whom he had not really spoken to, yet had been so exceedingly busy
with, could not quite accidentally have thus conveyed this to his
hands, and with throbbing heart he retired from the window to read
the message.

One side of the paper was blank; in the left-hand corner of the
other side was written "beloved," and a little below it seemed as
if there had been a signature, but now there was nothing left
excepting the letters "geb."

"'Geb,' what does that mean?" asked Fritz Bagger, with dark humor.
"If it had been gek, I could have understood it, although it were
incorrectly written. Geb, Gebrer, Algebra, Gebruderbuh,--I am a
big fool."

"But it is no matter, she shall have an answer," he shouted after
a while, and seated himself to write a long, glowing love-letter.
When it was finished and read, he tore it in pieces.

"No," said he, "if destiny has intended the least thing by acting
to me as mail-carrier through the window, let me act reasonably."
He wrote on a little piece of paper:

"As the old Norwegians, when they went to Iceland, threw their
high-seat pillars into the sea with the resolution to settle where
they should go ashore, so I send this out. My faith follows after;
and it is my conviction that where this alights, I shall one day
come, and salute you as my chosen, as my--." "Yes, now what more
shall I add?" he asked himself. "Ay, as my--'geb'--!" he added,
with an outburst of merry humor, that just completed the whole