lous of the Jews, who went away so often, and
finally never came back home at all.

It was midday now--that glorious midday. With indescribable dignity,
for a boy, Walter stepped through the gate-way. "A little to right--to
the left, to the left again, then over a bridge, and then to the
right straight ahead. You can't miss it," Gustave had said. The name
of the garden was "City Rest," so all Walter had to do was to "ask,"
and he would "find it."

And so it was.

Anyone making a call or visit for the first time always arrives too
early. So it was with Walter, who reached City Rest before any of the
other guests. But the boys received him cordially and presented him
to their mother, who said that Walter had a pretty face, if it were
only not so pale.

The other playmates came then, and running and throwing began, in
the customary boyish style. This was interrupted with waffles and
lemonade, which they "must drink quite slowly," because they were
"wet with perspiration."

When the proud mother of the Hallemans was speaking of berries and
the grossly slandered rainwater barrel, she might have mentioned
the advantages of the leafy bower, where Betty was now sitting with
a gentleman.

"Who is that?" asked Walter of little Emma, who was playing with
the boys.

"That? That's Betty's sweetheart."

From that touching story of slender Cecilia we know that Walter already
had his first love affair behind him; but still Emma's statement was
to him something new. Up to that time he had thought that a sweetheart
was a girl to whom one gives slatepencils and bonbons. But she seemed
to be above such things. Walter saw immediately that he had not taken
the right course with Cecilia; and all at once a desire came over
him to know how a grown man treats a girl who is through school.

"Her sweetheart?"

"Oh yes--engage!"

That word was too modern for Walter. If the reader is sharp he can
calculate in what year that girl married the barber's apprentice. All
that is necessary is to determine when that stupid engage came into
use in this sense in "III. 7, a."

"What did you say?" asked Walter.

"Engage--they go together."

"What is that?"

"Oh, they're going to get married. Don't you know?"

Walter was ashamed not to know such a simple thing; and, as is often
the case, he was ashamed of being ashamed.

"Certainly, of course I know. I hadn't understood right
well. Emma--will you marry me?"

For the moment Emma was una