Their next visit was to an old widow who lived near the "Staffelbaeck." On the way, Ivo was treated to a "pretzel," which he devoured while sitting behind Mrs. Hankler's stove and listening to the negotiations between her and his mother. The good lady was a dealer in eggs and butter, and an old business acquaintance of Mother Christina's. It was agreed that Ivo should get his dinner at her house, and that Mrs. Hankler was to receive therefor a certain quantity of butter, eggs, and flour.
The moment Ivo had reached home, he threw off his coat, kicked the boots from his feet, and hastened to Nat in the stable. The latter passed his hand over his eyes when he heard that Ivo was now a student.
Next morning our young friend was sad when the time came for his first visit to the grammar-school. He was waked early, and obliged to dress in his best clothes. To make the parting less bitter, his mother went with him to the top of the hill. There she gave him a little roast meat wrapped up in paper, and two creutzers as a precaution against unforeseen emergencies.
Our readers have gone to Horb with us often enough to know the way. But, besides the winding road of only two or three miles which ascends the steep hill, there is a footpath which turns off to the left at the hill-top, and where you cannot walk, but only scamper straight to the Horb brick-yard. Ivo took this path: his heart beat high, and his tears flowed freely, for he felt that he was entering upon a new and a different life.
At the brick-yard he wiped his eyes and looked at the roast meat. It had a delicious odor. He unfolded the paper, and the meat smiled at him as if it wished to be kissed. He tried the least bit, then a little more, and in a short time he had tried every thing but the paper. Yet, had he been ninety years old, he could not have done more wisely: the lunch restored his spirits and his courage, and he walked on with a smiling face and steady eye.
The boys at the school inspected the appearance of the new-comer with the minuteness of custom-house officers. The size of his clothes amused them particularly.
"What's your name?" asked one.
"Ivo Bock."
"Oh, this is Ivo Book,
Dress'd in the family frock!"
said a boy with a fine embroidered collar. The muscles of Ivo's face twitched as is usual when a crying-spell is setting in. But, when the boys gathered around him to follow up their words with practical pleasantry, he struck at them with his fists hard and fiercely. The rhymester with the collar now came up and said, "Never mind. Nobody shall hurt you: I'll help you."