But this view of the matter turned out to be erroneous. Throughout the whole night the barking of the dogs sounded from the court-yard. In the houses of the neighborhood, shutters were thrown open, and loud words of reproach addressed to Mr. Hummel. The following morning he arose in a state of great uncertainty. Even his own sound sleep had been disturbed by the reproaches of his wife, who now sat at breakfast angry and depressed with headache. When he entered the court-yard, and gathered from his men the complaints they had heard from the neighbors, even he hesitated for a moment whether he should keep the dogs. Ill luck would have it that just at this moment Mr. Hahn's porter entered the court-yard, and with defiant mien announced that Mr. Hahn insisted upon Mr. Hummel putting a stop to this outrageous barking, or he should be obliged to seek redress before a justice of the peace. This attitude of his opponent at once decided the inward struggle of Mr. Hummel. "If I can bear the barking of my dogs, other people can do so too. The bells play on your side of the way and the dogs sing on mine, and if any one wishes to hear my views before a magistrate he shall hear enough to satisfy him." He returned to the house and with dignity approached his suffering wife. "Are two dogs to come between you and me, Henry?" asked the wife, with faltering voice. "Never," replied Mr. Hummel; "the domestic peace must be preserved. I am sorry that you have a headache, and to please you I would remove the beasts. But I have collided again with that coxcomb across the way. For the second time he threatens me with a suit and the magistrate. My honor is at stake, and I can no longer give in. Be a good wife, Philippine, and try to bear it a few nights longer. Put cotton in your ears, till the dogs have gotten accustomed to their work." "Henry," replied the wife, wearily, "I have never doubted your heart; but your character is rough, and the voices of the dogs are too horrible. Can you, in order to enforce your will, see your wife suffer, and become seriously ill, from sleeplessness? Will you, in order to maintain your position, sacrifice peace with the neighborhood?" "I do not want you to be ill, but I will not send away the dogs," replied Mr. Hummel, seizing his felt hat, and going to the factory with heavy step. If Mr. Hummel indulged in the hope that he had ended the domestic struggle as conqueror, he was greatly in error. There was still another power in his home, who opened the campaign in a different manner. When Mr. Hummel approached his desk in his little counting-house, he saw near the inkstand a nosegay of flowers. Attached to the pink ribbon hung a note which was sealed with a forget-me-not, and addressed--"To my dear Father." "That is my bright-eyed girl," he murmured, and opening the note read the following lines: