d had now been purchased by the rich Burgermeister.
There, among other rooms that wanted painting, was a large saloon in
the Rococo style, that had to be restored from the very foundation. And
for many weeks past, the Meister had refused all other orders, that he
might finish this master-piece within the appointed time.--Here, as
every where, Walter had to help him vigorously. But while with bold
pencil, he was grouping arabesques and wreaths of fruit and flowers,
adapted from old engravings, to renovate the obliterated ceiling in its
original style, he found it far more interesting to study the whole
plan of the building, and then, taking note of its measures and
proportion's, to work it out at leisure, after his own head, with its
sections, height and basements. He had only a sweet stolen hour or two,
on holidays, to spend on these. The Meister snarled and scolded him,
when he came in and caught him at such allotria--"Where's the good
of them?" he growled. "There are many things more needful to our
business--"

To-day, however, the old man was safe in his own room, tied by the leg,
and could not possibly disturb him; so he worked on quietly and
quickly, and hoped to have done by dinner-time.

All at once the door opened, and in slipped a small dark figure, with
his hands in his trowser's pockets, and his close shorn raven head
slightly inclined towards his left shoulder, which was visibly some
inches higher than his right one. He kept the lower part of his face on
the stretch of an everlasting grin--and while the thin lips always
seemed prepared for a whistle or a jovial smack, the restless grey eyes
had wicked gleams of malice, and cunning, and consuming desire.

"Good morning, young genius;" he said, coming round the table with
noiseless step; "busy as a bee?--When you come to my time of life," (he
was barely five-and-twenty), "you will have spent a good part of that
speed, and will be glad enough to take your Sundays easily as I do, in
having a good long sleep, and then in pleasantly getting rid of your
wretched wages, that are certainly not worth the keeping. Even now, if
you were not such a stiffnecked sort of virtue, I should say to you:
'Put that scrawl in the fire, and come with me. I could show you where
you may taste a sound French wine, that is well worth its price."

"Much obliged to you," said Walter coldly, "your taste is not mine,
Peter Lars; and I can't stand wine in the morning--"

"I know you ca