“Well,” said Merle, “but you must do something to make yourself useful first. Suppose you ran up that step-ladder for me.”
“Delighted. Why, this is great fun!” The slight wooden ladder creaked under the weight of his solid form as he climbed. “How high am I to go?”
“To reach the top shelf—that’s it. Now, you see that big brown jar? Careful—it’s cranberries.”
“Splendid—I do believe we’re to have cranberry preserve at dinner.” By standing on tiptoe he managed to reach and lift the heavy jar, and stood holding it, his face flushed with his exertions.
“And now, little lady?”
“Just stay there a moment and hold it carefully; I have to fetch something.” And she hurried out.
Klaus stood at the top of the ladder, holding the heavy jar. He looked round. What was he to do with it? He waited for Merle to return—but she did not appear. Someone was playing the piano in the next room. Should he call for help? He waited on, getting redder and redder in the face. And still no Merle came.
With another mighty effort he set the jar back in its place, and then climbed down the ladder and walked into the drawing-room, very red and out of breath. In the doorway he stopped short and stared.
“What—well, I’ll—And she’s sitting here playing the piano!”
“Yes. Aren’t you fond of music, Herr Brock?”