“It is not right for me to peep into another’s house in this way,” she said to herself. Then, softly calling to Gretel, she added in a whisper, “You may look--perhaps he is only sleeping.” Gretel tried to walk briskly toward the spot, but her limbs were trembling. Hilda hastened to her support. “You are sick, yourself, I fear,” she said kindly. “No, not sick, jufvrouw, but my heart cries all the time now, even when my eyes are as dry as yours. Why, jufvrouw, your eyes are not dry! Are you crying for US? Oh, jufvrouw, if God sees you! Oh! I know father will get better now.” And the little creature, even while reaching to look through the tiny window, kissed Hilda’s hand again and again. The sash was sadly patched and broken; a torn piece of paper hung halfway down across it. Gretel’s face was pressed to the window. “Can you see anything?” whispered Hilda at last. “Yes--the father lies very still, his head is bandaged, and all their eyes are fastened upon him. Oh, jufvrouw!” almost screamed Gretel, as she started back and, by a quick, dexterous movement shook off her heavy wooden shoes. “I MUST go in to my mother! Will you come with me?” “Not now, the bell is ringing. I shall come again soon. Good-bye!” Gretel scarcely heard the words. She remembered for many a day afterward the bright, pitying smile on Hilda’s face as she turned away. The Awakening An angel could not have entered the cottage more noiselessly. Gretel, not daring to look at anyone, slid softly to her mother’s side. The room was very still. She could hear the old doctor breathe. She could almost hear the sparks as they fell into the ashes on the hearth. The mother’s hand was very cold, but a burning spot glowed on her cheek, and her eyes were like a deer’s--so bright, so sad, so eager. At last there was a movement upon the bed, very slight, but enough to cause them all to start. Dr. Boekman leaned eagerly forward. Another movement. The large hands, so white and soft for a poor man’s hand, twitched, then raised itself steadily toward the forehead. It felt the bandage, not in a restless, crazy way but with a questioning movement that caused even Dr. Boekman to hold his breath. “Steady! Steady!” said a voice that sounded very strange to Gretel. “Shift that mat higher, boys! Now throw on the clay. The waters are rising fast; no time to--” Dame Brinker sprang forward like a young panther. She seized his hands and, leaning over him, cried, “Raff! Raff, boy, speak to me!” “Is it you, Meitje?” he asked faintly. “I have been asleep, hurt, I think. Where is little Hans?” “Here I am, Father!” shouted Hans, half mad with joy. But the doctor held him back. “He knows us!” screamed Dame Brinker. “Great God! He knows us! Gretel! Gretel! Come, see your father!” In vain Dr. Boekman commanded “Silence!” and tried to force them from the bedside. He could not keep them off.