say
'Enough;'" upon which he left him, having laid his great turnip of a
watch on a chest standing by. The boy proudly placed his hands in his
pockets, and walked up and down among the goods. After more than two
hours, he came, watch in hand, to his father, exclaiming "Enough."

"Two hours and a half," said old Sturm, nodding at Mr. Pix. "Very well,
child; come and nail up this chest; here is a new hammer for you; it
cost tenpence."

"It's not worth it," was the reply. "You always pay too much." Such was
Karl's education.

The day after Anton's arrival, Pix had introduced him to Sturm, and
Anton had said, in a tone of respect, "this is my first experience of
business; pray give me a hint whenever you can."

"Every thing is to be learned in time," replied the giant; "yonder is my
little boy, who has got on capitally in a year. So your father was not a
merchant?"

"My father was an accountant; he is dead," was the reply.

"I am sorry to hear it," said Sturm; "but you have still the comfort of
a mother?"

"My mother, too, is dead."

"Alas! alas!" cried the porter, compassionately. He went on shaking his
head for a long time, and at length added, in a low voice, to his Karl,
"He has no mother."

"And no father either," rejoined Karl.

"Be kind to him, little one," said old Sturm; "you are a sort of orphan
yourself."

"Not I," cried Karl; "any one with such a great father as mine to look
after has his hands full."

"Why, you are a perfect little monster!" said his father, cheerfully
hammering away at a cask.

From that hour Karl showed all manner of small attentions to Anton, and
a species of affectionate intimacy sprang up between the two youths.

Indeed, Anton was on excellent terms with all the officials. He listened
attentively to Jordan's sensible remarks, was prompt and unconditional
in his obedience to Mr. Pix, entered into political discussions with
Specht, read with interest Baumann's missionary reports, never asked Mr.
Purzel for money in advance, and often encouraged Mr. Liebold to utter
some palpable truth without retracting the statement. There was only one
with whom he could not get on well, and that was the volunteer clerk,
Fink.

One gloomy afternoon, Mr. Jordan chanced to give our hero a certain
message to take to another house, and, as he rose, Fink looked up from
his desk, and said to Jordan, "Just send him at the same time to the
gunsmith--the good-for-nothing fellow can send my gun b