"I will send him back his poem myself; that will cool his ardor. You know now that it is dangerous to receive the confidence of a student. The poems, by the way, are poorer than need be." "Thus I have had a lesson," said Ilse, "which I have brought upon myself; for the future I will be more cautious." But she could not so easily banish the recollection of the student. Every afternoon, when the weather was favorable. Ilse went at the same hour with her husband to the adjacent wood. The happy couple sought out lonely by-paths, where the branches were more thickly intertwined and the green carpet beneath contrasted gaily with the yellow leaves. Then Ilse thought of the trees on her father's estate; and the conversation with her husband always reverted to her father, brothers, and sisters, and to the latest news she had had from home. In the meadow which extended from the last buildings of the town to the wood there stood a bench under a large bush; from there could be seen the hostile houses in the foreground and behind them the gables and towers of the city. When Ilse came upon the place the first time, she was pleased at the sight of her own windows and the surrounding gloomy towers, and it led her to think of the seat in the cave, from which she had so often looked on her father's house; she sat down on the bench, drew out the letters which she had just received from her brothers and sisters, and read to her husband the simple sentences in which they reported the latest events on the farm. From that time forth this became her favorite resting-place, as she and her husband bent their steps homeward. The day after the reception of the student's package, on arriving at the bench, she saw a small nosegay lying on it; she picked it up with curiosity; a delicately folded note of rose-colored paper was appended to it, with this inscription: "A greeting from B." After this as many stars as there were letters in the name of her father's country-place. Surprised, she handed the note to the Professor. He opened it and read these unpretentious lines:-- The little dwarfes in their stone-built bower, Have written the rhyme on this card. They send from thy father's home a flower, With their heart-felt, innermost regard. "That is meant for you," he said, in astonishment. "How delightful!" exclaimed Ilse. "The '_dwarf_' must certainly be a joke of the Doctor," decided the Professor; "truly, he has well disguised his handwriting." Ilse, delighted, pinned on the nosegay. "When the Doctor comes this evening he shall not find out that we have discovered him." The Professor dilated upon the droll idea of his friend and Ilse, who before had looked upon the Doctor with secret distrust, heartily agreed.