ot to be persuaded to
smell any more elixirs.

She, however, was more studious than ever of the necessities of the
household, and of the material comfort of the doctor and his child, and
when she noticed that her master began to cough as his dead wife had
done, she entreated him to take better care of himself, and not to leave
his son an orphan she also instigated Herr Winckler to beg him to
consider his own welfare and that of the child.

There was yet another thing that made her unhappy.

Her whole heart was wrapped up in little Zeno, and when he was dressed in
his best on feast-days a prettier and nobler looking child than he was
not to be seen.

But the doctor did not seem to have much affection for him; yet in the
evenings when the little one was in bed he went through the same
performance that had been customary during the lifetime of its mother,
and once in a while he would lift the child out of the cradle and press
it to his heart so passionately that the boy, in a fright would struggle
to get away from him and would cry for Frau Schimmel. Finally the child
became so afraid of its father that it would not go near him and this the
old housekeeper could bear no longer, so she took her courage in her
hands and spoke to her master about it.

She began by saying she had not forgotten that, according to his dead
father the saints had endowed her with a very limited intelligence, but
that she knew enough to be certain that it could be neither wise, nor
right for a man who had been blessed with such a fine son, to be
indifferent to his treasure and indeed to estrange it.

The extraordinary man looked at her with his sad eyes and answered
thoughtfully: "I demand nothing from the boy be cause I have no other
idea than to give him all I have and am. For his benefit I am seeking
something higher than the world has yet known, and I shall find it."

The lofty words silenced Frau Schimmel, but she thought to herself: "With
my few brains I am yet wiser than you. A heartfelt, willing kiss from
your child would make you happier than all the learning that you make so
much fuss about, and a caress or a spank from you--each at the proper
time--would do little Zeno more good than all the world-improving
discoveries in search of which you embitter your days and nights."

One beautiful afternoon in June on her return from the graveyard, whither
she regularly took the boy, and where she herself carefully tended the
white roses