e more of a
parlor ornament."

"I quite agree with you," said Bertha, the second daughter. "I spent a
year with my aunt in the capital, and, wherever I visited, I found one
of my compatriots, a Black Forest clock, like Cinderella, in the
kitchen. In the best room, resplendent with gold and alabaster, was
sure to be a French mantel-clock, never wound up, or never right if it
was, while my compatriot in the kitchen was always going, and always
exact."

"Cinderella needs to be metamorphosed," said the young man; "but she
must keep her virtues, and tell the truth, when she gets into the best
parlor."

The doctor did not let the conversation follow the turn the young
people had given it; but entered into further explanations of the
peculiarities of his country-people. A tolerably long residence abroad
enabled him to judge them impartially, while yet he had lived years
enough at home to know and appreciate their good qualities. He spoke
High German, but with a decided provincial accent.

"Good evening to you all," cried a passer-by.

"Ah, is it you, Pilgrim? Wait a minute," cried the doctor. "How is
Lenz?" he asked, as the passer-by stopped at the garden gate.

"I have not seen him since the funeral. I am just from the Lion, where
I was fool enough to get into a quarrel about him."

"How was that?"

"They were talking about his having been at work all day to-day, and
finding fault with him for it, and calling him a miser. Lenz a miser!
Nonsense!"

"You should not let it disturb you. You and I know, and so do many
others, that Lenz is a good fellow, above all such reproaches. Was not
Petrovitsch with him to-day?"

"No. I thought he would be, and therefore did not go myself. Doctor, I
wanted to ask if you would have time to come to my house to-morrow for
a moment. I should like to show you what I have been doing."

"Certainly I will come."

"Good night to you all."

"Good night, Pilgrim; pleasant dreams."

"Send me back my songs to-morrow," cried Bertha, as he was going.

"I will bring them," returned Pilgrim; and soon after they heard his
clear musical whistle in the distance.

"That is a remarkable man," said the doctor. "He is a case-painter, and
an intimate friend of Lenz, whose mother was buried this morning. He is
quite a hidden genius, and has rather a remarkable history."

"Pray, let me hear it."

"Some other time, when we are by ourselves."

"No, we should like to hear it again," exclaimed his