y the side of her own bashful
awkwardness.

It was a lively afternoon up at the old farm-house; not for years had
the sound of such bright feminine laughter been heard there.

The housekeeper got up an excellent tea and spread it in the garden
under the same tree where Frau Rauchfuss had once watched her child
dance, feeling like a departed spirit. She laid a clean white cloth on
the table, and brought out some special fresh-baked little cakes. Young
Beate cut some flowers and put a bouquet on the tea-table. Frau
Marianne almost drowned herself in the abundance of her own amiability,
and the captain was like the ghost of his departed youth.

Beate sat very still and looked on, comparing this one fine summer day
with all the summer, winter, spring and autumn days that she
remembered. She clenched her firm little hands in an effort to keep
back the tears, and stared at her father, from whom so much sorrow had
come to her life, and thought of the joyless existence of her mother.

"No," thought the child, "she mustn't come here to us--I should be
sorry for her. It doesn't matter about me--I know everything already."

When the pretty widow drove off in the little carriage, the captain
kissed her hand tenderly and with assurance. She departed full of
triumph; she had him now, the old fellow! And how comfortably the
carriage rolled along. It was the same carriage in Which Frau
Rauchfuss, crouching down against the leather cushions, had come back
to her house in mortal sadness.

Frau Marianne was in a haughty mood, and thought lightly of her
boarders. When she rolled up to her door--it was getting late--she was
thinking, "Herr Leinhose ought to have had his beer some time ago, and
Herr Oehmchen his sausage ... Oh, bother! It'll do them good to be kept
waiting for once." They were both sitting in the living-room when she
came in, and looked at her somewhat sourly. One of them took out his
watch and looked at it, as an indignant creditor looks at his bill.
"We're late--we're late!" he said significantly. The little widow
answered with a light laugh. The hunger of her boarders seemed not to
touch her--these same boarders who used to be so near her heart and
whose welfare had been her greatest care; for no bachelor is better
looked after than when a little woman who regards him as a possible
suitor has charge of his affairs.

For a year and a day both of them had received this care from the
little widow, and both of them we