“That’s nothing,” said Ida. “It is the _pavor_. It is sometimes much worse than that.” She put her work down calmly and crossed the room, with her long heavy stride, to Hanno’s bed. She spoke to him in a low, quieting voice, laid him down, and covered him again. “Oh, I see--the _pavor_,” repeated Frau Permaneder. “What will he do now? Will he wake up?” But Hanno did not waken at all, though his eyes were wide and staring, and his lips still moved. “‘In my--little--garden--go--,’” said Hanno, mumblingly, “‘All--my--onions--water--’” “He is saying his piece,” explained Ida Jungmann, shaking her head. “There, there, little darling--go to sleep now.” “‘Little man stands--stands there-- He begins--to--sneeze--’” He sighed. Suddenly his face changed, his eyes half-closed; he moved his head back and forth on the pillow and said in a low, plaintive sing-song: “‘The moon it shines, The baby cries, The clock strikes twelve, God help all suff’ring folk to close their eyes.’” But with the words came so deep a sob that tears rolled out from under his lashes and down his cheeks and wakened him. He put his arms around Ida, looked about him with tear-wet eyes, murmured something in a satisfied tone about “Aunt Tony,” turned himself a little in his bed, and then went quietly off to sleep. “How very strange,” said Frau Permaneder, as Ida sat down at the table once more. “What was all that?” “They are in his reader,” answered Fräulein Jungmann. “It says underneath ‘The Boys’ Magic Horn.’ They are all rather queer. He has been having to learn them, and he talks a great deal about that one with the little man. Do you know it? It is really rather frightening. It is a little dwarf that gets into everything: eats up the broth and breaks the pot, steals the wood, stops the spinning-wheel, teases everybody--and then, at the end, he asks to be prayed for! It touched the child very much. He has thought about it day in and day out; and two or three times he said: ‘You know, Ida, he doesn’t do that to be wicked, but only because he is unhappy, and it only makes him more unhappy still.... But if one prays for him, then he does not need to do it any more!’ Even to-night, when his Mama kissed him good night before she went to the concert, he asked her to ‘pray for the little man.’” “And did he pray too?” “Not aloud, but probably to himself.--He hasn’t said much about the other poem--it is called ‘The Nursery Clock’--he has only wept. He weeps so easy, poor little lad, and it is so hard for him to stop.” “But what is there so sad about it?” “How do I know? He has never been able to say any more than the beginning of it, the part that makes him cry in his sleep. And that about the waggoner, who gets up at three from his bed of straw--that always made him weep too.” Frau Permaneder laughed emotionally, and then looked serious.