leeping, were my passive and active occupations.
It was a hot, sunshiny day, and I craved for air. Fresh air does not
enter into the pharmacopoeia of a German doctor; but somehow I obtained
my wish. During the morning hours the window through which the sun
streamed--the window looking on to the front court--was opened a little;
and through it I heard the sounds of active life, which gave me pleasure
and interest enough. The hen's cackle, the cock's exultant call when he
had found the treasure of a grain of corn,--the movements of a tethered
donkey, and the cooing and whirring of the pigeons which lighted on the
window-sill, gave me just subjects enough for interest. Now and then
a cart or carriage drove up,--I could hear them ascending the rough
village street long before they stopped at the "Halbmond," the village
inn. Then there came a sound of running and haste in the house; and
Thekla was always called for in sharp, imperative tones. I heard little
children's footsteps, too, from time to time; and once there must have
been some childish accident or hurt, for a shrill, plaintive little
voice kept calling out, "Thekla, Thekla, liebe Thekla." Yet, after the
first early morning hours, when my hostess attended on my wants, it was
always Thekla who came to give me my food or my medicine; who redded
up my room; who arranged the degree of light, shifting the temporary
curtain with the shifting sun; and always as quietly and deliberately
as though her attendance upon me were her sole work. Once or twice my
hostess came into the large eating-room (out of which my room opened),
and called Thekla away from whatever was her occupation in my room at
the time, in a sharp, injured, imperative whisper. Once I remember it
was to say that sheets were wanted for some stranger's bed, and to
ask where she, the speaker, could have put the keys, in a tone of
irritation, as though Thekla were responsible for Fraeulein Mueller's
own forgetfulness.

Night came on; the sounds of daily life died away into silence; the
children's voices were no more heard; the poultry were all gone to
roost; the beasts of burden to their stables; and travellers were
housed. Then Thekla came in softly and quietly, and took up her
appointed place, after she had done all in her power for my comfort.
I felt that I was in no state to be left all those weary hours which
intervened between sunset and sunrise; but I did feel ashamed that this
young woman, who had watche