My father was of a very serious disposition in his home, outside of it he was gay and talkative. He had acquired a reputation on account of his talent for telling fairy-tales; many years passed, however, before we heard them with our own ears. He could not bear to hear us laugh or make any noise; on the other hand he was fond of singing hymns, and indeed worldly songs as well, in the twilight of the long winter evenings, and loved to have us join in. My mother was excessively good-hearted and somewhat quick-tempered; the most touching kindliness shone from her blue eyes; when she felt passionately agitated, she began to cry. I was her favorite; my brother, two years younger than I, was my father's favorite. The reason was that I resembled my mother, and my brother seemed to resemble my father, though this was by no means the case, as was proved later. My parents lived on the best of terms with one another so long as there was bread in the house. There were painful scenes at times when it was lacking. This seldom occurred in summer, but often happened in winter when work was scarce. Although these scenes never degenerated into violence, I cannot remember the time when they were not more terrible to me than anything else, and for that very reason I may not pass over them in silence. I can remember an unpleasant incident of another kind which took place in my earliest childhood. It is the first that I recollect and it may have happened in my third year, if not in my second. I can tell about it without offending against the sacred memory of my parents; for whoever sees in it anything out of the ordinary is not acquainted with the lower classes. My father when following his trade generally had his meals provided by the persons for whom he worked. Then we at home, like all other families, ate our usual midday meal. Occasionally, however, he had to furnish his own food, in return for extra wages. Then dinner was deferred, and in order to ward off hunger a simple bread and butter sandwich was partaken of at twelve o'clock. It was an economical arrangement for the little household which could not afford two large meals. On one such day my mother baked some pancakes, certainly more to please us children than to satisfy any desire of her own. We ate them with the utmost relish and promised not to say anything about them to our father in the evening. When he arrived we had already gone to bed and were sound asleep. I do not know whether he may have been accustomed to find us still up and the contrary event made him suspect that the rule of the household had been broken. Suffice it to say he awoke me, petted me, took me in his arms and asked me what I had eaten. "Pancakes," I answered, sleepily. He then proceeded to reproach my mother with it. She had nothing to say, and placed his food before him, throwing me a glance, however, which foretold evil to come. When we were alone again the next day, she, to use her own expression, gave me with a