"Don't you think, Philip, that it will be a great care for me to think
that the three are living under one roof? Don't you think so yourself?"
Mrs. Maxa concluded.

"Oh, Maxa, that is an old story. There have been boys at all times who
fought together and then made peace again."

"Philip, that does not console me," the sister answered. "That has never
been Bruno's way at all. He never fights that way. But it is hard to
tell what he might do in a fit of anger at some injustice or meanness,
and that is what frightens me so."

"His godfather of the same name has probably passed that on to him.
Nobody more than you, Maxa, has always tried to wash him clean and excuse
him for all his deeds of anger. In your indestructible admiration ..."

Uncle Philip got no further, as all the children now came running toward
them. The two little ones both tried hard to put the biggest
strawberries they had found into the mouths of their mother and uncle.
Mea could not hold her magnificent bunch of forget-me-nots near enough to
their eyes to be admired. The two older boys had approached, too, as
they had an announcement to make. The sun had gone down behind the
mountain, so they had remembered that it was time to go home.

Mother and uncle rose from their seats and the whole group started down
the mountainside. The two little ones were gaily trotting beside the
uncle, bursting into wild shouting now and then, for he made such leaps
that they flew high into the air sometimes. He held them so firmly,
however, that they always reached the ground safely.