Whom should she met there but Mrs. Von Brakhiem from New York, bound westward with a gay party on a trip to the Rocky Mountains and California? They had stopped to spend a few days in Chicago, and were determined to take Christine on with them. Her father strongly seconded the plan. Though Christine surmised his motive, she did not care to resist. Since she would soon be separated from Dennis forever, the less she saw of him the less would be the pain. Moreover, her sore and heavy heart welcomed any change that would cause forgetfulness; and so it was speedily arranged. Mrs. Von Brakhiem and her party quite took possession of the Ludolph mansion, and often made it echo with gayety. On the evening of the day that Dennis buried his mother, Ernst went over at Mr. Ludolph's request to carry a message. He found the house the scene of a fashionable revel. There were music and dancing in the parlors, and from the dining-room the clink of glasses and loud peals of laughter proved that this was not Christine's ideal of an entertainment as she had portrayed it to her father on a former occasion. In truth, she had little to do with the affair; it was quite impromptu, and Mr. Ludolph and Mrs. Von Brakhiem were responsible for it. But Ernst could not know this, and to him it seemed shocking. The simple funeral service taking place on that day in the distant New England village had never been absent from his thoughts a moment. Since early morning he had gone about with his little face composed to funereal gravity. His simple, warm-hearted parents felt that they could only show proper respect for the occasion by the deepest gloom. Their rooms were arranged in stiff and formal manner, with crape here and there. All unnecessary work ceased, and the children, forbidden to play, were dressed in mourning as far as possible, and made to sit in solemn and dreadful state all day. It would not have surprised Ernst if the whole city had gone into mourning. Therefore the revelry at the Ludolph mansion seemed to him heartless and awful beyond measure, and nearly the first things he told Dennis on the latter's return was that they had had "a great dancing and drinking party, the night of the funeral, at Mr. Ludolph's." Then, trying to find some explanation for what seemed to him such a strange and wicked thing, he suggested, "Perhaps they meant it for a wake." Poor little Ernst's ideas of the world, outside of his home, had been gathered from a very low neighborhood. He also handed Dennis a letter that Mr. Ludolph requested should be given him on his return. It read as follows: "CHICAGO, May 6, 1871. "I have been compelled to supply your place in your absence: therefore your services will be no longer needed at this store. Inclosed you will find a check for the small balance still due you, AUGUST LUDOLPH."