but then their treatment
of himself disarmed that suspicion, for they not only received him ever
cordially, but with every sign of real affection; and what was he to
expect such? Nor were these the only traits that fascinated him; for all
the rugged shell the kernel was a heart as tender, as warm, and as
full of generous emotions as ever beat within an ampler breast. The two
sisters, in Hans's eyes, were alike beautiful; each had some grace
or charm that he had never met with before, nor could he ever satisfy
himself whether his fancy was more taken by Kate's wit or by Ellen's
gentleness.

If anything were needed to complete the measure of his admiration, their
skill in carving those wooden figures, which he sold, would have been
sufficient. These were in his eyes nor was he a mean connoisseur high
efforts of genius; and Hans saw in them a poetry and a truthfulness to
nature that such productions rarely, if ever, possess. To sell, such
things as mere toys, he regarded as little short of a sacrilege, while
even to part with them at all cost him a pang like that the gold-worker
of Florence experienced when he saw some treasure of Benvenuto's chisel
leave his possession. Not, indeed, that honest Hans had to struggle
against that criminal passion which prompted the jeweller, even by deeds
of assassination, to repossess himself of the coveted objects; nay, on
the contrary, he felt a kindness and a degree of interest towards those
in whose keeping they were, as if some secret sympathy united them to
each other.

Is it any wonder if poor Hans forgot himself in such pleasant company,
and sat a full hour and a half longer than he ought? To him the little
intervals of silence that were occasionally suffered to intervene were
but moments of dreamy and delicious revery, wherein his fancy wandered
away in a thousand pleasant paths; and when at last the watchman for
remember, good reader, they were in that primitive Germany where customs
change not too abruptly announced two o'clock, little Hans did not
vouchsafe a grateful response to the quaint old rhyme that was chanted
beneath the window.

"That little chap would sit to the day of judgment, and never ask to wet
his lips," said Dal ton, as Frank accompanied the dwarf downstairs to
the street door.

"I believe he not only forgot the hour, but where he was, and everything
else," said Kate.

"And poor Frank! who should have been in bed some hours ago," sighed
Nelly.

"Gone a