y had she complained to
him, what had that disgusting tale of her marriage to do with him?

But then when she gazed at him with her beautiful, sparkling eyes in
that familiar, friendly way, and smiled at him with the same sweet
smile that little Rosa had inherited from her, then his anger melted
[Pg 122] as well as all his scruples. She had never seemed more lovely.
Her white ball-dress had suited her well, but this short, plain,
woollen skirt, which showed her neat feet and shiny leather slippers,
the white apron, the check blouse and small white collar suited her a
hundred times better. Oh, how beautiful, how beautiful she looked! His
head was in a whirl.

The farmer invited him to have supper with them, and he gladly
accepted. He even accepted an invitation for Easter.

Mr. Tiralla was basking in the light of his Sophia's smiles, and felt
so happy that he would have liked to invite the whole world. He sat at
the table and laughed as he satisfied his enormous appetite. It was
still Lent, and the meal was frugal, "but at Easter, my little Boehnke,"
he cried, filling his mouth with fried potatoes, "at Easter you shall
have a feast!"

Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster exchanged a glance. What impertinence
to say, "my little Boehnke!" But he was always so rough and vulgar.

Rosa sat near her father. She did not want anything to eat; she never
ate much, and to-day her happiness had quite taken away her appetite.
It had been such a beautiful, beautiful day. Was it because she had
prayed so very fervently at the altar that her daddy was now so good?
He didn't swear at all, he didn't even look at Marianna, although her
short, white sleeves were fresh from the wash. They reached as far as
her bare elbows, and she had a black bodice on and all her coloured
beads round her neck. Now her mother would be kinder to her daddy. Oh,
if only it could always be like this. How much nicer it was when her
mother didn't cry or look angry. To-day was just like Easter, when the
grave opened and Christ rose, hallelujah.

[Pg 123]

Her quiet happiness had brought a flush to her pale cheeks. She did not
say much; Rosa was only eloquent in her prayers and when she spoke of
what transformed her narrow, dark chamber into a Garden of Eden, and of
what took place between heaven and earth. But she pressed her father's
hand repeatedly, and when her mother happened to touch her in passing
anything over the table, the child would furtively raise