l the girls in
the boarding school had always accused her of that, for she was often
terribly unhappy, and she could not help it. Mea was more eager than
ever now to meet Leonore, for she was already filled with a warm love for
the sick child. She could talk and think of practically nothing but
Leonore.

"I certainly have to make a song about this violent new friendship," Kurt
said in the evening, when Mea had urged more than once, "Oh, mother, I
hope you won't let Leonore go as soon as she can come down and the doctor
says she is well; otherwise we shall barely be able to become
acquainted."

Mea flared like a rocket at her brother's suggestion, crying violently,
"Indeed you won't, Kurt."

"Mea, Mea," the mother admonished her, "I propose to do all I can to keep
Leonore here as long as possible, but--"

"But, Mea, she might be put to flight with fear and never be seen again
if you attack your poor brothers in such a way," Kurt quickly concluded
the mother's sentence.

Mea had to laugh over this speech, which little resembled her mother's
style of talking.

"My dear Kurt," she said, "I am quite able to complete a sentence without
your assistance. I wanted to say that I should not be able to do very
much, because the ladies will take Leonore when it suits them best. I
have to admit, however, that there was some truth in Kurt's reply.
Leonore has such a delicate, refined nature that it might frighten her to
see you carried away by such passion, Mea."

When the doctor came back again in two days he was surprised at the
improved condition of his little patient. "If she was not so very
young," the doctor said to Mrs. Maxa while she accompanied him out of
the room, "I should say that her illness came largely from some hidden
sorrow and inner suffering. She has apparently been able to shake it off
in the good care and affectionate treatment she is getting here. But I
can scarcely believe this of a child."

When Mrs. Maxa asked him how soon Leonore could leave the room and spend
the day with her very active children, he answered, "She can do it from
to-morrow on. Nothing can possibly refresh her more than some lively
playmates."

With this he took his leave. Going downstairs, he met Apollonie, who was
just coming up with a supper-tray laden with delicate dishes for the sick
child.

"That is right," said the doctor; "it gives one an appetite only to look
at it."

"Yes, the poor child eats like a little bird," sai