eyelashes. His voice sounded like the voice of a little girl, as
fine and soft, beside the voices of the others, as the breeze of an
autumnal evening beside that of rude November weather.

"That is a handsome boy!" exclaimed the two friends at the same
time.

"And a lovely melody!" added Otto.

"Yes, but they sing falsely!" answered Wilhelm: "one sings half a
tone too low, the other half a tone too high!"

"Now, thank God that I cannot hear that!" said Otto. "It sounds
sweetly, and the little one might become a singer. Poor child!"
added he gravely: "bare feet, wet to the very skin; and then the
elder one will certainly lead him to brandy drinking! Within a
month, perhaps, the voice will be gone! Then is the nightingale
dead!" He quickly threw down some skillings, wrapped in paper.

"Come up!" cried Wilhelm, and beckoned. The eldest of the boys flew
up like an arrow; Wilhelm, however, said it was the youngest who
was meant. The others remained standing before the door; the
youngest stepped in.

"Whose son art thou?" asked Wilhelm. The boy was silent, and cast
down his eyes in an embarrassed manner. "Now, don't be bashful!
Thou art of a good family--that one can see from thy appearance!
Art not thou thy mother's son? I will give thee stockings and--the
deuce! here is a pair of boots which are too small for me; if thou
dost not get drowned in them they shall be thy property: but now