s.

Marie and Louise shouted and laughed, but Beate felt strangely
frightened and was very quiet. She begged her father to let her stand on
the island, only a minute, and would he let her take one of the eggs in
her hand?

The father told her she must be very careful just lift the egg gently
between her two fingers, for if the bird noticed that the egg had been
touched she would not hatch it.

And now Beate stood on the green floating island. She was excited when
she bent down to pick up the grayish-brown egg, but lifted it carefully
between two fingers. Now she might wish for anything in the wide, wide
world.

And what do you think she wished for? To become a Princess of England?
Oh, no, she knew something far better than that. Then her lips moved
softly, and she whispered to herself: "I wish that Little Beate was with
me once more, and would never, never leave me." Carefully she put the
egg back into the nest.

What was the pink something her eye now caught sight of among the tall
reeds close to the nest? It was her doll! Beate gave one shriek of joy.
"Little Beate, my own Little Beate," she sobbed, when she had her own
dearest friend in her arms again. She covered her with tears and kisses,
and held her tight in her arms as if she would never in the world let
her go.

Her father, Marie, and Louise stood by without saying a word. At last
the father kissed his little girl, and lifted her on to the raft again.

Such a birthday party as Beate had now! What did it matter that a year's
rains and snows had faded Little Beate's cheeks and bleached her brown
curls? She was the guest of honor, and sat on the prettiest chair. She
had all the cookies and chocolate that she wanted. She was petted and
loved; and at night, tired and happy, Big Beate slept with her little
friend in her arms.

HANS, THE OLD SOLDIER

Viggo was Beate's brother. He was 10 years old. Hans was Viggo's dearest
friend. The servants on the farm called the old Grenadier "Hans the
Watchdog," for they said when he talked to anyone it sounded like a dog
barking, and he looked as if he were ready to bite. But Viggo had once
said that the Grenadier's voice sounded like the rattle of a drum, and
the old soldier thought that was well said. It was from that time on
that Viggo and Hans were such good friends.

Hans the Grenadier was six feet two, and a little more. He was straight
as a stick. His hair was long and snowy white, and it hung in a braid
do