Nan laughed. "Now I know why the women of Germany have such mighty strong backs. They began their training away back in the twelfth century and evidently have kept it up ever since, for they carry such loads as I never saw."
Dr. Paul laughed, and the two, having passed through the Karlsthor and up the wide Lenbach-platz, waited for the others who had lagged a little behind.
Mrs. Hoyt's sitting-room was more of a rendezvous on a rainy Sunday afternoon than at any other time, and when the chill mists had resolved themselves into a persistent drizzle, the young people gathered in the cheery place to forget outside conditions and to get rid of the blues. Here, after dinner, Nan found Mary Lee and Jo with the Hoyt family and two or three of Maurice's schoolfellows. Mrs. Hoyt was dispensing toasted buns, Lebkücken and chocolate, and it was the coziest of companies.
"Just in time," Mrs. Hoyt told her. "Sit right down wherever you can find a place, Nan. We have none too many chairs, as you see."
Maurice jumped to his feet and gave Nan his place while he took a position on the floor by Jo, who was seated on a sofa cushion by the window.
"This is nice," said Nan in a satisfied tone. "It is so much like home, and one does get tired of foreign doings once in a while."
"I thought we'd better stay in this drizzly afternoon," remarked Mrs. Hoyt. "Juliet, for one, should not go out, for she has already taken cold."
"If she has taken cold give her quinine; if she has taken anything else, give her thirty days," advised Maurice, between bites of Lebkücken. And of course everybody laughed, as he meant they should.
"This is the best Lebkücken I ever ate," said Nan. "It is much better than any we have had."
"That is because it is the real Nuremburg article," Mrs. Hoyt told her. "There is none quite so good. Have you been to Nuremburg, Nan?"