g a motive in most of his
actions.

His mother's call aroused him from his thoughts which were as new as
they were pleasant to him; again she was sitting at her spinning-wheel.
"Frederick," she said, hesitating, "tell me--" and then stopped.
Frederick looked up and, hearing nothing more, again turned to his
charge. "No, listen!" And then, more softly: "Who is that boy I What is
his name?"

Frederick answered, just as softly: "That is Uncle Simon's swineherd; he
has a message for Huelsmeyer. Uncle gave me a pair of shoes and a
huckaback vest which the boy carried for me; in return I promised him my
violin; you see, he's a poor child. His name is John."

"Well?" said Margaret.

"What do you want, mother?"

"What's his other name?"

"Well--he has none, but, wait--yes, Nobody, John Nobody is his name. He
has no father," he added under his breath.

Margaret arose and went into the bedroom. After a while she came out
with a harsh, gloomy expression on her countenance. "Well, Frederick,"
she said, "let the boy go, so that he may attend to his errand. Boy, why
do you lie there in the ashes? Have you nothing to do at home?" With the
air of one who is persecuted the boy roused himself so hastily that all
his limbs got in his way, and the clog-violin almost fell into the fire.

"Wait, John," said Frederick proudly, "I'll give you half of my bread
and butter; it's too much for me anyhow. Mother always gives me a whole
slice."

"Never mind," said Margaret, "he is going home."

"Yes, but he won't get anything to eat now. Uncle Simon eats at seven
o'clock."

Margaret turned to the boy. "Won't they save anything for you? Tell me!
Who takes care of you?"

"Nobody," stuttered the child.

"Nobody?" she repeated; "then take it, take it!" she added nervously;
"your name is Nobody and nobody takes care of you. May God have pity on
you! And now see that you get away! Frederick, do not go with him, do
you hear? Do not go through the village together."

"Why, I only want to get wood out of the shed," answered Frederick. When
both boys had gone Margaret sank down in a chair and clasped her hands
with an expression of the deepest grief. Her face was as white as a
sheet. "A false oath, a false oath!" she groaned. "Simon, Simon, how
will you acquit yourself before God!"

Thus she sat for a while, motionless, with her lips shut tight, as if
completely unconscious. Frederick stood before her and had already
spoken to her twice.