stemmed pipe at the one show-window.

``Fine, isn't it? Beautiful!'' he exclaimed in Low-German--they
and almost all their friends spoke Low-German, and used English
only when they could not avoid it.

The window certainly was well arranged. Only a merchant who knew
his business thoroughly--both his wares and his customers--could
have thus displayed cooked chickens, hams and tongues, the
imported sausages and fish, the jelly-inclosed paste of chicken
livers, the bottles and jars of pickled or spiced meats and
vegetables and fruits. The spectacle was adroitly arranged to
move the hungry to yearning, the filled to regret, and the
dyspeptic to rage and remorse. And behind the show-window lay a
shop whose shelves, counters and floor were clean as toil could
make and keep them, and whose air was saturated with the most
delicious odors.

Mrs. Brauner nodded. ``Heilig was up at half-past four this
morning,'' she said. ``He cleans out every morning and he moves
everything twice a week.'' She had a round, honest face that was
an inspiring study in simplicity, sense and sentiment.

``What a worker!'' was her husband's comment. ``So unlike most
of the young men nowadays. If August were only like him!''

``You'd think Heilig was a drone if he were your son,'' replied
Mrs. Brauner. She knew that if any one else had dared thus to
attack their boy, his father would have been growling and
snapping like an angry bear.