"That would be all very well if he were like other people,"
asseverated stout Barbel warmly, "but you know what he is. And
what can he do with a child, especially with one so young! The
child cannot possibly live with him. But where are you thinking
of going yourself?"

"To Frankfurt, where an extra good place awaits me," answered
Dete. "The people I am going to were down at the Baths last
summer, and it was part of my duty to attend upon their rooms.
They would have liked then to take me away with them, but I
could not leave. Now they are there again and have repeated their
offer, and I intend to go with them, you may make up your mind
to that!"

"I am glad I am not the child!" exclaimed Barbel, with a gesture
of horrified pity. "Not a creature knows anything about the old
man up there! He will have nothing to do with anybody, and never
sets his foot inside a church from one year's end to another.
When he does come down once in a while, everybody clears out of
the way of him and his big stick. The mere sight of him, with
his bushy grey eyebrows and his immense beard, is alarming
enough. He looks like any old heathen or Indian, and few would
care to meet him alone."

"Well, and what of that?" said Dete, in a defiant voice, "he is
the grandfather all the same, and must look after the child. He
is not likely to do her any harm, and if he does, he will be
answerable for it, not I."

"I should very much like to know," continued Barbel, in an