August laughed aloud again; then all at once his laughter broke
down into bitterest weeping. He threw himself forward on the
stove, covering it with kisses, and sobbing as though his heart
would burst from his bosom.

What could he do? Nothing, nothing, nothing!

"August, dear August," whispered Dorothea piteously, and trembling
all over,--for she was a very gentle girl, and fierce feeling
terrified her,--"August, do not lie there. Come to bed; it is
quite late. In the morning you will be calmer. It is horrible
indeed, and we shall die of cold, at least the little ones; but if
it be father's will--"

"Let me alone," said August through his teeth, striving to still
the storm of sobs that shook him from head to foot. "Let me alone.
In the morning!--how can you speak of the morning"

"Come to bed, dear," sighed his sister. "Oh, August, do not lie
and look like that! you frighten me. Do come to bed."

"I shall stay here."

"Here! all night!"

"They might take it in the night. Besides, to leave it NOW!"

"But it is cold! the fire is out."

"It will never be warm any more, nor shall we."