over and the ages through? Thus Otto had the lively but tactful
sympathy of the whole community.

He became less gloomy under the warmth of this succession of
friendly faces and friendly inquiries. But as trade slackened,
toward noon, he had more leisure to think, and the throbbing ache
returned to his heavy heart. All the time pictures of her were
passing before his eyes. He had known her so long and she had
become such an intimate part of his daily life, so interwoven
with it, that he could not look at present, past or future
without seeing her.

Why, he had known her since she was a baby. Did he not remember
the day when he, a small boy on his way to school, had seen her
toddle across the sidewalk in front of him? Could he ever forget
how she had reached with great effort into a snowbank, had dug
out with her small, red-mittened hands a chunk of snow, and,
lifting it high above her head, had thrown it weakly at him with
such force that she had fallen headlong upon the sidewalk? He
had seen her every day since then--every day!

He most clearly of all recalled her as a school-girl. Those
were the days of the German bands of six and seven and even eight
pieces, wandering as the hand-organs do now. And always with
them came a swarm of little girls who danced when the band
played, and of little boys who listened and watched. He had
often followed her as she followed a band, all day on a Saturday.
And he had never wearied of watching her long, slim legs
twinkling tirelessly to the music. She invented new figures and
variations on steps which the other girls adopted. She and her