“No more will the millionnaires,” said Metzerott, laughing; “but if you were George, my boy, with no lead soldiers at all to play with, maybe you’d like it better. Why, Louis, there is money enough in the country to buy every poor man in it all that he needs; and there is food enough grown every year to fill every hungry mouth from Maine to Florida; yet people die by hundreds, like your poor mother, of want and toil, just because those who have won’t divide with those who have not.” “_I_ will,” said Louis, “I’ll ’vide my soldiers with George, right away.” “George is abed long ago,” said Metzerott, surprised, amused, and a little touched, at this unexpected result of his lecture; “and high time you were there, too. Put off your ’viding until to-morrow.” He was still more astonished, and almost remorseful, next morning, to see the child march off, with a very sober face, and his box of soldiers under his arm. Frau Anna’s rooms were still in the topmost story of the house next door; and Louis climbed the stairs patiently, and arrived panting, but resolute, at the familiar door. “George,” he said, “I’ve come to ’vide my soldiers with you.” “_Du Engelchen!_” cried Frau Anna, dropping her sewing to clasp her hands. “Who put that into your head, my lamb?” “Papa,” said Louis. “It’s so every one will have enough to eat and to wear,” he added explanatorily. “_Du lieber Himmel!_” said Frau Anna, “much good your ’viding will do, you poor baby. Folks as poor as us must keep all we get for ourselves.” Louis was happily far too busy to hear this speech, with which, as we know, Frau Anna’s practice did not exactly correspond. The question of dividing offered sufficient practical difficulty to absorb his whole attention; but by following his father’s example and marshalling his army into two columns, he at last succeeded, to the mutual satisfaction of himself and his playmate. Time passed very happily until noon, when Louis trotted home, to announce to his father that it was “nice to ’vide. When we bofe play togevver, it’s as good as if they was all mine,” he said. For all reply, Metzerott produced a brown paper package of a charmingly mysterious shape, and watched with a lurking smile the eager little fingers struggle with the string. “Oh! what is it?” cried little Louis. It was of tin, painted in gay colors, and it spun upon the floor, upon being wound, with a loud humming noise. “Now,” said Metzerott, when the first edge of delight had worn off, “how about George? you can’t divide a top with him.” “No,” returned Louis with a mournful shake of his head, “you can’t ’vide one top.” He leaned his chin upon his two plump hands, as he sat tailor fashion on the floor, and delivered himself up to contemplation of the top, which lay just where it had toppled over from its last spin, as if there were inspiration in its gaudy hues. Presently he looked up brightly.