would
carry her audacity. I would far rather have been occupied in the
fruitless task of attempting to discover something intelligent in a
conversation that was being carried on before me in a strange tongue: an
effort that is common to all men who have a grain of human curiosity
flowing in their veins, and that, as is well-known, always remains
unsuccessful.

Still one combination of mine did succeed. That name "Henrik"
often struck my ear. Father Fromm was called Henrik, but he
himself uttered the name: that therefore could not be other than
his son. My grandmother spoke of him in pitiful tones, whereas
Father Fromm assumed a look of inexorable severity, when he gave
information on this subject; and as he spoke I gathered frequently
the words "prosodia,"--"pensum"--"labor"--"vocabularium"--and
many other terms common to dog-Latin: among which words like
"secunda"--"tertia"--"carcer" served as a sufficiently trustworthy
compass to direct me to the following conclusion: My friend Henrik might
not put in an appearance to-day at supper, because he did not know his
lessons, and was to remain imprisoned in the house until he could
improve his standing by learning to repeat, in the language of a people
long since dead, the names of a host of eatables.

Poor Henrik!

I never had any patience with the idea of anyone's starving, and
moreover starving by way of punishment. I could understand anyone being
done to death at once: but the idea of condemning anyone in cold blood
to starve, to wrestle with his own body, to strive with his own heart
and stomach, I always regarded as cruelty. I deemed that if I took one
of those little cakes, which that audacious girl had piled up before me
so forcibly, and put it in my pocket, it would not be wasted.

I waited cautiously until nobody was looking my way, and then slipped
the cake into my pocket without accident.

Without accident? I only remarked it, when that little snub-nose laughed
to herself. Just at that moment she had squinted towards me. But she
immediately closed her mouth with her hand, giggling between her
fingers, the while her malicious, deceitful eyes smiled into mine. What
would she think? Perhaps that I am too great a coward to eat at table,
and too insatiable to be satisfied with what I received. Oh! how ashamed
I was before her! I would have been capable of any sacrifice to secure
her secrecy, perhaps even of kissing her, if she would not tell
anyone.... I was so