobody is allowed to go up. You must not go up."

Laughingly turning about, the gentleman said, "Just let me go, little one. I am allowed because I am the doctor. Your uncle told me where to go, so I'll easily find my way. But I'll make use of you some day, for you are a splendid sentinel."

When the doctor on his return found him still on the same spot, he called him a pillar of good order and told him that he would send for him if he should ever need a reliable watchman.

Soon after, Lippo uttered sudden shouts of joy, for he saw his mother coming downstairs. What a surprise it was to see her when they had thought that she would be shut up for one or two days longer!

"Mama is coming! Mama is coming!"

All had heard his exclamations and Mea was the first to appear, pulling Loneli after her. Bruno came rushing from one side and Kurt from the other, and Maezli shot like an arrow right into their midst. The mother found herself solidly surrounded.

"Mama, just think—"

"Oh, listen, mama!"

"Oh, mama, I want to tell you—"

"Do you know, mama?"

This came from all sides and all at once.

"To-morrow, children, to-morrow," said the mother. "We must be very happy that we can see each other so soon again. I wanted to send one of you to Apollonie, but I am glad to see you here, Loneli."

Mrs. Maxa now told Loneli the message she was to take to her grandmother. The doctor had just been there and had found Leonore much better already. As her fever had gone down, he feared no serious illness. Leonore was to spend several more days in bed and therefore she was to have a nurse who could also take care of her at night-time. For this nobody better than grandmother Apollonie could be found, and Mrs. Maxa would be so glad for her patient's and her own sake if she could arrange to come to the house for several days and nights. She told Loneli to tell her grandmother that the little girl was named Leonore and that Mrs. Maxa was quite sure she would not be hard to take care of.

The mother would not allow herself to be detained any longer. To all the questions which stormed in upon her she only had one answer: "To-morrow, children, to-morrow." Then she disappeared again into the sick room.

"Please tell me what she is like, when you have seen her. I am so curious," said Loneli, taking leave, and Mea promised to give the sympathetic Loneli a full report of everything.

Next morning extremely early Apollonie appeared at Mrs. Maxa's house. As the door was not open yet, she knocked quietly and after a while Kathy appeared with heavy, sleepy eyes.

"Why should anybody rush about at this early hour," she said a little angrily. It did not suit her at all that Apollonie should have found out what a short time she had been astir.

"I begin my day at this hour," said Apollonie, "and there is no need for me to rush about. I can leave that to those who get up late. I have come to take Mrs. Rector's place in the sick room."

"She hasn't even called yet," Kathy flung out.

"So much the better, then I have at least not come too late. I can find some work everywhere," and with this Apollonie entered the living room and began to set it in order.

Kathy did not hinder her and, to show her gratitude, attempted to start a little conversation. But Apollonie was not in the mood for that. She was solely filled by the question who the sick Leonore was that she was going to nurse. Could it be possible?

That moment a bell sounded from upstairs, and Apollonie obeyed the call. Mrs. Maxa, opening the door, let her enter. Wide awake, Leonore was sitting up in bed. Her thick, curly hair was falling far down below her shoulders, and her dark, solemn eyes were gazing with surprise at Apollonie. The latter looked immovably at the little girl, while tears were coursing down her cheeks.

"Oh, oh," she said, as soon as she was able to control her emotion, "one does not need to ask where our little Leonore comes from. It seems to me as if old times had come back again. Yes, she looked exactly like that when she came to the castle; only she was not quite so pale."

"Leonore," Mrs. Maxa said, "Mrs. Apollonie has known both your father and mother very well. So I thought that you would like to have her for a nurse."

"Certainly," Leonore replied happily, while she stretched out her hand in a friendly manner towards Apollonie. "Won't you tell me everything you know about them?" Apollonie was only too glad to do that, but in her agitation she had first to wipe her eyes.

There was no end to the children's enthusiasm when they found that their mother was to be their own again. The unaccustomed separation had seemed much longer and harder to bear than they had imagined, but it was all over now, she was back and would be theirs now for all time to come.

Bruno suggested that they should divide up their mother's time between them to-day. This would make it possible for all to get her hearing separately. In all this time a great deal of matter had accumulated which was crying to be heard. If they were all to talk to her at once, as had happened several times before, no one would have any satisfaction, as she might not even be able to understand them. So it was settled that every child should have their mother alone for an hour, and they were to take their turns according to age.

"So of course the first hour after school from eleven till twelve belongs to me," was Bruno's statement.

"From one till two I shall have my turn," Mea cried out. She was counting on asking her mother so many questions that they might easily take three hours. She had no communications to make but she was terribly eager to hear all about Leonore.

"I'll get the time between four and five o'clock," said Kurt. This term suited him exactly, as he had a secret hope of prolonging it somewhat. The two little ones were to have the remaining time before supper, and Kurt thought that they could not have very much to tell, whereas he was in need of a great deal of advice.

The mother had been quite certain that Bruno in his interview with her would make a last, desperate effort to escape having to live with the Knippel boys. What was her surprise when she found that this had been entirely pushed into the background by his lively sympathy in Salo's destiny.

Bruno's thoughts were constantly occupied by the thought that his new, charming friend stood entirely alone in the world. As Salo had no one who could help him to find a home, Bruno hoped that his mother would be able to give him some advice. He felt sure that she would gladly do this, for she loved both children tenderly, as she had formerly loved their parents.

The boy had been absolutely right when he supposed that Mrs. Maxa would be glad to help them, but she had to tell Bruno frankly that there was no advice she was able to give. She had no authority over the children and could therefore do nothing, as everything depended on Salo's early completion of his studies so that he could choose an occupation. This would have to be settled by the gentleman of whom Salo had spoken. He was probably a relation of their mother's who had undertaken the care of the children.

Bruno was terribly cast down when he heard this. When his mother did not give him help and counsel right away, she usually gave him some hope by saying, "We shall see." As she had not said this to-day, he felt certain that nothing could be done. But the mother's unhappy face showed to Bruno that her disability did not come from a lack of sympathy, and that it pained her very much that she could do nothing.

When Bruno came out of the room he was very silent and sadder than he had ever been in his life.

Mea, on the contrary, came skipping out from her interview. Her mother had told her that Leonore was charming, refined and modest, besides being extremely grateful for every little favor. But what thrilled Mea beyond everything was that Leonore had repeatedly told her mother how much she looked forward to meeting her, because the two were of an age. Leonore's only fear was that Mea might find her rather tiresome. All the girls in the boarding school had always accused her of that, for she was often terribly unhappy, and she could not help it. Mea was more eager than ever now to meet Leonore, for she was already filled with a warm love for the sick child. She could talk and think of practically nothing but Leonore.

"I certainly have to make a song about this violent new friendship," Kurt said in the evening, when Mea had urged more than once, "Oh, mother, I hope you won't let Leonore go as soon as she can come down and the doctor says she is well; otherwise we shall barely be able to become acquainted."

Mea flared like a rocket at her brother's suggestion, crying violently, "Indeed you won't, Kurt."

"Mea, Mea," the mother admonished her, "I propose to do all I can to keep Leonore here as long as possible, but—"

"But, Mea, she might be put to flight with fear and never be seen again if you attack your poor brothers in such a way," Kurt quickly concluded the mother's sentence.

Mea had to laugh over this speech, which little resembled her mother's style of talking.

"My dear Kurt," she said, "I am quite able to complete a sentence without your assistance. I wanted to say that I should not be able to do very much, because the ladies will take Leonore when it suits them best. I have to admit, however, that there was some truth in Kurt's reply. Leonore has such a delicate, refined nature that it might frighten her to see you carried away by such passion, Mea."

When the doctor came back again in two days he was surprised at the improved condition of his little patient. "If she was not so very young," the doctor said to Mrs. Maxa while she accompanied him out of the room, "I should say that her illness came largely from some hidden sorrow and inner suffering. She has apparently been able to shake it off in the good care and affectionate treatment she is getting here. But I can scarcely believe this of a child."

When Mrs. Maxa asked him how soon Leonore could leave the room and spend the day with her very active children, he answered, "She can do it from to-morrow on. Nothing can possibly refresh her more than some lively playmates."

With this he took his leave. Going downstairs, he met Apollonie, who was just coming up with a supper-tray laden with delicate dishes for the sick child.

"That is right," said the doctor; "it gives one an appetite only to look at it."

"Yes, the poor child eats like a little bird," said Apollonie; "but Mrs. Rector says that there must be things to choose from in order to tempt her. How is she getting along, doctor? Do you think she'll get well again? Isn't she just like a little angel?"

"That is hard for me to say, as I do not know any angels," he said smiling, "but she might be for all I know. I am sure that she will get well with careful nursing, and you are sure to see to that, Mrs. Apollonie. You seem to think that in being given care of the child you have drawn the big prize in the lottery."

"Indeed I have. I really have," she cried after him.

No event had ever been looked forward to with such great suspense in Mrs. Maxa's house as the appearance of Leonore. As soon as all the children were home from school the next morning, their mother fetched her down. The three older ones were standing expectantly together in a little group, while the two smaller ones had placed themselves with wide-open eyes near the door. Leonore, entering, greeted one after the other in such an engaging, confidential way that she made them feel as if they were old friends. She loved their mother so much and had been so closely drawn to her that she was fond of the children before she had even seen them. This pleased them tremendously, for they had expected Leonore to be very different from themselves and had been rather afraid of her. As soon as they saw her, they felt that they might each be special friends with their charming guest. Leonore found herself surrounded by them all in a corner of the sofa. As she did not look at all strong yet, the mother had led her there. Leonore tried to answer all the questions, listen to all the projects and information which were showered upon her, while her eyes danced with merriment. These unusual surroundings made Leonore so happy that her face became quite rosy. Mea had been already completed in her mind a plan which, if it succeeded, would make it possible for her to have Leonore to herself sometimes. Since all her brothers and sisters liked the visitor so much, it was not easy to get her off alone. If only her mother would sanction the plan! That day Mea had to set the table, and when lunch time had come, she quickly ran to her mother to ask her if she might take Apollonie's place in Leonore's room, and to her great delight she willingly consented. Mea told her she would only be too glad to wait on Leonore at night if she could but be with her. Leonore really needed no more special care, and in case of an emergency Mea could easily run down to fetch her mother.

"Leonore will mean more to you than she will ever realize," the mother concluded, "and I feel very gratified if you can do something for her, too."

Mrs. Maxa then informed Apollonie of the new plan, and she felt sure that the latter would be glad to get home again.

"I do everything in my power for that angel," she exclaimed. "I should go to live in the desert if only I could procure a home for her."

After dinner she went to Leonore to say good-bye, and the child pressed her hand most warmly, thanking her for the good care she had received.

"I shall never forget how kind you have been, Apollonie," she said heartily. "I shall come to see you as soon as I am allowed to go. I hope that we shall see each other very often."

"Oh, yes, I hope so! Please ask Mrs. Rector to let you come to me as often as possible," said Apollonie before leaving.

Leonore now told the children that Apollonie had very vividly described to her the lovely home of her parents and the wonderful life in the castle. She had said frankly that she would never desire such a fine home, if only Salo and she could call a little house their own, so the good-hearted Apollonie had suggested that they might live with her. She could easily let them have the whole cottage with the exception of a tiny chamber. She could wait on them, and what more could they desire? Leonore had felt that this would be better than anything she had dreamed of, as she could come over to Mrs. Maxa and her children as often as she pleased. How happy Salo would be if she wrote him about it.

"Yes, you can," Maezli declared. "Her house is a lovely place to live in. Loneli is there, who does everything one wants her to, and Apollonie always cooks what one likes best."

Kurt made a little enigmatical remark to Maezli about her greed, but before she could have it explained to her, the mother turned to Leonore.

"I do not want you to be deluded by this thought, dear child," she said, "for that might only bring you disappointment. As soon as you are well, you can walk to Apollonie's cottage and then you will see what a tiny place it is. The great obstacle of Salo's studies would not be put aside in that way, either, for he could not join you there for years."

"Oh, I was thinking all the time how lovely it would be to live with Apollonie! It would be so wonderful—I could live with her there and Salo could come to us in the holidays till he is through with his studies. Then we could both settle here in the neighborhood."

Leonore had been counting on this new scheme and she looked up at Mrs. Maxa as if she longed for her consent. As Mrs. Maxa did not have the heart to shatter the child's hopes completely, she decided to let the matter rest for the present. As soon as they could visit Apollonie, Leonore could judge for herself how impossible the plan was.

Leonore's eyes were usually very sad, but occasionally she would look quite merry, and it was so that she appeared that evening when the children were surrounding her on all sides. When each had to tell her so much and tried to be nearest her, she experienced the feeling that she had come to a family to which she really belonged. Each of the children had founded a special relation with Leonore. Bruno saw himself as her protector and adviser, and as her brother's close friend he meant to keep an active watch over her. Mea, whose thoughts had been completely absorbed for days in her new friend, brought her all the warmth of a heart which craved friendship passionately. Kurt had made it his duty to cheer up the rather melancholy child as much as was in his power. Lippo, still filled a little with his post of sentinel, always came close to her as if he still needed to watch over her. Maezli was of the firm opinion that she had to entertain the guest, so she would relate fragments of funny things she knew, passing from one to another. In this way Leonore got to hear of the Knippel family. The time passed so quickly that loud laments were heard when the mother announced that it was time for Leonore to retire. She did not want her strength to be overtaxed on her first day out of bed.

"We shall have many more days after this when we can be together," she added. "Let us be glad of that."

"There might not be so many, for I feel quite well already," Leonore said with a sigh.

Mrs. Maxa smiled.

"We must thank God for that. But you need to get strong, and I hope that you may find the needed recreation and change here." Then she accompanied the two girls up to their room at the top of the house. As Mea was to be Leonore's sole nurse from now on, Mrs. Maxa wanted to reassure herself that nothing was missing. It was in Mea's nature to endow every new friend with marvellous qualities. Her imagination was always as active as her heart, which she gave unreservedly on such occasions. Unfortunately Mea suffered many disappointments in that way, because on nearer acquaintance her friends very seldom came up to her expectations. She always tried hard to hold on to the original image, even if it did not in the least coincide with what her friends proved to be in reality and this brought on numberless fights with Kurt, who, with his usual shrewdness, could not help revealing to her the real state of affairs. This always disillusioned her finally, for it was hard to deny his proofs. Whenever another girl woke a passionate love in her, she was bound to expect something unusual from her.

A week had passed since Leonore had spent her first day as convalescent among the family. As Mea had the privilege of being in the closest, most intimate contact with her new friend in the late evening hours, she was in a state of perfect bliss. Every moment of the day that she was home she tried to be at Leonore's side and in her walks to and from school there existed for her no other subject of conversation than Leonore.

It was quite unusual that Kurt had not produced a rhyme about her great devotion. He had not once said: "Things will be different after a while." Brother and sister this time were entirely of one opinion about her: it even seemed as if Kurt himself had caught a touch of the friendship fever, as he used to call Mea's great devotion.

Apparently Bruno was of the same opinion, too. In all his free hours he used to sit in a corner of the room with his books, paying no attention to anything else, but since Leonore had come he always joined the merry group and generally had something to relate or to show for Leonore's entertainment. This he did in a quiet, gentler manner, such that it seemed as if he would hardly have behaved otherwise.

Lippo felt so comfortable in Leonore's presence that he always kept as close to her as possible. Even when he told his experiences at great length, she never became impatient, but encouraged him to go on when his brothers and sisters made sarcastic remarks about him.

From time to time he would confidentially say to her: "Just stay with us always, Leonore. You are at home here now, even if you have no home anywhere else." This was uttered in a spirit of utter conviction, as the little boy had heard it from her own lips and was sure that this would be the best for them all.

Leonore blushed a deep scarlet at these words, as if Lippo had pronounced a thought she did not dare to foster in her own heart. Once his mother had noticed this, so she told Lippo one evening, not to say this again. As it was impossible to keep Leonore, it was much better not to speak of it, as it only gave her pain. As this was a firm command, Lippo obeyed faithfully. He kept on, however, showing Leonore that he loved to be with her.

Maezli's love for Leonore showed itself more than anything in a wish to lend her a helping; hand in many things which the little girl felt her lovely friend stood in need of. She had seen quite plainly that Leonore often became very sad when everyone else about her was laughing and she herself had been quite bright a moment before. But Maezli knew how she was going to help. She meant to tell Apollonie how to fit up her cottage for Leonore and Salo, who, she hoped, would spend his holidays there, too. She meant to superintend these preparations herself and to have it all fixed as daintily as possible.

By this time Mea's new friend was adored by the whole family, and they showed it by doing all in their power for her. They had agreed that she differed absolutely from Mea's former friends. They could not analyze wherein lay the charm which pervaded her whole personality. The children had never known anybody who was so polite towards everyone, including Kathy, who only spoke affectionate, tender words, and always seemed so grateful when others were kind to her. This spirit was something new and extremely delightful. They had to admit to themselves that they wished everybody would act in such a way, as this would do away forever with the fights and altercations that had always arisen between them, and for which they were afterwards always sorry. The only thing they would have been glad to change in Leonore were her sudden fits of gloom, which affected them all. Leonore tried very hard to fight these depressing thoughts, but they went so deep that she seldom succeeded. Their mother consoled them by saying that Leonore would get stronger as soon as she could take walks with them in the woods and meadows, and that feelings which now weighed on her would then seem lighter.

A few days later the children, including Leonore, came back with rosy cheeks and glowing eyes from their first walk to the surrounding hills. The fresh mountain breeze had exhilarated them so much that the feeling of well-being was laughing from their young faces. Even Leonore's cheeks, that were usually so pale, were faintly tinged with a rosy hue. The mother stepped out of the garden into the road in order to welcome the children.

"Oh," she cried out joyfully. "This first walk has been splendid. Leonore looks like a fresh apple-blossom."

Taking her hand with great tenderness between her own, she gazed at her very closely in order to rejoice over the rosy color on the child's delicate face. That moment a beggar-woman approached, holding by each hand a little girl. The children's clothes were so ragged that their little bodies were scarcely covered.

Looking at Mrs. Maxa, the beggar-woman said, "Yes, yes, children can make one happy enough when one has a home. You are a fortunate lady to have a good roof for your own. It would be better for two such homeless ones as these not to exist! They are sure to remain homeless all their lives, and that is the saddest thing of all."

With that she stretched out her hand, for Mrs. Maxa was looking at her intently. Leonore had quickly taken off her shawl and jacket.

"May I give it to them?" she asked Mrs. Maxa in a low voice.

The beggar-woman had already noticed the girl's gesture and stretched out her hands in her direction.

"I am glad, young lady, that you have pity for these homeless ones, even if you do not know what that means. God bless you!"

Leonore looked imploringly into Mrs. Maxa's face. The latter nodded, as it was too late now to explain to Leonore what action would have been better. She made up her mind to do it afterwards for similar occasions. With many words the poor woman thanked her for the gift. She was very anxious to kiss the young lady's hand for the two garments, but Leonore had immediately run away. Mea followed and found Leonore, who had been so merry on the walk, sitting in her sofa-corner, crying bitterly with her head between her hands.