e fitted with a name, a character and a story of its own. We
almost, nay quite, lived in their imaginary lives, and we shared their
joys and sorrows as if they had been real.

"I always returned home laden with gifts, and I was scarcely settled there,
when new requests came that I would repeat the visit. When we were a
little older we had lessons together, both from a regular teacher and
from my father, and when we began to read together, the heroes and
heroines of our books were as real to us as our dolls had been, and we
lived over their lives and histories again and again. What life and energy
Lili had; what freshness and vivacity; my charming Lili, with her flowing
brown curls and her laughing eyes!

"So the years passed, and no thought of coming sorrow and separation
crossed our young lives, until one day, when we were nearly twelve years
old, my father told me--I remember the very spot in the garden where we
were standing at that moment--that Mr. Blank, Lili's father, was about to
give up his factory and return to Germany. As I understood, Mr. Blank had
been deceived from the very beginning; the business was not in the
prosperous condition that had been represented to him, and now he was
obliged to give it up, to his great loss. My father was very much
disturbed, and he declared that Mr. Blank had been very badly treated, and
was consequently ruined.

"I was broken-hearted. To lose Lili, and to have her lose all her property,
were two things which made my life unhappy for a long, long time. The very
next day she came to say good-bye. We cried bitterly, for we could not
bear to think of living apart, we were so necessary to each other's
happiness. We promised to be always true to each other, and to use every
effort to meet again; and then we sat down together and composed a last
poem, for we had often written verses together. We cut the poem in
halves, and took each a half to keep as a token of our lasting union, and
as a sign of recognition when we should some day meet again.

"Lili went away. We wrote to each other for several years, and our
friendship continued as fervent as ever. These letters were the only drops
of comfort in the monotonous loneliness of my life after I lost Lili. When
I was about seventeen, I received a letter which told me that her father
had decided to go to America. She promised to write again as soon as they
were settled in their new life. I never heard from her again. Whether her
lett