were very simple, and supper was the simplest of all. A large plate
of black bread and a pitcher of sour milk were brought by the mother,
and the family gathered around the table.

The bread wasn't really black, of course. It was dark brown and very
coarse. It was made of rye meal. Bertha and Gretchen had never seen
any white bread in their lives, for they had never yet been far away
from their own little village. Neither had their brother Hans.

They were happy, healthy children. They all had blue eyes, rosy
cheeks, and fair hair, like their father and mother.

"You don't know what I've got for you, Hans," said Bertha, laughing
and showing a sweet little dimple in her chin.

Hans bent down and kissed her. He never could resist that dimple,
and Bertha was his favourite sister.

"I don't know what it is, but I do know that it must be something
nice," said her brother.

When the supper-table had been cleared, the mother and girls took out
their sewing again, while Hans worked at some wood-carving. The
father took an old violin from its case and began to play some of the
beautiful airs of Germany.

When he came to the "Watch on the Rhine," the mother's work dropped
from her hands as she and the children joined in the song that stirs
every German heart.