hidden, made her seem almost like a princess to Gretel, while
Master Hans grew staid and well-behaved as he gazed.

Soon the little maid, while braiding her own golden tresses,
fairly danced around her mother in an ecstasy of admiration.

"Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother, how pretty you are! Look, Hans!
Isn't it just like a picture?"

"Just like a picture," assented Hans cheerfully. "JUST like a
picture--only I don't like those stocking things on the hands."

"Not like the mitts, brother Hans! Why, they're very important.
See, they cover up all the red. Oh, Mother, how white your arm
is where the mitt leaves off, whiter than mine, oh, ever so much
whiter. I declare, Mother, the bodice is tight for you. You're
growing! You're surely growing!"

Dame Brinker laughed.

"This was made long ago, lovey, when I wasn't much thicker about
the waist than a churn dasher. And how do you like the cap?" she
asked, turning her head from side to side.

"Oh, EVER so much, Mother. It's b-e-a-u-tiful! See, the father
is looking!"

Was the father looking? Alas! only with a dull stare. His
vrouw turned toward him with a start, something like a blush
rising to her cheeks, a questioning sparkle in her eye. The