of the lips which sounded like "Baba." This sound, Cyriax explained, was
a call that meant "papa." That was the name aristocratic children gave
their fathers, and it meant him alone, because the little girl resembled
him and loved him better than she did any one else. He really believed
this, and the stammering of the fragile child's livid lips won the rough
fellow's tender love.

The man who, when drunk, beat his wife till the blood came, and committed
plenty of cruel deeds, trembled, wept, and could even pray with fervent
piety, when--which often happened--the frail little creature, shaken by
convulsions, seemed at the point of death. He had undertaken the long
journey to the "world's end," not only because the pilgrimage to
Compostella promised large profits, but also to urge St. James to cure
his child. For his "sweet little Juli's" sake, and to obtain for her a
cheap nurse who would be entirely dependent upon him, he burdened himself
with the lame ropedancer. But he had no reason to repent this; Gitta had
enough to do to lead him by the chain and answer the questions of the
people, while Kuni nursed her charge with rare fidelity, mended the
clothing of the father, mother, and child, as well or as badly as she
could, and also helped Gitta with the cooking. The sickly, obstinate
little girl certainly did not deserve the name of a "sweet" child, yet
Kuni devoted herself to it with warm, almost passionate affection.

The vagabond couple did not fail to notice this, and, on the whole, it
pleased them. If Cyriax was vexed when little Juli began to show plainly
enough that she preferred her nurse even to him, he submitted because the
lame girl watched the child through severe attacks of convulsions and
fever as if it were her own, and willingly sacrificed her night's rest
for its sake. True, he often talked loudly enough in Kuni's presence of
the witch potion which the lame girl mixed in the porridge of his child,