nning at the repeated summons of Aunt Ninette, just
as Battiste had gone to save the patriarchs of the flood with his
bean-pole; and when she reached her, the tumult was stilled.

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Kurd? It was frightful! Everything is quiet now,
and I hope they are saved!"

"Oh yes, of course," said Mrs. Kurd, quite unconcernedly, "it is only the
little ones. They are always crying out about something. There isn't
really anything the matter."

"No; but children's cries are so shrill; I am shivering all over. How will
my husband stand it? No; this settles it, Mrs. Kurd. We shall go away.
This is the last drop."

With these words Mrs. Ehrenreich hurried into her husband's room to see
how he had borne the shock. He was sitting at his table, with his ears
stopped with cotton wool, and he did not hear his wife come in. He had
stuffed his ears when the first cry came, and had therefore escaped the
rest of the hubbub.

"Oh, that is very unhealthy, it is so heating for the head;" cried Aunt
Ninette, much distressed. She pulled the wool from his ears, and announced
that she should go directly after the church-service on the morrow, and
ask the pastor where they could move to, since this place was unendurable.

This plan suited Uncle Titus as well as any other; all he wanted was
quiet. Aunt Ninette, thinking over her plans, went back to her own room.

Dora stood waiting for her aunt in the passage-way. "Are we really going
away, Aunt?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, decidedly;" replied Mrs. Ehrenreich, "we shall move on Monday."

Poor little Dora! it was a sad trial to her, to have to go away without
once having a chance to make the acquaintance of the other family; to go
into the beautiful garden, to smell those delicious flowers, and to join
the merry child-life that she had watched so closely, and yet from which
she was so entirely separated. Her future seemed swallowed up in those
stifling cotton shirts that were her fate in dull Karlsruhe. As she sat on
the side of her little bed, that night, sadly cast down by these
melancholy thoughts, she forgot the five friendly stars in the sky above.
Yet there they were, sparkling as ever, as if they were trying to speak to
their child and say, "Dora, Dora! have you quite forgotten your father's
verses?"

CHAPTER VI.

A FRIGHTFUL DEED.

It was a beautiful, bright Sunday morning. In the garden all was peaceful
and lovely. No sound broke the perfect stillness,