DOROTHY AND ANTON
DOROTHY AND ANTON
jequel to Mear MaugJter Dorotbt
A. G. PLYMPTON
AUTHOR OF "ROBIN'S RECRUIT," "PENELOPE PRIG," "THE LITTLE
SISTER OF WILIFRED," "RAGS AND VELVET GOWNS~,
BETTYY A BUTTERFLY"
BY A. G. PLYMPTON.
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
I. IN THE THIERGARTEN . 7
II. DOROTHY IN THE PENSION . 20
III. SHOPPING UNDER DIFFICULTIES 35
IV. THE DRESS-SUIT . .44
V. A GERMAN FAMILY. .. 49
VI. "THE GIFT OF TALENT". .. 57
VII. ANTON.. . . 67
VIII. THE BOY IN THE LUSTGARTEN .77
IX. A RECKLESS GIFT . 86
X. FORTUNE SMILES. .... .91
XI. THE HOCHSCHULE . .. 0I1
XII. A COUNCIL . . 107
XIII. A STRANGE DISCOVERY .. 114
XIV. CONCLUSION . .. 122
DOROTHY AND ANTON.
IN THE THIERGARTEN.
JUDGE HARTWELL and Dorothy were
sitting on one of the benches of the
The Thiergarten is the great park of
Berlin. Almost like a forest, it starts
from the city's heart and extends far
into the fair German country. The
Chaussee, with its pomp and glitter, its
gay parade of court equipages, keeps
along its edge; and pretty friuleins and
handsome officers ride in every direc-
tion upon the riding paths.
Dorothy liked to watch the sober
Dorothy and Anton.
German children who held sedate con-
versations with each other in that
strange tongue that seemed so un-
sociable to our small American.
The Judge also seemed to like the
Thiergarten; but he had no eyes for
the friuleins, or the officers, or the
staid children, or even the queer little
German babies tied up in pillows with
no possibility of moving their little
legs, whom Dorothy with much pity
was constantly pointing out to him.
He seemed always watching for some
one who never came.
He had been in the best of spirits
during their long pleasant trip; but
ever since they entered Berlin, he
seemed under some sad spell. Was it
the gray autumn Berlin weather, Doro-
thy wondered, or was he dreading his
return to his lonely home?
In the Thzkiergrlen.
At all events, she was sure that this
dear friend was, for some cause or other,
sorely in need of sympathy and love; for
Dorothy seemed to have a special sense
that enabled her to see, through all the
disguises of reserve, pride, or feigned
gayety, the need of comfort in another's
heart. It was her gift, her friends said,
as another might have a gift for music
or drawing; and a thousand fold more
endearing it was than these showier
So, as they sat there on the bench in
the Thiergarten, she was trying, with
such art as she had, to cheer him; and
he, having seen the purpose of her kind
guileless chatter, had assumed an air of
hilarity which perhaps he was far from
feeling, and was just at the point of ask-
ing her to come with him for a boat-ride
on the little lake that could be seen
Io Dorothy and Anton.
between the foliage of the oak-trees,
when his hand loosened its clasp on
hers, and a sudden eager look sprang
to his eyes.
Dorothy followed his glance, and
saw a dark-robed figure moving in the
direction of the lake. The Judge rose
instantly and followed it; and as he
overtook the woman, Dorothy watched
breathlessly to see if he would stop and
speak. But, no; he let her pass him,
and then came back slowly to the
He sat down, and Dorothy noticed
that his hand trembled as it rested on
his knee. She drew closer to him,
and, pressing into his arms, felt the
quick, hard beats of his heart.
It's too bad there are so many of
the wrong ones out to-day," she said,
but among so very many people it
In the Thiergarten. 11
seems as if the real one must come
along at last. Let's sit here awhile
and wait-for her."
The Judge drew his hand across his
brow, looked at Dorothy, and smiled.
He began to banter her about her
sharp eyes, and "presently repeated his
invitation to go on the lake.
Of course she welcomed this proposal,
and they were just moving away when
another of those sad-looking persons
Dorothy looked up at her friend
quickly, but after a sharp glance he
shook his head.
He took her hand, and they started
for the lake. The Judge was six feet
and some odd inches, and his compan-
ion was a small slip of a thing of
To look in his face she was obliged
12 Dorothy and Anton.
to tip her head so that her soft golden
brown curls hung far below her waist.
While he walked in slow strides like a
lazy giant, she danced by his side, fairy-
wise. Sometimes she pretended to scold
him for making her look so very small,
but to-day she openly admired her tall,
"I am so glad," she said cheerfully,
"that you are so big, so handsome, and
"Lucky! Bless my soul," said the
Judge; "why do you think I'm
Well, you always have so much
money in your pockets; that's a very
nice thing," said Dorothy, pensively.
I've helped you spend a good deal of
it, haven't I? We have been to so
many places, and we have bought so
many pretty things. Why, I've so
In the Thiergarlen.
many that papa says I travel about
with as much luggage as a great lady.
He says you are 'most too good to me.
Now, here is this little watch," cried
Dorothy, drawing from- under her coat
the prettiest little bawble of a time-
piece; it cost ever and ever so much
money, and I remember that papa said
it was too expensive for a child, and I
said so too, though I was dreadfully
afraid you would decide not to buy it
for me,--and all the toys and other
things. If you had n't plenty of money,
you couldn't have bought them, and
we could n't have visited all the inter-
esting places, and we couldn't have
helped the poor people we saw every-
where we went."
You mean thatyou saw," interrupted
the Judge. No one ever had such eyes
14 Dorothy and Anton.
Well, that was my part, for I did n't
have any money, you know," Dorothy
explained. Besides, when you are hav-
ing such a very good time yourself, you
pity miserable people the most. It
does n't seem fair, does it, to have so
much more than they do. Anyhow,
it's nice, I think, when you are sorry
for them, to put your hands in your
pocket and give them what will make
"So it is," assented the Judge; "but
you have something better than money
to give, dear little Dorothy, a warm
heart scatters more blessings than a
"And you have both," was the tri-
umphant reply. "Yes, you are very
lucky. You have everything you want."
Have everything I want! I should
like to know what," exclaimed the
c :-;-, i ~r I
! is 1;
F 413~ R : :
THE JUDGE'S STORY,
In the Thiergarten.
Judge, who always encouraged Doro-
"Cigars, -lots of them," said Doro-
thy, making a fearful grimace to ex-
press her disgust; and such a splendid
great house all to yourself."
"' Let us think on our marcies,' said
the Judge, quoting the wise words of
an old darkey in a great novel. When
I'm inclined to be low-spirited, I will
try to remember the cigars. But a
house all to yourself, my little girl, is not
a thing to be envied. Bless you, child,
you can't think how lonely I have
been in that house waiting for one
who I now believe will never return
Is it the one we are looking for
here ? asked Dorothy.
The Judge nodded. The eager sym-
pathy of this child moved him to speak
16 Dorothy and Anton.
now of one whose name he had not
mentioned for many years.
Once upon a time," he began.
"Oh," interrupted Dorothy, drawing
him up to a bench," that sounds so in-
teresting I don't want to go for the
Once upon a time," he recommended,
having seated himself, that house was
the home of two children, my sister
and myself. She was much such a
looking child as you, with just such
sunny curls, and a way no one could
"I'm sure you had just as good
a way," said Dorothy, with friendly
"We were devotedly fond of each
other; yet we often quarrelled, for each
had a strong will. Our parents died
when we were very young, and I felt
In the Thiergaorlen.
that I should be a father to Edith,
who in turn wished to be a mother to
The Judge laughed low in his beard,
as if he remembered queer incidents of
those bygone days.
It is that motherly instinct in you,
child, that has often reminded me of
my poor Edith. But her maternal of-
fices included much discipline. Some-
times her petting ended with a slap,
and often I exasperated her with airs
of authority. Well, you see, Dorothy,
by the time we were well grown, quarrel-
ling had become a habit; yet I loved her
tenderly, and I was proud of her, -of
her beauty, for she was an enchanting
creature, and prouder still of her rare
gift for music. Yet it was this talent
that caused all the trouble. She wished
to sing in public, and I opposed her. If
18 Dorothy and Anton.
I had been kind, she might have given
up for my sake; but I was violent and
disagreeable. She came here to Berlin
to study, and it was here that she married
a miserable German musician, who be-
witched her with his wonderful violin.
In spite of all I could say, she gave
up her friends, her pride, her common-
sense, and her country, and married him.
It was here in the Thiergarten that we
had our last quarrel, each declaring he
would go his or her own way in life, for-
getting the other., And I have never
seen her again. I never shall, though I
have come back year after year to look
for her. At first I did not miss her so
much,- I had a lovely wife and a happy
home; but now in my old age, when my
wife is dead and my home lonely, I grieve
for my poor Edith."
He stopped. His eyes followed a
In the Thiergarten. 19
sombre-hued woman walking wearily
along the path.
Hurry, hurry !" cried little Dorothy,
pushing him. "Go quick and see if
And the Judge went.
DOROTHY IN THE PENSION.
THE next day was the one set for
Judge Hartwell's departure, and very
sorrowfully indeed Dorothy and her
father took leave of him. It grieved
Dorothy to think how lonely he would
be in that great house where he was
waiting for Edith, whom he had not
found, and whom he now quite de-
spaired of ever finding.
Not long ago this house had been
Dorothy's home, and the little girl had
tried to be a daughter to the Judge,
who had come to love her so much that
he wished to keep her always with him.
But when the clouds that for a time
Dorothy in the Pension.
darkened her father's fortunes and
forced him to part with her had passed,
he joyfully claimed his child, without
whom, indeed, this world seemed but
a sorry place. The little girl was an
ideal comrade, so loyal and brave, so
loving and light-hearted, and in her
company it was so easy to forget the
hard facts of existence, that to part with
her seemed like living without the
But although Dorothy was happy in
being reunited to her father, she had a
grievous sense of deserting the Judge.
It was this that made her grieve so much
over his loneliness, and so thoughtful
of what would please him. He had
been so tender to her in the time of her
trouble that it was very hard now, when
she knew that he had need of her, to
shake off her obligation to him and
22 Dorothy and Anton.
fly away. No one dreamed of the
deep remorse of this poor innocent
child; the Judge, who would have re-
- gretted it most deeply, the least of all.
In fact, if he had but suspected that
any such feeling cast a shadow over
Dorothy's happiness, it would have
gone hard with him but he would have
found some way of comforting this
faithful little heart.
Dorothy sailed away consoling herself
as best she could with the hope that
her lonely friend would soon follow her
father and herself to the Old World; and
this happened, as he promised, in July.
Then followed months of pleasuring, in
which all such distressing thoughts
were naturally forgotten. But at length
the three friends found themselves in
Berlin, where the little party was to
break up. Now the excursions, the
Dorothy in the Pension.
sight-seeing, and all the fun were to come
to an end, and Dorothy must content
herself at the pension, while her father
busied himself with his writing and his
researches in the Royal Library, for
which purpose he had come to Berlin.
The outlook was not very bright; for
she could not yet speak the language,
and her father would have no time to
spare for her amusement. But a cheer-
ful temper carries one gayly through
tedious marches, and Dorothy was start-
ing with courage. She had heard an
American lady who lived at the same
pension with herself tell another that
she "had gotten a complete mastery of
German in six weeks." Already Doro-
thy said she had gotten a complete
mastery of ja and nein, and she would,
no doubt, go on improving. She was
grateful, too, that her papa's cough, that
Dorothy and Anton.
had been such a cause for anxiety the
winter previous, had been entirely cured
by change of climate. This in itself
would have reconciled Dorothy to her
exile; and as for amusement, she had
too much imagination ever to be at a
loss for that. It is only dull children
or those who never learn to tax their
own invention because well-meaning but
over-kind parents and friends provide
for them too much entertainment, who
tease others to amuse them, or lounge
about in discontented idleness.
A great pleasure at this time was the
selection of gifts that she meant to carry
home to her friends in Boston. She
set about this task with enthusiasm,
and had already picked up several such
souvenirs. One of these gifts was an
inkstand that had been used by a per-
son who had occupied a room that had
Dorothy in the Pension.
once been occupied by Heinrich Heine.
Dorothy had never heard of the poet,
but she did not on that account ques-
tion his claim to the title, and felt sure
that Professor Grumpinson in Boston,
the person for whom the inkstand was
destined, would appreciate it on account
of this association, and overlook the fact
that the lid was gone, and that it was
necessary to prop it up against some-
thing firm to make it stand upright.
Dorothy had paid a good round sum
for the inkstand. Her second purchase
was an Edelweiss pin that she had
bought for another friend,- a little old-
maid who kept a candy-shop "round
the corner," as it was designated by the
children on Sunshine Street who were
Dorothy's neighbors. For good Mrs.
Kipp, who was perhaps the little girl's
oldest friend, having received her nearly
26 Dorothy and Anton.
eight years ago into her house and
heart, Dorothy had wished to buy a
"real Paris bonnet." Auntie Kipp's
bonnets were always of the same style
and ugliness, being very flat in the
back and with spikes of ribbon, flowers,
and other varieties of millinery at either
side. Paris bonnets, however, come
high, and she finally contented herself
with a silver bracelet. This may seem
an odd gift to select for an old lady,
but on the bracelet was engraved the
words "Gott shiiltze dich" (God protect
thee), which she thought gave a serious
character to the otherwise frivolous
The pension in which the Thorpes
had established themselves for the win-
ter had been highly recommended, but
was not nearly so pleasant as ,Mrs.
Kipp's house in Boston, Dorothy
Dorothy in the Pension.
thought. This opinion was not en-
tirely the result of loyalty, for a more
ill-assorted company was never under
one roof. There was a disagreeable
Englishwoman who made everybody un-
comfortable. She had n't any tact, and
had a great deal of temper, and she
didn't in the least mind putting her
foot down hard upon one's tenderest
feelings. The Americans quarrelled
not only with the disagreeable English-
woman, but also among themselves.
There was a family from Philadelphia,
and a lady with two daughters from
New York. It. was the New York
mamma that had gotten a thorough
mastery of German in six weeks," and
it was the eldest of her two daughters
who said that when she went to a new
pension she wore all her jewelry, and
then took it off to show the people they
28 Dorothy and Anton.
were not good enough for her. Both
families were ambitious to enter Berlin
court society; and the culminating tri-
umph of the New York family was an
invitation for Mrs. Van Brunt and Miss
Estella to a certain ball, at which many
of the aristocracy were to be present.
Dorothy heard Mrs. Van Brunt talk-
ing about this in the pension parlor,
and describing the dress Miss Estella
was to wear, which she declared was
made by Worth, and a perfect dream.
The sort of dream one has after a
late supper, I suppose," whispered the
Philadelphia mamma to the disagree-
Papa is going to the ball too," said
The ladies exchanged glances. Their
smiles seemed to say that it could not
be possible that this unpretending
She crept up to the youngest and kindest Miss Van Brunt.
Doro/Iy in Ihe Pension.
young man was honored by an invita-
tion to this aristocratic assembly.
But when Dorothy informed them
that he was going in the company of
a certain Herr Von Stein, every one at
once became interested and convinced.
Those who have read the previous his-
tory of Thorpe and Company will re-
member that Herr Von Stein was an
old friend of Thorpe Senior, and it was
he who had given him the violin on
which Baby Dorothy's lullabies had
been sung. He occupied a high posi-
tion in Berlin, and Mrs. Van Brunt
was already planning through Doro-
thy's papa to secure an introduction to
Dorothy was a little offended at the
surprise of the ladies. She did not see
why the acquaintance of Thorpe Senior
was not as desirable as that of Herr
30 Dorothy and Anton.
Von Stein, nor why he should not go
to this ball as well as Miss Estella,
even if he did n't have a Worth gown
that was a perfect dream."
He is going to wear a Prince Albert
coat, and gray trousers, and a :lovely
Dorothy made the announcement as
an offset to the elegant costume of Miss
Van Brunt; but her pride was instantly
extinguished by the laughter of the
When it had subsided, she crept up
to the youngest, and the kindest Miss
Van Brunt, to ask the reason of it,
and was told that etiquette compelled
gentlemen to appear on such occasions
in dress suits.
And if he goes in the Prince Albert
coat and gray trousers, what will hap-
pen to him? Will he be put in a
Dorothy in the Pension. 31
dungeon ? asked Dorothy, who firmly
believed dungeons to be an important
feature of European life.
Reassured on this point, Dorothy left
the parlor and went up to her own
room.. She had no idea of betraying
the secret of her uneasiness to the com-
pany below; but the fact was that a
dress suit was a thing that Thorpe
Senior did not own.
He was very absent-minded and
dreamy, this handsome young father of
Dorothy, and seldom thought to order
new clothes until reminded to do so
by his watchful daughter. Sometimes
at home, having free access to her
father's money, Dorothy herself would
supply him with a new set of collars
or a fresh necktie. It is not strange,
therefore, that she had an exaggerated
idea of her own responsibility in these
32 Dorothy and Anton.
matters, or that she sometimes carried
too far her superintendence of his
At all events, it seemed to her, now,
that the question of the dress suit was
really hers to settle. The ball was to
take place that very night, and some-
thing should be done at once.
Since they had been abroad, Thorpe
Senior had been forced to look more
carefully after his money than he did
at home. He could not leave it in a
bureau drawer as he did at Auntie
Kipp's, but carried it in his pocket,
running the chance of lighting his cigar
with it, or throwing it away as waste
paper or any other absent-minded act.
So in these days the contents of her
own little purse was all that Dorothy
had to draw from. But before the
Judge had started for America, he had
Dorothy in the Pension.
given her a letter of credit which he
told her to keep for use in cases of
emergency. The thought of sickness
may have been in his mind, or, knowing
that by excessive generosity and what
he called lack of worldly prudence,
Thorpe and Company (as these two,
from the close companionship between
them, were often called) were sometimes
in hard straits, perhaps he meant, when
their money ran short; but Dorothy
believed this sudden pressing need of a
swallow-tail coat was just the sort of
event the Judge must have anticipated.
"The trouble is," she said, as she
unlocked her trunk and took out the
letter of credit, I have never taken as
much interest as I ought to in dress
suits. I don't know the best kind, and
I don't know what they are called in
German. Perhaps Miss Estella would
34 Dorothy and Anton.
know, but I'm not a-going to ask
Full of her purpose, Dorothy jammed
on her hat and jerked herself into her
coat, and, taking her bag on her arm,
walked out of the pension. She took
her way to a lively street which is called
Potsdamer Strasse, and where she had
often walked with her father or the
Judge. It is lined by attractive shop-
windows; but none of them had any
attraction for Dorothy until she stopped
before one where several 'wax gentle-
men were displaying the latest fashion
in coats and trousers.
SHOPPING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
IT was now several weeks since the
Thorpes had been in Berlin, but Dor-
othy did not seem to learn languages
so easily as most children do. Neverthe-
less the little she knew went a long
way; and her ingenuity in expressing
herself by means of the few German
words she had learned, was the occa-
sion of any amount of amusement at
For instance, one day at table, curi-
ous to know whether the queer little
cakes were made by the hansfrau or
were brought from the confectioner's, and
not knowing how to put her question to
Frau Schmidt, she held up the cake, and,
36 Dorothy and Anton.
looking steadily at it, slowly repeated
one of her stock phrases, "Wer leben
Sie ?" (Where do.you live ?), and Frau
Schmidt knew instantly what was meant.
A single word with a smile, a frown,
a gesture, or a telling look, served for
a complicated sentence. She carried a
pocket dictionary which in especially
difficult circumstances she hastily con-
sulted to introduce in triumph some
utterly unrecognizable word into the
conversation. The pocket dictionary
with the letter of credit was in that bag
that hung on Dorothy's arm as she
walked along Potsdamer Strasse.
With the letter of credit, the diction-
ary, a complete mastery of ja and nein,
and some sentences of broken English
which she had picked up at home from
a German Jew to whom Mrs. Kipp some-
times sold old clothing, and which seemed
Shopping under Difficulties. 37
to Dorothy a natural means of commu-
nication between German tailors and
herself, she felt quite able to cope with
the difficulties of her undertaking.
Business was brisk that morning, at
least in that particular shop, and Dorothy
was obliged to wait until one of the
clerks was at leisure. When he caught
sight of this business-like figure, he
stepped up to her with the customary
Dorothy returned them in as good
German as she could muster, and then,
tapping significantly her own little chest,
said impressively, A customer."
He looked down upon her with good-
natured amusement, and began to tell
her that he would be grateful for her
patronage, and obsequiously inquired
what he could have the honor of show-
Dorothy and Anton.
Luckily at just that moment Dorothy's
eye fell upon a pile of fashion-plates,
the top one of which represented a
gentleman in full-dress costume. She
pointed triumphantly to it, declaring it
was what she wanted.
By this time the attention of some of
the other clerks was attracted by this
dialogue. One of these, with a wink
at his fellows, suddenly took a tape-meas-
ure from his pocket and went up to
Dorothy; but, guessing his intention, she
sprang away from him, crying, Nein,
nein, not for me," and then fell back
in despair on the old-clothes man's
I vant to puy ein shute of gloes for
shentleman,- von tall shentleman," cried
Dorothy, standing on the tip of her toes,
and stretching her arms above her head
to signify great height. I vant to puy
Shopping under Dzficulties. 39
ein shute of gloes like dot," pointing to
the plate. I pay goot monnish."
In confirmation of this fact, she pro-
duced the letter of credit, which the men
examined in visible perplexity. They
looked helplessly at each other, and then
at this young person who gave a big
order with such nonchalance and who
seemed to possess the money to ,pay
Dorothy hoped that they would un-
derstand what she wished, ard the trans-
action would be over; but with shrugs
and head-shakes they returned the letter
of credit to her, and she was beginning
for the first time to feel the hopeless-
ness of her errand, when a man was
called who she found could speak
She explained to him at once what
she wanted; and after much silly jesting,
40 Dorothy and, Anton.
as she thought, on his part, he took her
name and address, and promised that
the dress-suit should be sent in good
time for the ball.
Dorothy drew a sigh of relief as at
length she went out of the tailor's shop.
She did not see the group of hilarious
clerks who watched her to the door, and
who often, no doubt, described this little
incident as illustrating the surprising
audacity of American children.
Papa will look like an angel in that
suit at the ball," she said cheerfully to
herself; "and he will dance all the even-
ing, and every one will ask, 'Who is that
handsome gentleman in that elegant
fashionable spick-and-span new dress-
suit ?' And Estella Van Brunt will just
die to have him invite her to dance, -
and he won't. Well," said Dorothy, soft-
ening in spite of herself at the fancied
Shopping under Dificulties.
misery of Miss Estella, he will give her
one little, little turn, perhaps, just at the
Dorothy was in a charming humor as
she walked back through busy Pots-
damer Strasse. Now she stopped at
every window, and decided what was the
prettiest thing in each, and wondered if
it were worthy to represent her love for
the good old Judge. But, no, there
was nothing, nothing in all Berlin, that
would do this. Only by love and loy-
alty, it seemed, could she pay her debt
Often she sat thinking of the story
he had told her, her soft thoughtful gray
eyes fixed upon space, so unobservant
of her surroundings that Thorpe Senior
would wonder what filled his dear Dor-
othy's thoughts; but she had never be-
trayed her friend's confidence.
42 Dorothy and Anton.
Sometimes in the streets, and still
oftener in the Thiergarten, she would
"Often she sat thinking."
see a figure whom she called Edith, who
for all she knew might be the dear lost
sister of the Judge. Would he never
find his poor Edith, she wondered, and
would she never go back to the home
Shopping under Difficulties. 43
of her girlhood? And Dorothy would
think pitifully of her poor friend in his
old age left uncomforted and lonely.
Such thoughts would always bring a
keen sense of contrition that she too
had deserted him, and she would write
him long letters filled with her love and
pity, every word of which she had no
doubt in all his busy life he would yet find
time to read, which indeed he did.
WHEN Thorpe Senior came home the
night of the ball, he found Dorothy hang-
ing enraptured over a dress-suit which
was spread out upon the bed.
You know you did n't have one, papa,
and it seems you can't go to this ball in
a Prince Albert coat and gray trousers,"
she said; "so I ordered this. I shall
pay for it with the letter of credit. They
would n't have sent it if I 'd not shown
them that. But I never ordered this
shirt, or these patent-leather shoes.
Do you think they threw them in ?
Maybe it was their souvenir day, such
as they have in the stores at home
when they give you a card of hooks and
eyes or a paper of pins with each thing
that you buy. To be sure, these cost
more; but in these old countries, papa,
they would perhaps be ashamed to give
such little things as they do in a place
like America that they despise so. I'm
sure you'll look lovely, and I do hope
you 'll dance once with poor Miss
When the real meaning of Doro-
thy's words dawned upon her papa's
mind, he flung himself into a chair
"What must these starchy Germans
think of such a child?" he said, his
eyes still twinkling, as he caught Doro-
thy and kissed her.
"I don't see that there is anything
to laugh at," said Dorothy; and she ex-
plained her dilemma, and begged so
46 Dorothy and Anton.
eagerly if she had done anything
which displeased him that he would
forgive her, that he had not a word
However he explained that no tailor
would fill an order given by a child,
and that it was he himself who had
ordered these garments, having for
once had the forethought to provide
himself with everything he needed to
go to the ball.
When he was dressed, he stood up as
stiff as the wax gentlemen in the tailor's
window, while Dorothy walked around
him with her ridiculous little head on
one side, murmuring, "It's a perfect
But first she brought a chry~anthe-
mum that she had bought at the flo-
rist's,- a huge yellow chrysanthemum,
Heaven save the mark! -and pinned it
in his buttonhole, and which he would
not have refused to wear for all the
crowned heads of Europe.
"It's not proper to go without a chaperone."
I suppose you 'll be saying next that
you ordered this," she said archly; and
now there is only one other thing that
48 Dorothy and Anton.
"And what may that be?" asked
Why," said Dorothy, "it's a chape-
rone. They all have 'em, papa. Miss
Estella says it's not proper to go with-
out. I was thinking what a pity it is I
cannot go as yours."
The thought of Dorothy among
the corpulent and majestic mammas
that line the walls of ball-rooms sent
Thorpe Senior into fits of laughter;
but all the evening a soft light shone
in his handsome dark eyes that it is
to be hoped none of the beautiful
ladies that graced the ball fancied was
for her, because his heart belonged en-
tirely to that fair child sleeping the
sleep of the innocent and kind on the
top floor of the pension.
A GERMAN FAMILY.
MR. THORPE had a friend in Berlin,
Professor Hoffenmeyer, who had mar-
ried an American lady, very beautiful
and kind, who had heard about Doro-
thy and wished to see her.
The Hoffenmeyers had three chil-
dren, who spoke English as well as
German, having made many visits to
their grandparents in Virginia. The
prospect of talking with real boys and
girls," as Dorothy's phrase was in speak-
ing of such as spoke the English tongue,
was delightful to our little American,who
therefore, on the day after the ball, set
50 Dorothy and Anton.
out in the best of spirits with her father
for the home of these friends.
I am rather afraid," she said, as they
walked on together, that the Frau Pro-
fessor has lived so long in Germany that
she has forgotten about American chil.
dren. Do you think she has? "
Why, what about them ? asked her
Well, Frau Schmidt says that
American children are forward and
"Was the remark made a propose of
Well, no. That would have been
.dreadfully impolite," answered Dorothy;
"but she may have thought so all the
same. It's very difficult, papa, for a
person to be a child. You must n't be
forward, you know, but, dear me, you
,must n't be backward, either. The
A German Family.
English lady who was asking me the
other day about my studies and all
that, says I am dreadfully backward;
and we had not got to arithmetic,
The best wood is a long time grow-
ing," said Thorpe Senior, looking very
approvingly at his backward daughter.
Yes, papa," Dorothy assented, quite
innocent of the application; "but I
do hate to have people talk about
"I shouldn't select it myself as a
subject of conversation," Thorpe Senior
agreed. It's not suggestive, and then
I'm not likely to shine in it."
Oh, papa, you always shine," said his
admiring daughter. "You are so clever,
you know. It's queer I should be so
stupid, is n't it? But if they talk about
arithmetic at Professor Hoffenmeyer's, I
Dorothy and Anton.
hope you will remember how I feel, and
change the subject."
She was very pleasant to look upon,
this little girl with a serious innocent
happy face, like the ideal child faces
of the great painters. She had large
soft gray eyes, with curling lashes,
sweet red smiling lips, and sunny hair
that waved and tumbled about her face.
Her manners were gentle, and love and
sympathy were in her heart for every liv-
ing creature. You could as soon call
a little nestling bird or the soft summer
breeze that caresses your cheek, forward
The Hoffenmeyers lived in fine apart-
ments on the second floor of one of the
high stucco-finished buildings of Ber-
lin, very like, only handsomer than the
pension where the Thorpes stayed.
The Professor and his pretty wife
A German Family.
welcomed Dorothy warmly, and sum-
moned their children at once to make
The children came eagerly in; the
two eldest were boys, true German
lads. Fritz was handsome, and full of
talent. He was a fine scholar, and
played the violin so beautifully that
Thorpe Senior was enchanted. He
could do everything that Franz would
have liked to do but could not. Franz
had a beautiful, calm, lazy, loving nature,
and he was more beloved than Fritz.
The youngest child was a girl, and not
so German as her brothers. She had a
little sparkling face and.quick motions
like a bird's, and was sometimes in dis-
grace for her saucy wilfulness. Never-
theless Lottchen was affectionate and
dear. She edged up to Dorothy,
Dorothy and Anton.
"Do you know how to play Old
Maid?" she asked.
No," replied Dorothy, with chagrin.
"I 'm very backward, and I 've never
Fritz will teach you if you will only
stay long enough," said Franz. Fritz
Do you like Berlin?" Fritz now
asked with sedate German polite-
Dorothy answered with discretion.
She would not own to her dislike of
this great country in which she had
really been so lonely and dull.
"Well, it's not so nice as Norfolk,"
Lottchen admitted. My grandmother
lives there, -the one that spoils me.
My grandmother in Germany thinks I
should always be learning to sew. Can
you sew ?"
A German Family.
Oh dear, yes! I 'm not so backward
as that," Dorothy answered.
Of such an accomplishment as the
German women make of needlework
she had never dreamed. She thought of
those terrible knobs on Thorpe Senior's
stockings that she called "darns," and
spoke with confidence.
Before leaving Berlin, however, she
saw the truly wonderful darning done
by the little girls in the schools, where
needlework is as faithfully taught as any
branch of learning. She saw the darn-
ing of linen where the material was not
only replaced but woven in an ornamen-
tal manner in plaid, square, or lozenge
pattern. It filled her with astonishment,
and a modesty in regard to her own
handiwork; but it cannot be recorded
that it stirred in her any feeling of
56 Dorotky and Anton.
Dorothy's unconscious magic won the
favor of the Frau Professor, and at her
earnest solicitation the Thorpes left the
disagreeable pension, and our little girl
learned to love Berlin in the home of
this charming family.
"THE GIFT OF TALENT."
BERLIN was now making ready for the
holidays. But Christmas in Germany
begins weeks before the twenty-fifth of
December, the true holiday, and the
preparations for it at a still earlier date.
The whole nation abandons itself to the
joyousness of the festival; and the city
of Berlin, with its spicy groves, where
the Christmas-trees are for sale in the
open squares, with its enchanting shops
(and even the butcher and the baker
shops are attractive in Berlin), its booths,
its flowers, and its infectious jollity,
might well reconcile Dorothy to her
58 Dorothy and Anton,
The Hoffenmeyers, each in his own
way, tried to cure her of that dreadful
malady, homesickness; and they soon
succeeded, for they used the best specific,
which is kindness. She enjoyed the
bright companionship of Lottchen, loved
Franz dearly, and admired Fritz with all
Hedwig, the children's nurse, a bright
young German girl, initiated her into
all the mysteries of German housekeep-
ing, and entertained her with stories of
the days when she was a little peasant
So Dorothy came to understand the
true home life of the Germans nearly
as well as that of her own countrymen.
Everything pleased and surprised her, but
nothing pleased or surprised her more
than the charming kitchens. What, she
wondered, would good Auntie Kipp say,
" The Gift of Talent."
what would old Jane with her closets
filled with blackened and battered tins
say, to a kitchen ornamented with rows
of dainty shelves on which in exquisite
order were arranged cooking-utensils
of iron and shining brass and copper,
60 Dorothy and Anton.
while mugs and pitchers hung from
rows of brass hooks, each hook tied with
a bright ribbon? Franz spent all his
pfennige in queer little German articles
for her, a raisin man one day, a mar-
zipan animal another, and perhaps a
flower made of soap the next; while
Fritz played his prettiest air for her on
the violin in his finest style.
Once, after Fritz had been playing
Dorothy overheard her father express
a hope to the Frau Professor that
his own daughter would yet show a
desire to learn music. Hardly were the
words spoken before such a wish sprang
up in Dorothy's heart; but it would have
been the same if he had mentioned a
desire to have her learn carpenter-
ing or the language of the South Sea
Upon the next occasion when Thorpe
" The Gift of Talent."
and Company were alone together,
"Papa dear, I think I have a com-
plete mastery of Old Maid now, and I
should like to learn the violin. Would
it be a good plan ?"
It really seems as if it were the next
step," her father said. He looked at her
and laughed, and then added more seri-
ously, "It will please me very much,
Dorothy leaned back in her chair and
smiled at him.
"Well, that's settled then. Do you
want me to be a genius ? "
A man is naturally ambitious for his
only child, but I '11 try and be contented
if you become merely a very good per-
former," was Thorpe Senior's smiling an-
swer. What is your own opinion about
it, Dorothy? I know you must have one."
62 Dorothy and Anton.
I think I'd rather not be quite a
genius. I might try, though, and leave
off if I don't like it. Fritz says that a
true genius cares for nothing in all the
world but music. I shouldn't like that.
Why, how on earth could you ever get
on papa, if Ishouldn't look after you or
care for you? Oh, no, I don't want to
be a genius."
Thorpe Senior heartily agreed with
his daughter that he could never get
on without her love and care; so this
point was disposed of. Arrangements
were immediately made with Herr Hel-
fen, Fritz's master, to take Dorothy as a
pupil; and in a few days her lessons
It was irksome work for the little
" musiker," who, alas, had no especial
talent. Love for her father alone, not
love of music, kept the instrument under
" The Gzft of Talent."
her dimpled chin and the bow in her
blundering little fingers.
of the judge, pitying his probable loneli-
'. '. ,Z";-
'- I I
i [I' :1',.
Learning to play the violin.
During the preparations for the holi-
days, Dorothy thought oftener than ever
of the Judge, pitying his probable loneli-
Dorothy and Anton.
ness at this season, when all that are of
kin draw closer to each other; and she
searched the shops still more industri-
ously for that gift she meant to carry him.
This persevering search was the sub-
ject of many a joke in the Hoffenmeyer
family. Even the grave Professor liked
to tease her by descriptions of expensive
articles, like antique silver services, valu-
able pictures, or rare books that he had
seen, and to suggest that they would
make acceptable presents. And once
when the family had rushed to the win-
dows to see a magnificent coach, nearly
all of glass and glittering with gold trim-
mings, destined for the royal family, the
Professor had solemnly declared that it
had been purchased by Dorothy for her
friend the Judge.
After a while, however, she began to
lose interest in this present, for she had
" The Gift of Talent."
thought of a better way of showing her
loving remembrance of him. It was'
suggested by the "gift of talent" with
which sometimes German children cele-
brate their parents' birthday, bringing
not prosaic presents bought in shops,
but a newly learned song, a recitation, a
dainty bit of needlework, the fruit of
their own resolution and patience, to
express their love.
Dorothy knew well how fond her
friend was of music. Once he had lis-
tened entranced to a girl not so very
much older than herself who played for
them the simple airs of her country;
and so she determined to be patient
and faithful at her practice, and when
she and her father should go home, she
would sit between these two beings that
she loved, and charm them with her
66 Dorothy and Anton.
It was a harmless dream, as impossible
as it was innocent and kind; but it in-
spired Dorothy to do her best, and
though Herr Helfen frowned and shook
his shaggy head, she would not be
ABOUT this time a little peasant lad
was travelling over the snow the dis-
tance between Bischofsheims and Ber-
lin. He was dressed in the roughest
peasant garb, and bore with him all his
worldly goods, a few poor little arti-
cles of clothing tied up in a handker-
chief, and the dearest companion of his
life, a beautiful mellow-toned violin,
which he hugged the closer at every
fresh onslaught of the sharp December
Patience, little brother," he would
whisper to it gently, "we are going to
those who will listen to us and under-
68 Dorothy and Anton.
stand;" and his boy-heart beat quick
with courage, and he cheered himself
with the hopes that he had cherished all
his poor little life, hopes that clothed
the future in rosy tints, and made it
more real to him than the hard present
with its unceasing labor, and that which
hurt him far more, -its contact with
rough, vulgar persons whose will was
It was a bitter night; the wind whis-
tled and sang, and the sharp ice hurt
his feet as he hurried over it. His
breath came hard and cut his throat,
and leagues yet lay between him and
his goal, the city of Berlin. Yet he
was wondrously happy, as he sped on,
seeing himself, as in a vision, honored
and beloved for the great gift of music
that had been given him.
Lie still, little brother," he panted,
holding the violin still closer to him.
" We have been roughly used, we have
suffered much and are hungry and cold;
but next day we will sing it all to the
good people of Berlin, and they will
grieve over the long years of our pain
and longing, and they will teach us in
the great Hochschule which the Kappel-
meister has told us of."
Utterly ignorant of all the world out-
side his little village was Anton. He
had been taught little but the care of
Wilhelm Kruger's cattle; but he had
in some degree the gift of genius, which
is as the seed of the cornflower, whose
law of life makes it spring up and beau-
tify the world, even though the soil is
poor and the sun hidden, yes, al-
though its growth may be stunted and
it is unable to put its whole soul in its
feeble blossoms. So little Anton could
70 Dorothy and Anton.
not keep back all the music that filled
his head; and the air in the quiet places
around Wilhelm Kruger's farm trem-
bled with the passionate longing, the
strange pain, the stranger joy, all
the emotional life, in short, of little
The soft-toned violin (more valuable
than any one in Bischofsheims, save,
perhaps, the old Kappelmeister, dreamed)
was nearer to him than any human
creature. It knew his power of loving
and his hunger to be beloved, and
sobbed it out in its exquisite tone to
any who had the ears to hear. But
in old Wilhelm Kruger's nature there
was nothing that responded to this
yearning note, though he was quick
enough to understand the cry of hunger
of his cattle. On the contrary, the
beautiful voice of Anton's violin angered
the old man, who said that the boy had
best be set to work and not idle away
his master's time with a fiddle.
The dear violin, it was not without
reason that Anton called it "little
The old Kappelmeister of whom
Anton spoke was of the town of
Bischofsheims, near which was Wilhelm
Kruger's farm. He was a still, stern
old man, who lived alone in a house
near the Kappel, or church, -a small
house, furnished plainly, save for the
great organ he had caused to be built
in it. He was called old ; but the white
that showed upon his hair was like the
hoar-frost over the grass in the late
autumn, that lets the true color beneath
be seen, rather than the heavy snow of
winter; and sometimes, when for in-
stance he drew mighty tones from his
72 Dorothy and Anton.
organ, the fires of youth glowed in his
He was living his remnant of time
away from his fellow-men, against whom
he kept some bitter grudge. He sought
no one, and never willingly unbarred
One night the Kappelmeister was
playing upon his organ. He was play-
ing Bach, and was under the spell of
the great master. Presently through the
full deep organ-tone suddenly pierced
the silvery treble of a child's voice.
Let me in, let me in," it pleaded;
and so real it seemed to the old Kap-
pelmeister that he was constrained to
take his candle and open the house
door in which direction the voice seemed
Much to his astonishment, for he
really believed that he had been de-
Dorothy and Anton.
ceived by his imagination, and expected
to be confronted only by the quiet face
of the summer night, -there stood on
his threshold a beautiful boy, with im-
ploring eyes set in a soft white smiling
face, and with a violin clasped in his
"Let me and little brother in; we
want to hear the music," lisped the boy;
and the Kappelmeister opened wide the
door for his strange guests.
He kept the child over night. In the
morning he learned that it had been
brought to the village by a man who had
died shortly after his arrival at the inn.
All effort to find the boy's kindred
failed. Probably not much effort was
ever made. The Kappelmeister resisted
his first impulse to keep the child as
his own, and it was placed in the hands
of Wilhelm Kruger.
Little Anton's childhood passed on
this man's farm. He was obliged to
work hard, and he had no companions
of his own kind. Yet he was not alto-
gether lonely, since he had his violin
and his happy dreams. Sometime he
would be free, so he often told himself,
and then he would take his little
brother, and away from the village
of Bischofsheims, and away to Berlin,
where there are those who love music,
and would help him to his heart's
Now, though the boy was possessed
of a rare gift, though he could bring
music out of his violin which, though
crude and faulty in execution, yet had
the power to thrill the heart, though
his friend the Kappelmeister had taught
him what he could, very little it was,
for he was not a violinist, poor An-
ton's dream of study at the Hochschule
was wild indeed. How could he a
76 Dorothy and Anton.
little peasant without friends, without
money-force his way among the for-
tunate ones? He knew nothing of the
qualification of age, he knew nothing
of the trial before the judges that each
applicant must pass through before he
can be admitted to the Hochschule;
so he kept joyfully on, his "little
brother" pressed close to his breast,
and carrying in his bundle a Bible
which had been given him by his friend
the Kappelmeister a few days before
his death, on the fly-leaf of which were
the name and address of one who he
said would give the boy his daily bread
for an old friend's sake.
it read; but already Anton knew the
words by heart.
THE BOY IN THE LUSTGARTEN.
IT was the day before Christmas that
Anton entered Berlin. He had been
walking for several days, and was very
tired and hungry. In his pocket were
the sixty Pfennige with which Wilhelm
Kruger had dismissed him into the
world, when, having sold his farm, he
had gone to live with his daughter in
Hamburg. Anton had spent nothing
on the way, having begged a meal, when
he was hungry, at the farm-houses he
passed. But now he was forced to
part with a fifth of his fortune for some-
thing to eat.
Dorothy and Anton.
He sat down on one of the benches
in front of the Anhalter Bahnhof to
eat his breakfast, but the cold soon
forced him to move on. When he got
up, he found that his little bundle of
clothing had disappeared. It had been
stolen under his very nose while Anton
had been dreaming. No matter; the
violin, which he had held between his
knees, was safe. He took it up and
walked on, relieved by the decrease in
his burden, and finally came out into
Potsdamer Strasse, just by the canal.
All day he searched for Nicholas
Baumgarten, the furrier, never gaining
a clew to his whereabouts. The sun
came up warm and bright; the air,
though cold, was clear and pleasant.
The city, in its festal trim, was beau-
tiful beyond any dream of Anton's.
Yet he continually asked himself, Was
The Boy in the Lustgarten.
this Berlin? Was this the realization
of his dreams? A loneliness surpass-
ing that he had known at Bischofs-
heims fell upon him, -a loneliness that
was elbowed by merry crowds.
At last the daylight fled, and it was
Anton and "little brother wandered
shivering through the streets, seeing
the glistening Christmas-trees in every
window, no matter how humble the
home. The great chorals of Handel
and Bach came billowing and rolling
out of the churches as he passed them,
and the lights were in all the shop-
windows and streets and under the
trees in the squares.
At length he found himself in the
Lustgarten, an open square where
booths are erected at this season for
the sale of Christmas wares. Here
80 Dorotky and Anton.
the poor people buy their little gifts.
There was plenty of noise and jollity
here as elsewhere. Boys were crying
their merchandise, trying to sell the
last of their stock of whips, and whistles,
and candles, and tree ornaments, and
birds, and carved goods, and what not;
and the only sad face in all the Platz
He looked on the strange, bright
scene with a terrible new feeling of
helplessness. Then he went to the
edge of the square where the air was
stillest, and, tucking his violin under
his chin, began to pour out his wild
pain and disappointment. But the
people passed and repassed unmindful
of his misery.
At length, however, he became con-
scious of a soft little child-face, watch-
ing him with great compassionate gray
The Boy in the Lustgarten. 81
eyes, and sweet ripe red lips, that were
forming queerly fashioned but kind
Dorothy and the young Hoffen-
meyers had been pais ing through the
Lustgarten under the charge of Hed-
wig, the nurse. They seemed a merry
party. Their mouths were full of
Pfefferkuchen,--.a delicious German
dainty, a sort of spice cake covered
with Marzipan, which is rubbed .al-
monds and sugar. The Pfefferkuchen
is very pleasant to young palates, and
is sown broadcast in the holidays in
Hedwig carried a basket in which
had been presents for various pensioners
of the Frau Professor, which the chil,
dren had distributed. They were now
on their way to a certain shop on
Friedrich Strasse, where the deed of
82 Dorothy and AnIon.
deeds was at last to be accomplished,
and Dorothy, who was beginning to
mistrust her ability to ravish her friends
with music (in fact, Herr Helfen, the
music-master, had discouraged any such
hope), was actually to buy the long-
contemplated gift. The article decided
upon was a beautiful little silver ash-
tray and Dorothy was in great haste lest
it should be snatched up by another.
The children were a trifle wild with
their Christmas joy, and had forgotten
that there were any who might be sad
in this merry time, until they heard
the piercing notes of little brother."
Then they saw Anton, -a tall, roughly
clad peasant boy, but with a beautiful,
innocent, fair -face, that yet had the
stamp of misery on it.
Poor boy i said Dorothy; ask him
what is the matter, Fritz."
The Boy in the Lustgarten.
He says he has come from Bischofs-
heims, and cannot find his friends here.
He says he is hungry and cold."
"So," said Hedwig, and she told
where he should go for help; but Anton
did not understand.
Come, children, it grows late," she
said; we must hurry on."
She took Lottchen's little hand, and
the boys started; but Dorothy stood
"Hedwig," she cried, Hedwig, he
does not understand. Come and tell
him where to go."
Anton stopped playing. He looked
beseechingly at Dorothy, and he thought
that no one would ever help him if she
"He is hungry and cold," cried
Dorothy, louder. Come back and tell
him where to go."
Dorolhy and Anion.
But Hedwig went on. The boys
followed, and Lottchen also, although
she hung back from Hedwig's strong
grasp with her head turned over her
shoulder, so that Dorothy could see
her little bright face bobbing along by
Hedwig's side, as they moved off in
the glimmering light of the street-
So Dorothy was left alone with An-
ton. Knowing no other way to help
him, she took out her purse and poured
its contents without reserve into his
He stood up and watched her as she
was hurried away by the others, who
came back for her.
She gave him everything that
she had," cried the children, aghast.
"There is no use to go for the ash-
tray now; she has no money.'
The Boy in the Lustgarten. 85
So they turned homeward, Hedwig
The habit of giving to beggars was
not approved by the wise," she said;
"it encouraged idleness. But, alas! it
was the reckless way of the Americans;"
and so on all the long way home.
A RECKLESS GIFT.
DOROTHY was in truth somewhat
troubled about the money she had given
to Anton. It was a large sum, for
Thorpe Senior had added to that which
Dorothy had saved for her gift and it
could not well be replaced. She wished
to confide in her father, but waited for
an opportunity to see him alone, and
that did not happen at once.
The holidays were over. Fritz, Franz,
and even little Lottchen had returned
to school, and Dorothy had lessons with
a governess; but the violin practice had
come to an end, Herr Helfen, the
music-master, having declared it was use-
A Reckless Gift.
less for her at her present age and hav-
ing no decided talent for it, to continue
the study of this most difficult instru-
ment. This was a great disappointment
to Dorothy; but she did not give up all
hope, and she could not be persuaded
to take piano lessons, as the Frau Pro-
fessor advised, for she knew both her
father and the Judge liked the violin
best. She thought there could be found
teachers in Berlin less impatient of inca-
pacity than Herr Helfen, and in the
mean time it must be confessed that
she greatly enjoyed her vacation from
One morning at the breakfast-table
Lottchen let out Dorothy's secret. She
was a dreadful little tease, and for a long
time had made Dorothy miserable with
the pretence that she was going to tell
the company about the boy in the
88 Dorothy and Anton.
Lustgarten. Twenty times Dorothy had
thought that the secret was out; but
ing black eyes, hastily changed her sen-
tence into seating quite harmless.'
Lottchen, having enjoyed heri uneasiness,
had, with a wicked look in her gleam-
ing black eyes, hastily changed her sen-
tence into something quite harmless.
A Reckless Gift.
But at length Mr. Thorpe's curiosity
was aroused, and he wished to know
all about the mysterious boy of whom
Lottchen had so much to say.
Then in this public and embarrassing
way Dorothy had been obliged to con-
fess what she had done.
The poor boy was cold and hungry,"
she ended, appealing to the one who
she knew would be her most lenient
judge, "and Hedwig would not tell him
where to go. I could n't leave him,
papa, to freeze and starve; I had to
give him money."
You needn't have given him so
much," Lottchen declared, a view
of the case that all the Hoffenmeyer
Dorothy was not inclined to dwell
long on this part of the subject. She
began to tell how well the boy played on
90 Dorothy and Anton.
his violin, the children testifying to the
truth of her enthusiastic words.
Oh, if I could only play like that,
papa, how it would please the Judge;
but I never shall."
The Judge! h-m-m !" Thorpe Senior
smiled with significance; and Dorothy
blushed with the consciousness that in
her pity for this boy she had forgotten
her lonely old friend.
ANTON had given up all hope of find-
ing the Kappelmeister's friend Nicholas
Baumgarten, although sometimes he
would wander through Potsdamer Strasse
and look up at the signs, as if he half
expected to see that of the missing fur-
rier among them. In his ignorance it
was hardly possible that he could ever
trace him. Some one had told him to
look for the man's name in a directory;
and, having done this and not finding
it, the boy had not known what step to
Sometimes, after walking aimlessly up
and down Potsdamer Strasse, he would
92 Dorothy and Anton.
go and stand opposite the Hochschule.
Poor Anton's petition for help for
knowledge as to what he must do to
become a student there was ridiculed.
No one under sixteen years of age can
be admitted, he was told, and it would
be useless for him to send in an ap-
plication. But though it is difficult
to enter this famous music-school, it is
always permitted one to stand on the
outside, and make it the object of one's
dreams. The students coming and go-
ing eyed curiously this little shiver-
ing figure; and one, with the thought-
less cruelty that robs youth of all its nat-
ural charm, made a jest of his distress.
He was miserable, of course, and often
discouraged. But his dreams lingered
with him; and as he stood by the pretty
little garden facing the Hochschule, with
his soft eyes fixed on the sacred building,
he would tell himself that sometime he
would go in there and not be denied,
and then no one would work harder
than he. And he saw himself grown
to man's stature, standing in a great
hall, with his violin under his cheek and
the bow in his hand, before the cold
indifferent people of Berlin, and he be-
gan to play, and all the faces changed
and became kind and friendly. Among
them was always one lovelier than the
others, a baby-face, soft and tender and
smiling, the same face that had looked
at him with such pity and friendliness
in the Lustgarten on Christmas eve.
When Anton was not walking on
Potsdamer Strasse, nor standing dream-
ing by the Hochschule, he would go
to the very spot where he had seen
Dorothy, hoping that she would again
pass that way.
94 Dorothy and Anton.
Ever since that time he had lived
upon the money she had given him. A
woman who kept a little shop in a back
street let him sleep by her fire, and he
paid her with such services as a boy can
give. His days were spent principally
in the streets and squares. That is how
He had no plans. Of what use to
return to Bischofsheims, since Wilhelm
Kruger was no longer there to give him
shelter, and the Kappelmeister was dead?
Beside, to leave Berlin was, as it seemed
to Anton, to give up life altogether. So
he stayed on. There was no one to
help him by even so much as a word
of advice or encouragement. That sim-
ple trust in his fellow-creatures with
which he had started from Bischofsheims
had been lost in his bitter experience,
and he now answered shyly and unwill-
; -, ~4~a:
-~~:~~'' c-'- f
A little vision of smiling and gracious childhood.
Fortune Smiles. 95
ingly if one chanced to question him
of his own life. But he thought, if he
could find again the child who had be-
friended him at the time of his sorest
need, he could tell her of all his troubles.
Like all others, Anton seemed to forget
Dorothy's youth and ignorance, in the
warm sympathy of her nature.
One day, by way of variety, he wan-
dered into the Thiergarten ; and there,
as he was walking through a very forest
of old oak-trees where it was silent and
sweet, he suddenly saw a little vision
of smiling gracious childhood. It was
Dorothy, who stopped in delight when
she saw Anton with the little brother"
under his arm.
Although she knew him at once, in-
stead of speaking she looked back over
her shoulder, and Anton saw that she
was followed by a tall gentleman. Dor-