"Der pantoffle ist in die zimmer——"
"Puntoffel," corrected Poons.
"Pantoffle," responded his pupil.
"Tsimmer," said he.
"Zimmer," repeated she, placing the accent strongly on the "Z"; and so the lesson went on. Suddenly a smile of joy spread itself over Poons's features. In searching for his handkerchief he had fished out a piece of paper from his hip-pocket. Joy! it was the lost declaration of dependence! He opened it, and read her the following with such ardent tenderness and affection, that the girl's heart fairly beat double time.
"Fräulein Chenny," he began, putting the piece of paper in the book and pretending that it was part of his lesson. "Fräulein Chenny, I cannot mit you life midout—you liff," and then, feeling that he had somewhat entangled his words, he repeated: "I cannot life midout—you—Chenny—you Chenny midout." Jenny looked at him in perplexity. His manner, the words—all were so strange!
"That isn't in the lesson," she managed to gasp, holding down her head bashfully.
"I cannot life midout you liff! Luff, Chenny, luff!" he added. He meant love, for he knew the meaning of that, and he waited for her answer. Perhaps she did not understand, but if she did, all she seemed able to say was:
"That isn't in my lesson, Mr. Poons; it isn't in my lesson!"
What Poons said in response to Jenny's statement will never be known, for at that precise moment in walked Von Barwig, who had just returned from his weary, useless effort to sell his compositions. His face brightened up as he saw the young lovers, and a beautiful smile chased away the lines of sorrow and suffering. There was no mistaking Poon's attitude. His eyes were full of love, and he held Jenny's hand in his. Although she indignantly snatched it away as soon as the door opened, probably thinking it was her aunt, Von Barwig saw the action, and it brought joy to his poor, bruised old heart.