The sun is already high in the heavens. As if it could shine so brightly, right into one's heart, anywhere else!--The sun of home is a wonderful thing. What it looks upon, it gilds, and when it touches one's lips, they begin to sing.
"It is lovely at home--hurrah!"
"Now I have a nest of merry birds in the house," laughs Martin, coming to greet him. "Go on singing. I am used to that from Trude--but what are you doing in that white coat?"
"I suppose you think I am going to be idle here?"
"At least just for a day!"
"Not for an hour! My lazy times are over!"
Martin has meanwhile noticed the flowers at the bed-side and says with a grumbling laugh: "Now there's a little witch for you! I have forbidden it for myself, and now she begins the same nonsense with others. That's why you look so pale this morning.
"I, pale? Not in the least!"
"Don't say a word! I'll cure her of her tricks."
With that they go downstairs.