ss; a pair of round childish arms; brown hands that attracted the
eye. One of them was clenched as if to say, "What I hold, I hold; what
I will, I will."

The young widow thought to herself, "The fine estate would be well
enough, and the old man too. But the girl ...!" It was really too bad
that a poor woman should have to go to so much trouble in order to have
a place to slip into--that one might be good and clever and pretty, and
yet all that didn't help. However you took it, it was always a
difficult business ... She thought of her boarders, and of more than
one pleasing possibility that had slipped through her fingers.

The young girl woke up, uneasily conscious of a stranger's gaze, and
looked at her with astonishment and momentary alarm.

"I have come up to pay you and your father a visit," said Frau
Marianne, a little embarrassed, for the unrecognizing, inquiring glance
showed her that Beate knew nothing of her. "Your father asked me to
come and look you up some day."

"My father ...?" said Beate slowly and thoughtfully.

"How _is_ your father?"

The child answered with a short, hard monosyllable: "Well."

"What a charming, lively gentleman he is!"

The young girl was silent, and looked straight before her with a
troubled face. She did not know how to take this dainty, friendly
person; the sweet awkwardness of youth lay heavy upon her, she was not
used to talking with strangers, and the wonderful deep summer sleep
still held her eyelids.

"What a nice place you have here!" said the older woman, hoping at
last to find some echo to her friendliness. Beate gave a slight nod.
"Is it true that your father eats a rose before breakfast every day in
summer, in order to keep so fresh and young?"

"A rose ...?" The girl seemed to start out of a reverie. "Yes, I think
I remember hearing him say that he used to do that. Did he tell _you_
so?"

"Yes," said the widow, "and it must be a good system. When one sees him
going along with that stately tread of his, one can see that it is."

"Tubby!" cried a powerful voice from the house. "Where are you?" And as
Tubby looked up, she saw her father approaching with that identical
stately tread. He must indeed have consumed many roses, for he seemed
to be transformed--she had never seen him look like that in all her
recollection. Could it be true--only today, at table, so lowering and
ill-humored and full of disgust for everything ... and now ...! The red
beard seemed to