ed by means of pictures, plaster of
Paris casts, small ornaments of different kinds, useless pieces of
furniture, and a great coat of arms over the bed, in making it unlike
any other apartment ever seen. But the most remarkable thing about it
was in the very centre of the room. There hung an immense ring suspended
to a beam in the ceiling. On each side were large flower-pots filled
with earth, and from these countless threads were fastened to the ring.
Under the ring was a garden-table made of twisted boughs, and a few
chairs of the same nature.

Anton stood still in amazement, and at last called out, "What the deuce
have you such a network as this in your room for?"

Specht sprang up and said, "It is an arbor."

"An arbor! I see nothing green about it."

"That will come," said Specht, pointing out his great flower-pots.

On a closer inspection, Anton detected a few weak shoots of ivy, which
looked dusty and faded, like the twilighted dream-visions which the
waking man allows to cling round his spirit for a few moments before he
sweeps them away forever.

"But, Specht, this ivy will never grow," said Anton.

"There are other things," importantly announced Specht, showing Anton a
few wan-looking growths that just peered above the top of the pots, and
resembled nothing so much as the unfortunate attempts to germinate which
the potato will make in a cellar when spring-time comes.

"And what are these shoots?"

"Kidney-beans and pumpkins. The whole will form an arbor. In a few weeks
the tendrils will run up the threads. Only think, Wohlfart, how well it
will look--the green tendrils, the flowers, and the great leaves! I
shall cut off most of the pumpkins, but a few of them shall remain. Just
picture to yourself the fresh green and the yellow blossoms! What a
place it will be to sit with friends over a glass of wine or to sing a
quartette in!"

"But, Specht," inquired Anton, laughing, "can you really suppose that
the plants will grow in your attic?"

"Why not?" cried Specht, much offended. "They will do as well here as
elsewhere. They have sun; I take care that they have air too, and I
water them with bullock's blood. They have all they want."

"But they look desperately sick."

"Just as at first they will, of course; the air is still cold, and we
have had little sun as yet. They will soon shoot up. When we have no
garden, we must do the best we can." He looked complacently around his
room, "As to the decorat