one, with tall black trees on either side—a little road—'
'Salad, salad!' cried the Frau's voice from the house.
Soon the children came home from school, dinner was eaten, the Man took the Frau's share of pudding as well as his own, and the three children seemed to smear themselves all over with whatever they ate. Then more dish- washing and more cleaning and baby-minding. So the afternoon dragged coldly through.
Old Frau Grathwohl came in with a fresh piece of pig's flesh for the Frau, and the Child listened to them gossiping together.
'Frau Manda went on her 'journey to Rome' last night, and brought back a daughter. How are you feeling?'
'I was sick twice this morning,' said the Frau. 'My insides are all twisted up with having children too quickly.'
'I see you've got a new help,' commented old Mother Grathwohl.
'Oh, dear Lord'—the Frau lowered her voice—'don't you know her? She's the free-born one—daughter of the waitress at the railway station. They found her mother trying to squeeze her head in the wash-hand jug, and the child's half silly.'
'Ts—ts—ts!' whispered the 'free-born' one to the baby.
As the day drew in the Child-Who-Was-Tired did not know how to fight her sleepiness any longer. She was afraid to sit down or stand still. As she sat at supper the Man and the Frau seemed to swell to an immense size as she watched them, and then become smaller than dolls, with little voices that seemed to come from outside the window. Looking at the baby, it suddenly had two heads, and then no head. Even his crying made her feel worse. When she thought of the nearness of bedtime she shook all over with excited joy. But as eight o'clock approached there was the sound of wheels on the road, and presently in came a party of friends to spend the evening.
Then it was:
'Put on the coffee.'
'Bring me the sugar tin.'
'Carry the chairs out of the bedroom.'
'Set the table.'
And, finally, the Frau sent her into the next room to keep the baby quiet.
There was a little piece of candle burning in the enamel bracket. As she walked up and down she saw her great big shadow on the wall like a grown-up person with a grown-up baby. Whatever would it look like when she carried two babies so!
'Ts—ts—ts! Once upon a time she was walking along a little white road, with oh! such great big black trees on either side.'
'Here you!' called the Frau's voice, 'bring me my new jacket from behind the door.' And as she took it into the warm room one of the women said, 'She looks like an owl. Such children are seldom right in their heads.'
'Why don't you keep that baby quiet?' said the Man, who had just drunk enough beer to make him feel very brave and master of his house.
'If you don't keep that baby quiet you'll know why later on.'
They burst out laughing as she stumbled back into the bedroom.
'I don't believe Holy Mary could keep him quiet,' she murmured. 'Did Jesus cry like this when He was little? If I was not so tired perhaps I could do it; but the baby just knows that I want to go to sleep. And there is going to be another one.'
She flung the baby on the bed, and stood looking at him with terror.
From the next room there came the jingle of glasses and the warm sound of laughter.
And she suddenly had a beautiful marvellous idea.
She laughed for the first time that day, and clapped her hands.
'Ts—ts—ts!' she said, 'lie there, silly one; you WILL go to sleep. You'll not cry any more or wake up in the night. Funny, little, ugly baby.'
He opened his eyes, and shrieked loudly at the sight of the Child-Who-Was-Tired. From the next room she heard the Frau call out to her.
'One moment—he is almost asleep,' she cried.
And then gently, smiling, on tiptoe, she brought the pink bolster from the Frau's bed and covered the baby's face with it, pressed with all her might as he struggled, 'like a duck with its head off, wriggling', she thought.
She heaved a long sigh, then fell back on to the floor, and was walking along a little white road with tall black trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere, and where nobody walked at all—nobody at all.
11. THE ADVANCED LADY.
'Do you think we might ask her to come with us,' said Fraulein Elsa, retying her pink sash ribbon before my mirror. 'You know, although she is so intellectual, I cannot help feeling convinced that she has some secret sorrow. And Lisa told me this morning, as she was turning out my room, that she remains hours and hours by herself, writing; in fact Lisa says she is writing a book! I suppose that is why she never cares to mingle with us, and has so little time for her husband and the child.'
'Well, YOU ask her,' said I. 'I have never spoken to the lady.'
Elsa blushed faintly. 'I have only spoken to her once,' she confessed. 'I took her a bunch of wild flowers, to her room, and she came to the door in a white gown, with her hair loose. Never shall I forget that moment. She just
