ilippina? Don't you know some one to whom we
can go and in whose house we can meet?"

Philippina's eyes shone with their veteran glitter. She thought for a
second or two, and then replied: "Oh, yes, I'll tell you what you can
do. Go down to Frau Hadebusch's! She's a good friend of mine, and you
c'n depend on her. It don't make no difference what takes place in her
house; it won't bother even the cat. You know Frau Hadebusch! Of course
you do. What am I talking about! She is a widow, and lives all alone in
a little house. She won't rent; she says she don't want the trouble. You
know she's no young woman any more. She is all alone, mind you. No one
there but her son, and he's cracked. Honest, the boy ain't right."

"Well, you go and talk it over with Frau Hadebusch, Philippina," said
Dorothea timidly.

"Very well, I'll go see her to-morrow morning," replied Philippina,
smiled subserviently, and laid her horny hand on Dorothea's tender
shoulder.

"But listen, Philippina, be very, very careful. Do you hear?" Dorothea's
eyes became big and threatening. "Swear that you will be as silent as
the tombs."

"As true as I'm standing here!" said Philippina. Just then she bent over
to pick up a hair pin from the floor.

The next morning Philippina ran over to Frau Hadebusch's. The whole way
she kept humming to herself; she was happy; she was contented.

THE DEVIL LEAVES THE HOUSE IN FLAMES

I

Despite the rain, Daniel and Benda strolled around the city moat until
midnight.

The very thing that lay heaviest on Daniel's heart, as was obvious from
the expression on his face, he never mentioned. He told of his work, his
travels in connection with the old manuscripts, his position as organist
and in the conservatory, but all in such a general, detached, and
distraught way, so tired and bewildered, that Benda was filled with an
embarrassed anguish that made courteous attention difficult if not
impossible.

In order to get him to talk more freely, Benda remarked that he had not
heard of the death of Gertrude and Eleanore until his return. He said he
was terribly pained to hear of it, and, try as he might, he could not
help but brood over it. But he had no thought of persuading Daniel to
give him the mournful details. He merely wished to convince himself that
Daniel had become master of the anguish he had gone through,--master of
it at least inwardly.

Instead of mak