empty red-velvet shelves, and tapped it with his cane.

"But supposing he has no books!" suggested I, with the precocious wisdom of
nine years of age.

"Then we must beg some, or borrow some, my little Maedchen," replied my
father, gravely; "for books are the main solace of the captive, and he who
hath them not lies in a twofold prison."

"He shall have my picture-book of Hartz legends!" said I, in a sudden
impulse of compassion. Whereupon my father took me up in his arms, kissed
me on both cheeks, and bade me choose some knicknacks for the prisoner's
sitting-room.

"For though we have gotten together all the necessaries for comfort, we
have taken nothing for adornment," said he, "and 'twere pity the prison
were duller than it need be. Choose thou a pretty face or two from among
these old pictures, my little Gretchen, and an ornament for his
mantelshelf. Young as thou art, thou hast the woman's wit in thee."

So I picked out a couple of Sevres candlesticks; a painted Chinese screen,
all pagodas and parrots; two portraits of patched and powdered beauties in
the Watteau style; and a queer old clock surmounted by a gilt Cupid in a
chariot drawn by doves. If these failed to make him happy, thought I, he
must indeed be hard to please.

That afternoon, the things having been well dusted, and the rooms
thoroughly cleaned, we set to work to arrange the furniture, and so quickly
was this done that before we sat down to supper the place was ready for
occupation, even to the logs upon the hearth and the oil-lamp upon the