s, and hinted that she possessed his entire
confidence, which naturally suggested her cleverness also in
appreciating this sage as the rest of the world could not. Annele, too,
must bring her offering of praise. Petrovitsch was so neat, she said;
he wore such fine linen and made such good jokes. A crumb even fell to
Bubby's share from this rich feast of compliments. Annele described
Petrovitsch as the perfect model of a kind, true family friend,--almost
a saint, in fact. He wanted nothing finally but a pair of wings to
become an angel outright.

The visit came to an end at last. The schoolmaster escorted the
doctor's daughters, and Lenz joined the doctor, who was walking behind.

"I have a question to ask you, doctor," said he, "but you must not seek
to know my reason for asking."

"What may it be?"

"I want to know what kind of a plant Edelweiss is."

"Don't you know, Amanda?" asked the doctor.

"It is an alpine plant," answered Amanda, blushing, "that is said to
grow on the line of perpetual snow,--in fact, under the snow. I never
saw a living specimen of it."

"I believe you, child," replied the doctor, smiling; "only the boldest
alpine goatherds and hunters venture to pick the hardy little plant
from its native soil. The possession of one is a proof of unusual
daring. It is a peculiar plant of delicate construction, and containing
very little sap, so that it can be preserved a long while, like our
everlasting. The blossom is surrounded by white velvety leaves, and
even the stem has a down upon it. I can show you the plant if you will
come to my house. The Latin name is _Leontopodium alpinum_, which means
Alpine lion's-foot. I don't know where the German name comes from, but
it is certainly prettier than the Latin."

Lenz expressed his thanks, and took leave of the doctor and his family,
who continued down the mountain.

The landlady lingered in the kitchen with Franzl after the rest had
gone. She could not find words to express her admiration of the old
woman's neatness and orderliness. "You are like a mother in the house,"
she said with her magpie laugh, as Pilgrim called it; "Lenz ought to
hold you in great honor, and confide everything to you. He should have
no secret from you."

"He does not; that is--only one."

"So there is one! May I know what it is?"

"I don't know myself. When he came home from his mother's funeral, he
rummaged in the chest that the mistress would never let any one have
the