"What was the misfortune that happened long ago in the castle and then
again?" Kurt asked in great suspense.

"I have no time to tell you now, Kurt," the mother declared decisively.
"You have to attend to your school work and I to other affairs. When I
have you all together quietly some evening I shall tell you about those
bygone times. It will be better for you to know than to muse about all
the reports you hear. You are most active of all in that, Kurt, and I do
not like it; so I hope that you will let the matter rest as soon as you
have understood how unfounded the talk really is. Come now, Apollonie,
and I will give you the plants you wanted. I am so glad to be able to
let you have some of my geraniums. You keep your little flower garden in
such perfect order that it is a pleasure to see it."

During the foregoing speeches Apollonie's face had clearly expressed
disagreement with what had been said; she had, however, too much respect
for the lady to utter her doubts. Bright sunshine spread itself over her
features now, because her flower garden was her greatest pride and joy.

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Rector, it is a beautiful thing to raise flowers," she
said, nodding her head. "They always do their duty, and if one grows a
little to one side, I can put a stick beside it and it grows straight
again as it ought to. If only the child were like that, then I should
have no more cares. But she only has her own ideas in her head, and such
strange whims that it would be hard to tell where they come from."

"There is nothing bad about having her own ideas," replied the rector's
widow. "It naturally depends on what kind of ideas they are. It seems
to me that Loneli is a good-natured child, who is easily led. All
children need guidance. What special whims does Loneli have?"