d she asked him the question that so greatly disquieted her. He assured
her that the wound was doing perfectly well, and that there was not the
slightest danger of any permanent stiffness of the arm; though he
laughingly owned that he had made the worst of it to Dora, in order to
impress her with caution for the future. It would be all over in a day or
two at farthest. Mrs. Birkenfeld was much relieved, for besides her
sympathy for Dora, she had felt keenly her children's responsibility for
the misfortune.

On her way home Mrs. Birkenfeld stopped to speak to Aunt Ninette; not only
to carry her the doctor's favorable verdict, but also to talk with her
about Dora. She now learned for the first time, that Dora was to earn her
living by sewing; and that for this reason her aunt felt obliged to keep
her so closely to her shirt-making.

Mrs. Birkenfeld took a warm interest in Dora. She thought the little girl
very delicate for such heavy work, and she was glad that there was still
some time left for her to grow stronger before she had to go back to
Karlsruhe, and settle down to regular work again. She begged Aunt Ninette
to let the child, during the rest of their stay, give up the sewing
entirely, and she offered to let her own seamstress make the shirts, that
Dora might be free to amuse herself with the children, and gain strength
by play in the open air.

The self-possessed, quiet manner of Mrs. Birkenfeld had an excellent
effect on Mrs. Ehrenreich, and she acquiesced in this proposal without the
slightest demur. Indeed the path of the future, that had looked so beset
with difficulties, seemed now to lie smooth before her, and all her
prospects were brightened. She spoke with great thankfulness on her
husband's account; for he already found himself so improved by the fresh
air and quiet of the summer house, and he was so thoroughly comfortable
and contented there, that he could hardly bear to leave it, even to come
in at night.

When Mrs. Birkenfeld rose to go, she cordially invited Aunt Ninette to
come often to see her in the garden, saying that she must find it lonely
in the cottage, and that the open air would be good for her also. Aunt
Ninette was much gratified by this courtesy, and accepted it with
pleasure; quite forgetting the noise of the children, which had been so
great a bugbear to her.

Dora had sprung out of bed that morning as soon as she opened her eyes,
for the thought of the pleasure before her made h