our eyes are so red! Oh, mother,
DO!"

The child pleaded in vain. Dame Brinker would not leave her post.

Gretel looked at her in troubled silence, wondering whether it were very
wicked to care more for one parent than for the other, and sure--yes,
quite sure--that she dreaded her father while she clung to her mother
with a love that was almost idolatry.

Hans loves the father so well, she thought, why cannot I? Yet I could
not help crying when I saw his hand bleed that day, last month, when he
snatched the knife--and now, when he moans, how I ache, ache all over.
Perhaps I love him, after all, and God will see that I am not such a
bad, wicked girl as I thought. Yes, I love the poor father--almost as
Hans does--not quite, for Hans is stronger and does not fear him. Oh,
will that moaning go on forever and ever! Poor mother, how patient
she is; SHE never pouts, as I do, about the money that went away so
strangely. If he only could, for one instant, open his eyes and look at
us, as Hans does, and tell us where mother's guilders went, I would not
care for the rest. Yes, I would care; I don't want the poor father to
die, to be all blue and cold like Annie Bouman's little sister. I KNOW I
don't. Dear God, I don't want Father to die.

Her thoughts merged into a prayer. When it ended the poor child scarcely
knew. Soon she found herself watching a little pulse of light at the
side of the fire, beating faintly but steadily, showing that somewhere
in the dark pile there was warmth and light that would overspread it
at last. A large earthen cup filled with burning peat stood near the
bedside; Gretel had placed it there to "stop the father's shivering,"
she said. She watched it as it sent a glow around the mother's form,
tipping her faded skirt with light and shedding a sort of newness over
the threadbare bodice. It was a relief to Gretel to see the lines in
that weary face soften as the firelight flickered gently across it.

Next she counted the windowpanes, broken and patched as they were, and
finally, after tracing every crack and seam in the walls, fixed her gaze
upon a carved shelf made by Hans. The shelf hung as high as Gretel
could reach. It held a large leather-covered Bible with brass clasps, a
wedding present to Dame Brinker from the family at Heidelberg.

Ah, how handy Hans is! If he were here, he could turn the father some
way so the moans would stop. Dear, dear! If this sickness lasts,
we shall never skate anymore