New London streets had seldom been more crowded than on that Saturday afternoon. Besides the usual number of Saturday shoppers, there were many strangers, who had motored into town, and a goodly sprinkling of sailors from the naval station. The streets were lined with motors, and people pushed and jostled each other on the narrow sidewalks. It was a good-natured crowd, however, and Gretel found it rather entertaining. She was obliged to try several shops before finding what she wanted, and was just coming out of a big dry-goods store, with her parcel, when she almost collided with a man who appeared to be lounging idly against the open doorway. He moved aside, murmuring a word of apology, and at the same moment something vaguely familiar in his face caused Gretel to look at him more attentively. In another second she had uttered a cry of joyful recognition, and was holding out both hands to the stranger. “Fritz, Fritz Lippheim, is it really you?” In the excitement of that recognition, Gretel had forgotten the war, Germany, everything in the world except the one joyful fact that here was her father’s dear old friend, the man who had been so kind to her when she was a little girl. At the sound of her voice, however, the stranger had drawn back suddenly, and was now regarding her with an expression of mingled surprise and embarrassment. “I beg your pardon,” he said, stiffly; “I think you are under a mistake. My name--good heavens! I believe it’s little Gretel Schiller!” “Of course it is!” laughed Gretel. “Oh, Fritz, you don’t know how glad I am to see you. I’ve been wanting to hear something about you and dear Mrs. Lippheim for years and years. My sister-in-law and I tried to find you once, but you had moved, and no one could give us your address. Do tell me about everything. How is your mother?” A shade of sadness crossed the man’s troubled face. “My mother is dead,” he answered. “She died nearly three years ago.” “Oh, Fritz, I am so sorry!” The tears started to Gretel’s eyes. “I always hoped I should see her again some time. She was so good to me always, especially after Father died. I wanted to thank you both for all you did for me then, and so did my brother and sister-in-law.” Fritz Lippheim glanced uneasily up and down the crowded street. “I would never have recognized you if you had not spoken, Gretel,” he said. “Why, you are quite grown-up.” “I am fifteen,” said Gretel. “I was only ten when you saw me last, but I would have known you anywhere. Can’t we go somewhere where it isn’t quite so crowded? I want to ask you about so many things. I have just seen the lady I am with go into that market, so I know she won’t be through her shopping for a few minutes longer.” For a moment the man hesitated; then he led the way round a corner, into one of the quiet side streets. “Now that I look at you more closely,” he said, “I can see a strong resemblance to the little Gretel of five years ago. Are you living in New London?”