d at her
sides were two boys habited in black velvet. They all had long fair
hair, and large blue eyes, and soft peach-like cheeks,--such as those
who love children always long to kiss. Linda thought that she had
never seen children so gracious and so fair. She asked again whether
Herr Molk was at home, and at liberty to see a stranger. "Quite a
stranger," said poor Linda, with what emphasis she could put upon her
words. The little girl said that her grandfather was at home, and
would see any visitor,--as a matter of course. Would Linda follow
her? Then the child, still leading her little brothers, tripped up
the stairs to the second gallery, and opening a door which led into
one of the large front rooms, communicated to an old gentleman who
seemed to be taking exercise in the apartment with his hands behind
his back, that he was wanted by a lady.

"Wanted, am I, my pretty one? Well, and here I am." Then the little
girl, giving a long look up into Linda's face, retreated, taking her
brothers with her, and closing the door. Thus Linda found herself
in the room along with the old gentleman, who still kept his hands
behind his back. It was a singular apartment, nearly square, but very
large, panelled with carved wood, not only throughout the walls, but
up to the ceiling also. And the floor was polished even brighter than
were the stairs. Herr Molk must have been well accustomed to take
his exercise there, or he would surely have slipped and fallen in
his course. There was but one small table in the room, which stood
unused near a wall, and there were perhaps not more than half-a-dozen
chairs,--all high-backed, covered with old tapestry, and looking as
though they could hardly have been placed there for ordinary use.
On one of these, Linda sat at the old man's bidding; and he placed
himself on another, with his hands still behind him, just seating
himself on the edge of the chair.

"I am Linda Tressel," said poor Linda. She saw at a glance that she
herself would not have known Herr Molk, whom she had never before met
without his hat, and she perceived also that he had not recognised
her.

"Linda Tressel! So you are. Dear, dear! I knew your father
well,--very well. But, lord, how long that is ago! He is dead ever so
many years; how many years?"

"Sixteen years," said Linda.

"Sixteen years dead! And he was a younger man than I,--much younger.
Let me see,--not so much younger, but younger. Linda Tressel, your
father's