e evening carried them to
Uncle Titus. The pleasure which his kind old friend took in his success
spurred the boy on to greater activity. He studied not only the riddles
themselves, but his Latin lessons more earnestly, and he took to early
rising, and every morning before breakfast he worked with his Lexicon in
the garden, as if his livelihood depended on the solution of Latin
puzzles.

Hunne too was a lucky boy in these days, for no matter how often or how
long he hung upon Dora, and claimed her as his own property, never once
did the good-natured girl avoid or repulse her little friend; but always
lent herself to his wishes, and took so much pains to amuse him, that it
seemed as if she found her own pleasure in pleasing him. Mrs. Birkenfeld
had persuaded Aunt Ninette to leave Dora entirely at liberty both morning
and evening, and when in the afternoon she took her sewing and sat with
the family under the apple-tree, she found that even shirt-making might
be an agreeable occupation, under such favorable circumstances as these.

One day Dora made a new riddle for Hunne; for indeed his "nut-cracker" one
had become rather an old story; yet he couldn't bear to give up
riddle-giving. To his unspeakable joy this new riddle had a triumphant
experience, quite unprecedented in the family annals--no one could guess
it. This time nobody could turn him off with, "Oh, go away with that same
old charade." For as no one knew the answer, no one could laugh at the
little questioner, and he and Dora agreed not to give the slightest hint
that might lead to the right guess, and so put an end to this delightful
state of things.

The riddle was this:

"My first makes you cry--not for sorrow,
For my second a spoon you may borrow,
To my whole, you say, 'thank you--to-morrow.'"

What could it be? Julius said it was "Hot-tea, because if the tea is very
hot and you try to drink it, the tears start to your eyes, and then you
cool it with a spoon, and you would like to let it stand till to-morrow."

Hunne jumped for joy, crying "Wrong, wrong!"

Miss Hanenwinkel suggested "Plum-jam," because Hunne often cried when he
couldn't have plums, and everybody ate jam with a spoon, and if plum-jam
was not on the supper-table to-night, it was sure to be, to-morrow.

"Wrong! wrong!" cried Hunne again.

"Well, I guess Tear-ful," said Rolf; but that was even worse than the
others.

"I think it may be Snow-drop," said the mother. "The