Mrs. Ehrenreich wrote immediately, setting forth her wishes at full length and in great detail. She expressed her satisfaction that the houses in Tannenburg were so far apart, and she hoped that the one in question was not situated in such a way as to be undesirable for the residence of an invalid. She wished to make sure that there was in the vicinity no smithy, no locksmith, no stables, no stone-breaker's yard, no slaughter-house nor mill, no school, and particularly no waterfall. The answer from the widow, very prettily expressed, contained the agreeable assurance, that not one of these dreaded nuisances was to be found in her neighborhood. The school and the mill were so far away that not a sound could reach her dwelling from either, and there was no waterfall in that part of the country. Also there was not a house to be seen far or near, except the large residence of Mr. Birkenfeld, standing surrounded by beautiful gardens, fields and meadows. The Birkenfelds were the most respected family in the neighborhood. He was a member of every committee, and was a most benevolent man, and his wife was full of good works. The widow added that she herself owed a great deal to the kindness of this family, particularly with regard to her little house which was their property, and which Mr. Birkenfeld had allowed her to occupy ever since her husband's death. He had proved to be the kindest of landlords. After a letter like this there was no need for farther delay; everything had been provided for. Dora now heard for the first time that she was to go with them, and with a light heart and a willing hand, she packed the heavy materials for six large shirts, which she was to make while they were in Switzerland. The prospect of sewing on the shirts in a new place, and with different surroundings, excited her so much that she looked on it all as a holiday. At last all was ready. The trunks and chests were carried down to the street door, and the servant-girl was sent out for a cabman with a hand-cart, to take them away. Dora had been ready for a long time, and stood at the head of the stairs with beating heart filled with expectations of all the new things that she was to see for the next six weeks. The idea of this coming freedom almost overcame her with its bewildering delight, after all those long, long days in the seamstress' little, stifling room. At last her uncle and aunt came from their room laden with innumerable umbrellas and parasols, baskets and bundles, got down stairs with some difficulty, and mounted the carriage that was waiting below. And they were fairly off for the country,--and quiet. CHAPTER III. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE.