ning by an iron or
wooden grating upon the street. This is called the Geraems. Here the
crockery in daily use was kept; here the servants peel their potatoes,
and cut their carrots and turnips, preparatory to cooking; here also the
housewife would sit with her sewing, or her knitting, giving an eye to
what passed in the street (when anything did pass there) and an ear to a
little neighbourly gossip. Such a place was, of course, a favourite with
the children.

One fine afternoon, when the house was quiet, Master Wolfgang, with his
cup in his hand, and nothing to do, finds himself in this Geraems,
looking out into the silent street, and telegraphing to the young
Ochsensteins who dwelt opposite. By way of doing something, he begins to
fling the crockery into the street, delighted at the smashing music
which it makes, and stimulated by the approbation of the brothers
Ochsenstein, who chuckle at him from over the way. The plates and dishes
are flying in this way, when his mother returns: she sees the mischief
with a housewifely horror, melting into girlish sympathy, as she hears
how heartily the little fellow laughs at his escapade, and how the
neighbours laugh at him.

This genial, indulgent mother employed her faculty for story-telling to
his and her own delight. "Air, fire, earth, and water I represented
under the forms of princesses; and to all natural phenomena I gave a
meaning, in which I almost believed more fervently than my little
hearers. As we thought of paths which led from star to star, and that we
should one day inhabit the stars, and thought of the great spirits we
should meet there, I was as eager for the hours of story-telling as the
children themselves; I was quite curious about the future course of my
own improvisation, and any invitation which interrupted these evenings
was disagreeable. There I sat, and there Wolfgang held me with his large
black eyes; and when the fate of one of his favourites was not according
to his fancy, I saw the angry veins swell on his temples, I saw him
repress his tears. He often burst in with 'But, mother, the princess
won't marry the nasty tailor, even if he does kill the giant.' And when
I made a pause for the night, promising to continue it on the morrow, I
was certain that he would in the meanwhile think it out for himself, and
so he often stimulated my imagination. When I turned the story according
to his plan, and told him that he had found out the _denouement_, then
w