The schoolmaster and his wife returned to the house and finished their dinner, for it was nearly twelve o'clock, at which hour the afternoon school in the village reassembled. They dispatched the note to Ernestine, and then the schoolmaster betook himself to the school-room to wait for his pupils. At the stroke of twelve there was a trampling of little feet in the hall, and finger after finger rapped at the door, and awaited the gentle "Come in!" without which no entrance was allowed, for the schoolmaster was a great stickler for order and decorum, and knew well how to retain the respect of his scholars. Most of the children were better in school than anywhere else. It was strange. Herr Leonhardt never struck a blow; he was rarely angry; he only reproved gently; and yet the most unruly boy, the most sullen girl, was controlled by his glance. The wise old man believed that love for the teacher was a better spur to improvement than fear, which could only call forth hatred and malice towards its object. And thus he smoothed away many a foolish, rude, and cruel trait from the peasant youth of his village, bringing out the good in the minds of those intrusted to his care, and suppressing the evil, so that, during the thirty-five years of his gentle sway in the school-room, the Hochstetten boys and girls were more in request for servants than any others in all the country round. "Good-afternoon, Herr Leonhardt!" cried the entering throng, scattering themselves among the long benches with a sound like gravel poured out upon a path. "St--St!" was heard from the master, and instantly all was quiet in the room, except for the rustling of the opening copy-books, and the lesson began. Suddenly there was a soft, low knock at the door,--such a knock as comes only from a guilty conscience,--and a little, cleanly-dressed girl, about six years old, stood upon the threshold with downcast eyes. She held out before her, as if trying to hide behind it, a satchel so large that it really seemed difficult to decide whether the child had brought it, or it had brought the child; and the pearly drops upon her brow showed how fast she had been running. "Why, Käthchen!" cried Herr Leonhardt, "why do you come so late? Come here to me, little culprit. It is the first time in the whole long year since you first came to school that you have been late. Something very unusual must have happened?" Little Käthchen slowly approached him, while her chubby face grew scarlet. "I--I had to pick berries," she faltered, biting her berry-stained lips. "Oh, Käthchen," said Herr Leonhardt, raising his forefinger, "that is very strange. _You had to!_ Who told you to?" Käthchen still looked down, and her face grew, if possible, redder still. "Look me in the face, my child," said the master gravely. "Are you telling the truth?"