in a group; later, the father went on in advance
with the child, who seemed desirous to lead the way, and the lady and
Tande followed, very slowly, very confidentially. Magnhild was left
behind alone, overwhelmed with astonishment.

In the afternoon Magda came over with her papa. He greeted Magnhild with
a smile and apologized for coming; his little daughter had insisted on
his paying his compliments to her friend, he said.

Magnhild asked him to take a seat, but he did not do so at once. He
looked at her flowers, talked about them with an air of understanding
such as she had never heard before, and begged to be allowed to send her
some new plants upon whose proper care he enlarged.

"It is really little Magda who will send them," said he, turning with a
smile toward Magnhild. This time she was conscious that he was shyly
observing her.

He looked at the pictures on the wall, the bridge at Cologne, the Falls
of Niagara, the White House at Washington, the Caravan in the Desert,
and "Judith," by Horace Vernet; examined also some photographs of
unknown, often uncouth-looking men and women, some of them in foreign
costumes.

"Your husband has been a traveler," said he, and his eyes glided from
the portraits back to "Judith," while he stood stroking his beard.

"Have you been long married?" he presently asked, taking a seat.

"Nearly three years," she replied, and colored.

"You must put on your uniform so that Magnhild can see you in it," said
the little girl; she had posted herself between her father's knees, now
toying with his shirt studs, now with his beard. He smiled; certain
wrinkles about the eyes and mouth became more apparent when he smiled,
and bore witness of sorrow. Musingly he stroked the little one's hair;
she nestled her head up against him, so lovingly, so trustingly.

He awoke at last from his revery, cast a shy, wondering look at
Magnhild, stroked his beard, and said,--

"It is very beautiful here."

"When will you send Magnhild the flowers you spoke of?" interrupted the
little girl.

"As soon as I get back to town," said he, caressing the child.

"Papa is building a fort," explained Magda, not without pride. "Papa is
building at home, too," she added. "Papa is all the time building, and
now we have a tower to our house, and all the rooms are so pretty. You
just ought to see."

And she fell to describing her home to Magnhild, which, however, she had
often done before. The father listened w