"Thus our room is now quieter than ever, except that your old friend
Eric now drops in to see us occasionally. You told us once that he was
just like his brown top-coat. I can't help thinking of it every time
he comes in at the door, and it is really too funny; but don't tell
mother, it might easily make her angry.

"Guess what I am giving your mother for a Christmas present! You can't
guess? Well, it is myself! Eric is making a drawing of me in black
chalk; I have had to give him three sittings, each time for a whole
hour.

"I simply loathed the idea of a stranger getting to know my face so
well. Nor did I wish it, but mother pressed me, and said it would very
much please dear Frau Werner.

"But you are not keeping your word, Reinhard. You haven't sent me any
stories. I have often complained to your mother about it, but she
always says you now have more to do than to attend to such childish
things. But I don't believe it; there's something else perhaps."

After this Reinhard read his mother's letter, and when he had read
them both and slowly folded them up again and put them away, he was
overcome with an irresistible feeling of home-sickness. For a long
while he walked up and down his room, talking softly to himself, and
then, under his breath, he murmured:

I have err'd from the straight path,
Bewildered I roam;
By the roadside the child stands