One day, just as we were sitting down to table, Hermann brought me a radish, fresh from its bed of mould, and the hand that held it out was evidently the spade that had dug it therefrom, and in sore need of soap. Frau Weidemann told him that he must always be washed and brushed before he went down to the dining-room, and ordered him to go and wash his hands immediately, but Hermann, who had no acquaintance with the word _must_, set his mouth in a hard curve and didn’t move; he looked so obstinate that I was strongly tempted to shake him. A more wilful boy I never saw: he’d try the temper of a saint. But this time Frau Weidemann had her own way, and ordered him out of the room. Hermann reluctantly obeyed, with rage in his little heart, and dashed from the room, banging the door with a shock that made the room rattle. Hermann ran straight to his mother, who didn’t come down to dinner that day, to complain of Frau Weidemann, and instead of giving him a good scolding, Mrs. G. rewarded him with chocolates and kisses. That night when I went to bed, passing through the dark corridor, I suddenly felt a tight grip on my wrist, it was Hermann, who giving an emphatic tug at my skirts, said in a husky whisper, “That’s you who must have clean hands, because you are a young lady, and as to me, I may have them dirty as much as I like. I cannot be always washing myself and always thinking of my nails, like grown ups!” Both children had got bad manners at table; they fidgeted on their chairs, kicked their legs right and left, and were eating noisily, rattling vigorously their knives and forks. They spilt their soup all over their napkin and spattered jam all over themselves. They also made a point of overeating themselves, transferring the largest and best pieces to their plates; they had several helps of pudding and wanted to have all the cake. One morning Frau Weidemann caught Hermann throwing stones at passers-by over the hedge of our garden. “What are you doing, horrid little boy?” cried out our hostess. “I am chasing these people away, I don’t want them to stare at me!” declared Hermann vehemently. “You are a bad, undutiful child!” exclaimed Frau Weidemann, “go away, go away at once!” But Hermann, who meant to go on being obstinate, jerking his shoulders, retorted rudely, “Mamma told me that I am not bound to obey Frau Weidemann, and I’ll do as I please, do you understand, as I please, as I please!” shouted that delightful boy stamping viciously his little foot. Frau Weidemann losing patience, said she would have him punished for daring to be so rude, and wouldn’t take him with his sister for their habitual walk next morning. Danys, with tears coursing down her cheeks, implored Hermann to ask forgiveness, but tears and prayers were of no avail; he stuck firmly to his chair, his nose in his picture book, dangling his feet backwards and forwards, and would not apologise.