face, and could hear her sad voice. As he ran up
the steps to the garden-hall rather hastily he saw through the glass
door the little brunette Adelaide sitting at the table with the judge,
who was just uncorking a wine-bottle. Both were so deeply engaged in
gazing at each other and blushing and gazing again that they were not
conscious of the presence of the old spy outside.

"Really, this is a pretty time to be carousing in this house," thought
Uncle Baumhagen. As he entered he brought the couple back to the bald
present with a gruff "Good morning," and the judge began at once a
lament over the horrible ill-luck of this Wolff's dying six months too
soon.

"What is going on here?" asked Uncle Henry, inhaling the fragrance of
the wood-ruff.

"The parting _mai-trank_ for the judge," replied Miss Adelaide.

"Oh, ta, ta! You are going away?"

"I must," replied the little man with a regretful look at the young
girl. "Besides, my dear sir, since this dreadful wifeless time has
begun it is melancholy in Niendorf. Linden has been as overwhelmed,
since the news of the death came last evening, as if his dearest friend
had gone down into the grave with that limb of Satan. Heaven knows he
could not have been more anxious about a near relation, and his horses
have nearly run their legs off with making inquiries about the fellow's
health. I really believe he would have given the doctor of this
distinguished citizen a premium for preserving his precious life."

Uncle Henry grumbled something which sounded almost like a curse.
"Where is Linden?" he inquired.

"Upstairs!" replied Miss Adelaide. "He has been there ever since this
morning, at least we--" indicating the judge and herself--"dined alone
with auntie, then we went to 'Waldruhe' but we did not get in, and now
it is out of sheer desperation that we made a bowl of _mai-trank_. But
won't you taste a little of it, Mr. Baumhagen?"

She had filled a glass and offered it to the old gentleman with
laughing eyes.

Uncle Henry cast a half-angry, half-eager glance at the glass in the
small hand.

"Witch!" he growled, and marched out of the room as haughtily as a
Spaniard. He was in too serious a mood to enter into their "chatter."
But a clear laugh sounded behind him.

"I wish the judge would pack that little monkey in his trunk and send
her off to Frankfort or to Guinea for all I care."

He found the young master of the house at his writing-table. "Linden,"
he began, with