from each of her judges, and possibly some slight latent faith in the
suggestion of one of the party that perhaps St. Nicholas would put a
new inside and new stories into her before next December.

"I don't think I should like a new inside, though," doubted the child
before mentioned, with a shake of her tiny plaits, "or new stories
either."

As this quaint little Fräulein went into the house she met Friedrich,
who came from the bookseller's.

"Friedrich," said she, in a solemn voice, "we have walled up the
'Märchen-Frau.'"

"Have you, _Schwesterchen_?"

This was Friedrich's answer; but it may safely be stated that, if any
one had asked him what it was his sister had told him, he would have
been utterly unable to reply.

He had been to the bookseller's!

The summer passed, and the children kept faithfully to their resolve.
The little sister sometimes sat by the wall and comforted the
Märchen-Frau inside, with promises of coming out soon; but not a brick
was touched. There was something pathetic in the children's voluntary
renouncement of their one toy. The father was too absent and the
mother too busy, to notice its loss; Marie missed it and made
inquiries of the children, but she was implored to be silent, and
discreetly held her tongue. Winter drew on, and for some time a change