shortly as possible.

Meanwhile, Lina and Mina approached the strange child slowly and shyly,
stopping every now and then, and saying nothing, and then they went a
little nearer still. At last Lina summoned courage to touch the sleeve
of the stranger's frock, and Mina showed her the bits of her jar: "Look,
my jar is broken." But the little girl looked round the room uneasily,
till at last she fixed her great eyes on her father.

"Yes," said Hawermann, concluding his short story, "things have gone
badly with me, Braesig; I still owe you thirty pounds, don't ask for it
now, only give me time, and if God spares my life, I'll pay you back
every farthing honestly." "Charles Hawermann, Charles Hawermann," said
Braesig, wiping his eyes, and blowing his imposing nose, "you're--you're
an ass! Yes," he continued, shoving his handkerchief into his pocket
with an emphatic poke, and holding his nose even more in the air than
usual, "you're every bit as great an ass as you used to be!" And then,
as if thinking that his friend's thoughts should be led into a new
channel, he caught Lina and Mina by the waist-band and put them on
Hawermann's knee, saying "There, little round-heads, that's your uncle."
Just as if Lina and Mina were playthings and Hawermann were a little
child who could be comforted in his grief by a new toy. He, himself,
took Hawermann's little Louisa in his arms and danced about the room
with her, his tears rolling down his cheeks the while. After a short
time he put the child down upon a chair, upon the very chair on which he
had thrown his unfinished work, and right on the top of it too.

In the meanwhile the household had come back from the hay-field, and a
woman's clear voice could be heard outside calling to the maids to make
haste: "Quick, get your hoop and pails, it'll soon be sunset, and this
year the fold's[5] rather far off. We must just milk the cows in the
evening. Where's your wooden-platter, girl? Go and get it at once. Now
be as quick as you can, I must just go and have look at the children." A
tall stately woman of five-and-twenty came into the room. She seemed
full of life and energy, her cheeks were rosy with health, work, and the
summer air, her hair and eyes were bright, and her forehead, where her
chip-hat had sheltered it from the sun, was white as snow. Any one could
see the likeness between her and Hawermann at first sight; still there
was a difference, she was well-off, and her whole manner sh