The cocks crowed in the farmyard at Bielstein, the sparrows twittered in the vine arbor, and the people were preparing for the day's work. Then Mr. Hummel knocked three times with his ponderous fist at the door of the room in which his daughter slept.
"Get up, eloper," he shouted, "if you still wish to take leave of your forsaken father."
There was a noise in the room and a prattering of slippers, and Laura's head peeped through the opening in the door.
"Father, you are not going to leave us!" she said pleadingly.
"You have left me," replied Mr. Hummel; "we must have a few final words together. Dress yourself properly, and you shall accompany me down the hill. I will wait for you in the hall."
He had to wait some time for his daughter, and paced impatiently up and down, looking at his watch.
"Gabriel," he said to the servant, who came up to him in his best attire, "much misfortune arises from women's long hair. It is on that account that they never can be ready at the right time; this is their privilege by which they vex us, and it is on that account that they maintain they are the weaker sex. Order and punctuality will never be obtained unless all womankind have their pig-tails cut off on one day."
Laura glided down the stairs, clung to her father's arm, and stroked his cheeks with her little hand.
"Come into the garden, my little actress," he said; "I must speak to you alone for a few minutes. You have succeeded in eloping, you have gone through the scandal,--in what state of mind are you now?"
"Uneasy, dear father," said Laura, dejectedly. "I know that it was a folly, and Ilse says so too."