long readings in the bookseller's shop,
which his brothers and sisters neither shared nor knew of, had given
him a feeling of contempt for the one book on which they feasted from
year to year; and his part, as Maerchen-Frau, had been on this occasion
more remarkable for yawns than for anything else. The effect of this
failure was not confined to that day. Whenever the book was brought
out, there was the same feeling that the magic of it was gone, and
very greatly were the poor children disquieted by the fact.

At last, one summer's day, in the year of which we are writing, one of
the boys was struck, as he fancied, by a brilliant idea; and as
brilliant ideas on any subject are precious, he lost no time in
summoning a council of his brothers and sisters in the garden. It was
a half-holiday, and they soon came trooping round the great linden
tree--where the bees were already in full possession--and the youngest
girl, who was but six years old, bore the book hugged fast in her two
arms.

The boy opened the case--as lawyers say--by describing the loss of
interest in their book since the last Feast of St. Nicholas. "This did
not," he said, "arise from any want of love to the stories themselves,
but from the fact of their knowing them so well. Whatever ballad the
Maerchen-Frau chose, every line of it was so familiar to each one of
them that it seemed folly to repeat it. In these circumstances it was
evident that the greatest compliment they could pay the stories was to
forget them, and he had a plan for attaining this desirable end. Let
them deny themselves now for their future pleasure; let them put away
the Maerchen-Frau till next St. Nicholas's Day, and, in the meantime,
let each of them do his best to forget as much of it as he possibly
could." The speaker ceased, and in the silence the bees above droned
as if in answer, and then the children below shouted applause until
the garden rang.

But now came the question, where was the Maerchen-Frau to be put? and
for this the suggestive brother had also an idea. He had found
certain bricks in the thick old garden wall which were loose, and when
taken out there was a hole which was quite the thing for their
purpose. Let them wrap the book carefully up, put it in the hole, and
replace the bricks. This was his proposal, and he sat down. The bees
droned above, the children shouted below, and the proposal was carried
amid general satisfaction. "So be it," said the suggestor, in