"I think too," said Mr. Birkenfeld, "that it is because of Dora's being
with us, that there has been a cessation of those mischievous pranks that
the twins were always at, and that kept the house in a constant state of
excitement."

"I have not the least doubt of it;" said his wife, "Dora has aroused in
Lili an enthusiasm for music, and all the child's lively energy is turned
into that channel. Wili follows his sister's lead, and they are both
therefore so busy that they have not even a thought for mischief."

"Dora is certainly an uncommon child and I am very sorry she is to leave
us so soon;" said Mr. Birkenfeld regretfully.

"That is what is weighing upon my mind," said his wife, "I am constantly
trying to devise some plan for prolonging her stay still farther."

"No, no;" said her husband, decidedly, "we can't do anything about that.
We don't know these people well enough to try to influence their
movements. They must go away now, but perhaps next year we may see them
here again."

Mrs. Birkenfeld sighed; there was a long winter to come, and there seemed
to her to be but little chance of the visit being repeated.

The day fixed for the departure was Monday, and on the day before there
was to be a grand feast, a farewell festival; though to tell the truth,
none of them felt much like making a jubilee. Rolf alone was in the mood,
and he took charge of the preparations, as an important part of which, a
number of choice riddles were to be hung about the summer-house as
transparencies: in honor of his patron.

On Saturday Dora took her seat, as usual, with the family at dinner, but
no one had any appetite; the coming separation was too much in their
thoughts. As the mother was helping to soup, one after another exclaimed,
"Very little for me," "Please only a little," "I really don't care for any
to-day," "Scarcely any for me, thank you," "And less for me, to-day."

"I should like to ask--" said their father, amid this shower of "No, thank
yous;" "I can't help wondering whether this 'thank you, to-morrow,' style
of thing is caused by grief at parting, or by a general dislike for
onion-soup."

"Onion-soup! onion-soup! that is the answer to Hunne's riddle!" cried Rolf
with a cry of victory, for he had really taken it seriously to heart, that
Hunne's charade had been so long unguessed. The answer was right. Poor
Hunne was quite depressed at this unexpected blow, and in a moment he said
somewhat pitifully,

"Oh dea