grass in the meadow.

"What must I do now, please?" she said.

"Make the beds and hang the baby's mattress out of the window, then get
the wagon and take him for a little walk along the road. In front of the
house, mind--where I can see you. Don't stand there, gaping! Then come
in when I call you and help me cut up the salad."

When she had made the beds the Child stood and looked at them. Gently
she stroked the pillow with her hand, and then, just for one moment, let
her head rest there. Again the smarting lump in her throat, the stupid
tears that fell and kept on falling as she dressed the baby and dragged
the little wagon up and down the road.

A man passed, driving a bullock wagon. He wore a long, queer feather
in his hat, and whistled as he passed. Two girls with bundles on their
shoulders came walking out of the village--one wore a red handkerchief
about her head and one a blue. They were laughing and holding each
other by the hand. Then the sun pushed by a heavy fold of grey cloud and
spread a warm yellow light over everything.

"Perhaps," thought the Child-Who-Was-Tired, "if I walked far enough up
this road I might come to a little white one, with tall black trees on
either side--a little road--"

"Salad, salad!" cried the Frau's voice from the house.

Soon the children came home from school, dinner was eaten, the Man took
the Frau's share of pudding as well as his own, and the three children
seemed to smear themselves all over with whatever they ate. Then more
dish-washing and more cleaning and baby-minding. So the afternoon
dragged coldly through.

Old Frau Grathwohl came in with a fresh piece of pig's flesh for the
Frau, and the Child listened to them gossiping together.

"Frau Manda went on her 'journey to Rome' last night, and brought back a
daughter. How are you feeling?"

"I was sick twice this morning," said the Frau. "My insides are all
twisted up with having children too quickly."

"I see you've got a new help," commented old Mother Grathwohl.

"Oh, dear Lord"--the Frau lowered her voice--"don't you know her? She's
the free-born one--daughter of the waitress at the railway station. They
found her mother trying to squeeze her head in the wash-hand jug, and
the child's half silly."

"Ts--ts--ts!" whispered the "free-born" one to the baby.

As the day drew in the Child-Who-Was-Tired did not know how to fight her
sleepiness any longer. She was afraid to sit down or stand still. As she
sat