But to her surprise, she did not see her presents at all. For each child there was a gingerbread cake with his or her name on it, and then the most lovely surprises--a beautiful doll for Hansi with real eyelashes, fretwork tools for Paul, a doll's kitchen for Gretel, and so on. For every one of the family there was some delightful gift. "Thank you, thank you, dear Heinzelmen," said Hansi, clasping her hands in ecstasy. There was a big paper parcel addressed to Mrs Herzchen in a very queer handwriting. She opened it with much excitement, thinking it would contain a silk dress, at least. But lo and behold, all the presents that she had intended for her children, tied together with red tape and a card between, on which this verse was written: "Useful things For little folk Are sensible, But not a joke." _Signed_ HIMSELF! How the children laughed! and even Mrs Herzchen laughed too, though she felt silly and a little disappointed. "It is all very well to play tricks on me," she said. "Just look at the Mueller children next door. They have plenty of toys and are always sucking sweets; but they never have comfortable, warm clothes on, and they look half fed." "Of course, mother, you are right," said the children, "and you were really joking about the tree. We have never had one _half_ so lovely!" Mrs Herzchen felt rather embarrassed at this praise. She called her husband's attention to the things on the tree. "They can't be made of chocolate," she said, trying to bite off the corner of a fir cone. It was quite hard. "I do believe they are all solid silver!" she said. On closer examination, they found a little lion imprinted on each which proved them without doubt to be of real silver. "I shall sell them at once, or they may vanish away," she said. "I should strongly advise you not to do so," her husband replied, and the children said, "Oh Mother, do let us keep them always, they are so beautiful?" "But of what use are they?" said the incorrigible mother who, you see, was not yet quite cured. Meanwhile the story was noised abroad that Hansi had found a treasure in the forest. The very next day, Christmas Day, as they were eating their goose, stuffed with apples, there was a ring at the bell--in walked a very pompous Prussian policeman with fierce moustaches. "Mrs Herzchen here?" he asked abruptly. "What do _you_ want?" asked that lady, much indignant at being disturbed during her Christmas dinner. "Young person answering to the name of Hansi Herzchen here?" "Yes, sir. Please, sir, that's me," said Hansi, rising and curtsying, and growing very red. The policeman produced a paper in which he entered all sorts of memoranda. "_Age and date of birth?_" he demanded of Hansi. "Seven years old, _of course_," answered Hansi. "My birthday is on February 27th, if you want to know. It was on a Sunday last year." "That's beside the question." He looked severe. "February 27th, 1897," said Hansi, prompted by her mother.