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“Did you say anything, Dick?”

“I couldn’t; something has happened to him; he’ll tell you about it. I’m going to see to the horse, so take your time, and do what you like,” with which vague information Dick vanished, and Dolly wished herself anywhere but where she was.

Mr. Bopp sat before the fire, looking so haggard and worn out that the girl’s conscience pricked her sorely for her part in the change, but plucking up her courage, she stirred briskly among the tea-cups, asking,–

“What shall I give you, sir?”

“Thank you, I haf no care to eat.”

Something in his spiritless mien and sorrowful voice made Dolly’s eyes fill; but knowing she must depend upon herself now, and make the best of her position, she said kindly, yet nervously,–

“You look tired; let me do something for you if I can; shall I sing for you a little? you once said music rested you.”

“You are kind; I could like that I think. Excoose me if I am dull, I haf–yes, a little air if you please.”

More and more disturbed by his absent, troubled manner, Dolly began a German song he had taught her, but before the first line was sung he stopped her with an imploring–

“For Gott sake not that! I cannot hear it this night; it was the last I sung her in the Vaterland.”

“Mr. Bopp, what is it? Dick says you have a trouble; tell me, and let us help you if we can. Are you ill, in want, or has any one wronged or injured you in any way? Oh, let me help you!”

Tears had been streaming down Mr. Bopp’s cheeks, but as she spoke he checked them, and tried to answer steadily,–

“No, I am not ill; I haf no wants now, and no one has hurt me but in kindness; yet I haf so great a grief, I could not bear it all alone, and so I came to ask a little sympathy from your good Mutter, who has been kind to me as if I was a son. She is not here, and I thought I would stop back my grief; but that moosic was too much; you pity me, and so I tell you. See, now! when I find things go bright with me, and haf a hope of much work, I take the little store I saved, I send it to my friend Carl Hoffman, who is coming from my home, and say, ‘Bring Ulla to me now, for I can make life go well to her, and I am hungry till I haf her in my arms again.’ I tell no one, for I am bold to think that one day I come here with her in my hand, to let her thank you in her so sweet way for all you haf done for me. Well, I watch the wind, I count the days, I haf no rest for joy; and when Carl comes, I fly to him. He gifs me back my store, he falls upon my neck and does not speak, then I know my little Kind will never come, for she has gone to Himmel before I could make a home for her on earth. Oh, my Ulla! it is hard to bear;” and, with a rain of bitter tears, poor Mr. Bopp covered up his face and laid it down on his empty plate, as if he never cared to lift it up again.

Then Dolly forgot herself in her great sympathy, and, going to him, she touched the bent head with a soothing hand; let her tears flow to comfort his; and whispered in her tenderest voice,–

“Dear Mr. Bopp, I wish I could heal this sorrow, but as I cannot, let me bear it with you; let me tell you how we loved the little child, and longed to see her; how we should have rejoiced to know you had so dear a friend to make your life happy in this strange land; how we shall grieve for your great loss, and long to prove our respect and love for you. I cannot say this as I ought, but, oh, be comforted, for you will see the child again, and, remembering that she waits for you, you will be glad to go when God calls you to meet your Ulla in that other Fatherland.”