es at this speech, which pleased her greatly,
though she did not quite understand it. After a pause, she said, "Isn't
it too bad that his wife or his children don't seem to care a bit about
him, but just let him fall down and die? but maybe they don't know he's
dead."

"Animals, like children," said the teacher, "do not understand death,
because they never reflect upon life: they see them both without
knowing what they see."

"Are you sure of that?" asked Hedwig.

"I think so," replied the teacher. Hedwig did not continue the subject,
as it was not her custom to follow up any idea to its source. But the
teacher said to himself, "Here is a mind eminently fitted for
cultivation and the germ of fresh and vigorous thought." Taking the
bird out of her hand, he said, "This denizen of the free air should not
be buried in the gloomy soil. I would fasten him to this tree, so that
in death he may return to his native element."

"No, that won't do: there's an owl nailed against Buchmaier's barn, and
I feel like taking it down every time I look at it."

So they buried the bird together. The teacher, having been so fortunate
in his discoveries, desired to see how far Hedwig would be accessible
to a more refined culture.

"You talk so sensibly," he began, "that it is a pity you should speak
this harsh and unpleasant farmers' German, You could surely talk like
me if you chose; and it would become you so much better."

"I'd be ashamed of myself to talk any other way; and, besides,
everybody understands me."

"Oh, yes: but, if good is good, better is better. In what language do
you pray?"

"Oh, that's quite another thing! I pray just as it's in the book."

"But you ought to talk with men in the same language in which you talk
with God."

"I can't do that, and I won't do it. Why, I wouldn't have any thing to
say if I had to be thinking all the time how it ought to be said. I'd
be ashamed of myself. No, Mr. Teacher: I'll lay your words on silken
cushions, but this won't do."

"Don't always say Mr. Teacher: call me by my name."

"That can't be, again; that won't do, you see."

"Why won't it?"

"Because it won't."

"But there must be some reason for it."

"Why, I don't know what your name is."

"Adolphe Lederer."

"Well, then, Mr. Lederer."

"No; I want you to call me Adolphe."

"Oh, now, don't. What would the folks say?"

"That we love each other," said the teacher, pressing her hand to his
heart. "Don't you