"It must be a joke," cried Laura, with the hot tears flowing down her cheeks; "it is because I have sometimes teased him. I should never have believed him capable of such rudeness."
"Do you know him so well?" inquired Mr. Hummel. "Well, if it is a joke, as you say, take it as a joke then; this emotion isn't necessary."
"What is to be done now?" cried the mother; "can she still stand godmother with him after this insult?"
"I should think so," replied Mr. Hummel, ironically; "this insult is a childish affair compared to others--compared to house-building, bell-ringing, and dog-poisoning. If you can stomach all that, why not cats' paws, too?"
"Laura has hemmed and embroidered a handkerchief for him," exclaimed the mother; "and she had taken the greatest pains to finish it in time."
"I will not send it to him," cried Laura.
"So you hemmed and embroidered it yourself?" rejoined Hummel. "It is charming to live in friendship with one's neighbors. You are weak womenfolk, and you take the matter too seriously. These are courtesies which one cannot avoid, and to which no importance is attached. Do as you said you would. You must just send the thing over to him. You must not give him or any one else occasion to make remarks. Keep your contempt to yourself."
"Father is right," cried Laura, springing up; "away with the handkerchief, and my account with the Doctor will be closed for ever."
"That's right," assented Hummel. "Where is the rag? Away with it."
The handkerchief lay ready on a plate, wrapped up in fine blue paper, and also covered with spring flowers.