Then nothing more, for now the door was softly closed. So filled with anxiety was she that she listened for the least unusual sound overhead; but she heard only the steps now of one, now of both. Soon the door opened, she heard voices, but no contention. All three came down-stairs and went out into the street where the lady stood waiting for them, in her most brilliant toilet, and with the smile of her holiday mood. Tande greeted her, she cordially held out her hand. Then the whole four walked past the house-door, and turned into the garden way to take the usual path across the fields to the wood and the mountains. At first, they sauntered slowly along in a group; later, the father went on in advance with the child, who seemed desirous to lead the way, and the lady and Tande followed, very slowly, very confidentially. Magnhild was left behind alone, overwhelmed with astonishment. In the afternoon Magda came over with her papa. He greeted Magnhild with a smile and apologized for coming; his little daughter had insisted on his paying his compliments to her friend, he said. Magnhild asked him to take a seat, but he did not do so at once. He looked at her flowers, talked about them with an air of understanding such as she had never heard before, and begged to be allowed to send her some new plants upon whose proper care he enlarged. "It is really little Magda who will send them," said he, turning with a smile toward Magnhild. This time she was conscious that he was shyly observing her. He looked at the pictures on the wall, the bridge at Cologne, the Falls of Niagara, the White House at Washington, the Caravan in the Desert, and "Judith," by Horace Vernet; examined also some photographs of unknown, often uncouth-looking men and women, some of them in foreign costumes. "Your husband has been a traveler," said he, and his eyes glided from the portraits back to "Judith," while he stood stroking his beard. "Have you been long married?" he presently asked, taking a seat. "Nearly three years," she replied, and colored. "You must put on your uniform so that Magnhild can see you in it," said the little girl; she had posted herself between her father's knees, now toying with his shirt studs, now with his beard. He smiled; certain wrinkles about the eyes and mouth became more apparent when he smiled, and bore witness of sorrow. Musingly he stroked the little one's hair; she nestled her head up against him, so lovingly, so trustingly. He awoke at last from his revery, cast a shy, wondering look at Magnhild, stroked his beard, and said,-- "It is very beautiful here." "When will you send Magnhild the flowers you spoke of?" interrupted the little girl. "As soon as I get back to town," said he, caressing the child. "Papa is building a fort," explained Magda, not without pride. "Papa is building at home, too," she added. "Papa is all the time building, and now we have a tower to our house, and all the rooms are so pretty. You just ought to see."