d whitewashed stones marked the
corners of the paths. Frieda stood looking about with pleasure, when she
saw coming down the path a little old lady with a black knitted shawl
over her head, and a little old man in carpet slippers, with a big pipe
in his mouth. They met her shyly and she put her errand in her
embarrassed English. The old lady shook her head and looked hopefully at
the old man. He shook his and grunted. Frieda tried once more. She
frequently had difficulty in making herself understood. This time she
used gestures, and made such an earnest effort to be clear that the old
people began to look worried. The old lady shook her head again and
then, turning to her husband, asked him something in German. Then there
was excitement! Frieda plunged into German with them, and the others,
delighted to find she knew their language, talked fast and faster.

When she told them she was newly come from their beloved country, their
eyes filled with tears and they asked question after question. Leading
her to an arbor under the whitewashed trees, they made her sit down. The
little old lady hurried into the house and brought out _Kuchen_ and
beer. Frieda was blissful. They spoke good German, and had visited
Berlin. They were full of respect when they learned that Frieda's father
was a Herr Professor, for they themselves had been simple tradespeople.
In answer to her questions, they told her how their children had come to
America, had prospered, and had sent for the old parents. With sad
voices they explained their entire inability to adjust themselves to the
new country and the new ways. The language they had not even attempted
to acquire. At last, their sons had built this little cottage for them,
and, with a grandchild, who spoke both languages, to act as interpreter,
they lived peacefully and quietly on.

"But we miss the old country sometimes," said the grandfather. "Our
neighbors and the pleasant evenings and the bands."

"Don't you know the other Germans here?" asked Frieda. "Dr. Harlow tells
me there are many."

"They are not from our part of Germany," said the little grandmother
gently. "And they are Methodists, while we are Lutherans."

"But our sons come often to see us, and we have the garden and each
other," said the grandfather cheerfully. "And sometimes we get hold of a
German book or paper."

"O!" cried Frieda delightedly. "There will be many German books for you
soon," and she told them eagerly about the