chen answered, and
her voice was low and broken, "but the thought that anything should take
me away from thee."

The hope grew larger in the heart of Andreas, but he said: "The young
Herr Strauss will make thee a fine husband, my daughter. He is a rich
young man already, and--"

But Roschen promptly cut short this eulogy by raising her head abruptly
and saying, with great decision: "He is a horrid young man, and nothing
is good about him at all. He tries to cheat thee whenever he comes here
to buy our birds; and--and he has said things to me; and he--and
he tried to kiss me. Ugh! I will have nothing to do with the Herr
Strauss--nothing at all!"

As she spoke, Roschen held up her head firmly and looked Andreas
straight in the eyes. Her own eyes quite sparkled with anger, for all
the tears that were in them; and the tone in which she pronounced the
name of the Herr Strauss suggested pointedly that he was one of the
various unpleasant creatures which humanity disposes of with tongs.
All this was so emphatic that Andreas suffered his hope to grow yet
stronger; for now, certainly, one of these lovers was put safely out of
his way.

"And Ludwig, my little one?"

Roschen did not speak, but the angry sparkle that was in her eyes gave
place to a softer and much pleasanter brightness, and a still deeper
crimson showed in the pretty face that she hid again suddenly upon her
father's breast.

"And Ludwig?" Andreas repeated.

But still Roschen did not speak. She put her arms around her father's
neck, and nestled her head beneath his chin in a lovingly coaxing way
that she had devised when she was a little child; and then she fell
again to sobbing gently.

"Hast thou, then, nothing to say of this friend of ours, my daughter?"
Andreas spoke eagerly, his hope being very strong within him now; for he
was not versed in the ways of maidens, and the silence that would have
been so eloquent to another woman or to a wiser man conveyed a very
false notion to his mind.

"Thou hast told me, dear father, that Ludwig makes very good shoes,"
Roschen said at last, speaking hesitatingly, and in a voice so low that
it was little more than a whisper.

"Yes," Andreas answered, somewhat taken aback by the irrelevant and very
matter-of-fact nature of this remark; "yes, Ludwig makes good shoes."

"And thou likest those which he has made for thee?"

"Truly. They are good shoes. They have cured my corns." Andreas spoke
with feeling. He was