Dora stood waiting for her aunt in the passage-way. "Are we really going
away, Aunt?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, decidedly;" replied Mrs. Ehrenreich, "we shall move on Monday."

Poor little Dora! it was a sad trial to her, to have to go away without
once having a chance to make the acquaintance of the other family; to go
into the beautiful garden, to smell those delicious flowers, and to join
the merry child-life that she had watched so closely, and yet from which
she was so entirely separated. Her future seemed swallowed up in those
stifling cotton shirts that were her fate in dull Karlsruhe. As she sat on
the side of her little bed, that night, sadly cast down by these
melancholy thoughts, she forgot the five friendly stars in the sky above.
Yet there they were, sparkling as ever, as if they were trying to speak to
their child and say, "Dora, Dora! have you quite forgotten your father's
verses?"




CHAPTER VI.

A FRIGHTFUL DEED.


It was a beautiful, bright Sunday morning. In the garden all was peaceful
and lovely. No sound broke the perfect stillness, save when now and then a
rosy-cheeked apple fell to the ground, for the apples were ripening fast
in the autumn sun.