"So this young man here, our nephew and descendant, has been an honor to his beloved relatives and now it's certain that cobbling isn't the thing for him. He has now successfully put his head through the hole according to his desire, and thus with time and experience will probably be able to squeeze body and legs through also, and we may certainly be of good hope that he will not forget us on this side of the wall when he has drawn his feet after his head. There are indeed instances of examples to show that a genius will get his head wrenched in pushing himself through and that he consequently loses all memory of what is behind the wall and who is there and has helped to push with all his strength. But this Hans here present will remember his uncle, also his mother and, of course, don't let us forget, Auntie Schlotterbeck. He will ever recall what they have done for him and how he can never thank them enough for it. There he stands now, Christine Unwirrsch, _née_ Grünebaum; there he stands, Auntie Schlotterbeck, and his head is full of good things and the tears run over his cheeks, so that it is a joyful spectacle and a painful pleasure. We will not deny that he has learnt more than what's right and reasonable, and if Auntie questions him in Greek he will answer in Hebrew. So let us be thankful for the good gift and not trouble ourselves about the devil's taking one and all, odd and even. Come here, my boy, and even if you did once infamously despise the most honorable trade, and are at present nearer to a pastor than to the pitch-cobbler Grünebaum, yet come here and embrace me; from the bottom of his heart your uncle says 'here's to you' on this your day of honor!" There was sense in the nonsense that Uncle Grünebaum delivered with such pathos; but even if it had been nothing but drivel Hans would have thrown himself into the worthy man's wide open arms notwithstanding. After hugging and squeezing his uncle for some minutes he kissed his mother over again, then once more went through the same process with Auntie Schlotterbeck, striving all the time to express his overflowing feelings in words. "Oh, how shall I thank you all for what you have done for me!" he cried. "Oh Mother, if only my father were still alive!" At this exclamation of her son's his mother naturally broke into loud sobs; but Auntie Schlotterbeck merely folded her hands in her lap, nodded her head and smiled without giving utterance to her thoughts. All at once however she rose quickly from her chair, seized Mrs. Christine by the skirt and pointed mysteriously to the window. They all looked in the direction she indicated, but no one else saw anything. Kröppel Street lay bathed in the noonday sunshine but none of its inhabitants was to be seen; the junk-dealer's house looked as if its inmates had deserted it half a century ago; only a cat made use of the quiet moment to cross the street cautiously.