Through the window the freshness of the morning came; the scent of sap
and blossom and young leaves; the scent of earth, and the mountains
freed from winter; the new flights and songs of birds; all the odorous,
enchanted, restless Spring.

There suddenly appeared through the doorway a white rough-haired terrier
dog, black-marked about the face, with shaggy tan eyebrows. He sniffed
at Harz, showed the whites round his eyes, and uttered a sharp bark. A
young voice called:

"Scruff! Thou naughty dog!" Light footsteps were heard on the stairs;
from the distance a thin, high voice called:

"Greta! You mustn't go up there!"

A little girl of twelve, with long fair hair under a wide-brimmed hat,
slipped in.

Her blue eyes opened wide, her face flushed up. That face was not
regular; its cheek-bones were rather prominent, the nose was flattish;
there was about it an air, innocent, reflecting, quizzical, shy.

"Oh!" she said.

Harz smiled: "Good-morning! This your dog?"

She did not answer, but looked at him with soft bewilderment; then
running to the dog seized him by the collar.

"Scr-ruff! Thou naughty dog--the baddest dog!" The ends of her hair fell