My mother got up from the chair and put the child on the bed; then she pulled the table-cover straight, and stared hard at an empty corner of the room. "By-the-by," she said, as if she was really thinking of something quite different, "who said that?" When I had told her she sighed deeply. No other sound was heard in the room. "Should you like to go back to Langenau?" she asked after a while. I felt surprised and delighted. Hilda, Leopoldine, the old church, and lots of other things came into my thoughts and made me long for them boundlessly. "Oh, mother," I cried, "it would make me so happy!" During the following week all our furniture was moved again and sent away. We were all frightfully excited; only my father was quiet, and looked grave and pale. We arrived at Langenau late in the evening, and drove to a new lodging. The whole village seemed to be asleep, and nobody saw our arrival. We had been away for a year. I did not like the new lodging; it was underground, and the water dripped down the walls, leaving trails of a dark brown colour behind. I could hear my mother say that the lodging was damp and unhealthy, and that she had never thought one could become so poor. Then my father answered that she must not lose courage, but have a little patience, and he would try to find something better as soon as his business proved to be satisfactory. They spoke for a long time upon this subject, and I understood that the business in question was a new one, and that most probably it would take a little while to get customers. My chief reason for thinking the lodging horrible was that we were a long way from the house of my friend Hilda. Furthermore there was no pretty courtyard, nor any other place in which we could run about and play. Three other tenants lived in the same house, and my mother told us to keep very quiet, because, if we made too much noise, the people might complain about us to the landlord. As soon as breakfast was over, I wanted to run to the church-square, partly to see whether everything was the same as it had been before, and partly to speak, if possible, to my friends. Just as I was about to close the door, my mother called me back. "Where do you want to go?" "I am going out." "That won't do," my mother's troubled voice rang; "the whole place looks untidy, and you know that I have no maid. If you want to go out, you must at least take the two little ones with you." "I will certainly not take them," I said, and tears filled my eyes. "They are far too small for our games." "I am very sorry, but you will have to play something that the little ones can play also."