ng of myself. I am used to all sorts of hardships. I
pity more particularly those poor innocent children who come to groan
under this unnatural yoke. Just picture to yourself, my dear, one such
innocent eight or nine years old, a little lad whose blood bubbles over
like champagne, who sees the sun shining through the windows, who hears
the boisterous mirth of his comrades outside as they play at ball, and
would give anything to run away himself and romp and wrestle and turn
somersaults; fancy such a one obliged to remain shut up in a room,
fettered by a string of thread or cotton, and made to move his hands up
and down just as if he were some stupid machine; fancy him fidgeting
first on one leg and then on another, and waiting, waiting for the end
of the interminable skein! I wonder they don't become utter blockheads
beneath the strain. I wonder their teachers don't forbid it. If I had a
child he should not be allowed to hold a skein. No son of mine, I tell
you, should ever become a mere skein-unwinding machine..."

And it seemed somehow more than a jest, for the gallant soldier now
suddenly forgot all about the skein entrusted to him, and with tender
emotion pressed his blushing little wife to his bosom.

The little lady with infinite patience slowly disentangled the chaotic
labyrinth of threads again, and then exclaimed with a deep sigh:

"Life and death lie between..."

They both knew the meaning of the allusion.

Then the uninterrupted labour proceeded again. The iron man was now
completely silent, but one could observe from the unconsciously radiant
expression of his face that his mind was occupied by some very pleasing
thought, and in the delightful contemplation thereof he had no longer
any idea that he was holding a skein of thread.

Presently, however, he said:

"Let us begin another!"

He must certainly have found it a very agreeable pastime to say that.

It was this time a skein of silk that the little lady wanted to have
unwound. This was a still higher symbol of tenderness. Not in vain does
the folksong sing of the captive of love being bound with silken
chains.

"But, my dear, when I was a little boy, and had to hold skeins, my
sisters, by way of compensation, used to tell me tales."

"With all my heart."

"Fire away, then: once upon a time...!"

"Once upon a time there was a girl who always wanted to die."

"Ah! I scarcely bargained for that."

"She was constantly pale, and took it for a