The mother put a little chair beside hers and placed the work in the boy’s nimble fingers. Now a race with stitches began, and in his zeal to beat his mother he at last forgot the subject that had troubled him so much.
The late evening had come and the children’s work for school was done. Mrs. Halm put the big mending basket away and took up her knitting. The time had come, when, clustering eagerly about their mother, the children told her all the troubles and joys of the day.
It was the hardest hour of the day for Mux, for it was his bedtime. His mother always took him by the hand, to lead him to bed, before she began to talk with the three elder children. Every evening he put up a fight, for the wily youngster always thought that by obstinate resistance he could break the rule. His mother, however, knew well that his success would only result in dreadful yawns and heavy eyes.
This evening he found himself ready for bed before he had had time to prepare for his fight. His mother seemed anxious to have him in bed punctually that night. The boy was always reconciled to his fate when she sat down a moment beside his bed to hear of anything that might be troubling him. Mux, knowing that all conversation was irrevocably closed after his prayers were said, would try every night to prolong this period.
After Mux had climbed into bed, he said thoughtfully: “Don’t you think, mother, that if people planted cherries where cabbage now grows everybody could eat cherries instead of cabbage?”
“We simply have to stop now, Mux,” Mrs. Halm replied to his astonishment, for he had hoped to start a long conversation.
“Well, Mux, you don’t seem to be able to get over the cabbage to-day. Go to sleep, for you have talked enough about it.”
Mux knew then that nothing could be done that day, After his evening prayer and a kiss from his mother, he lay down and was fast asleep before his mother had even shut the door.
Agnes had just finished her last task and was throwing her books into a drawer, each more violently than the other. She was still terribly excited, and as soon as her mother came back to the room, she burst forth: “Oh, mother, if I am not allowed to study music any more, I would rather stop learning anything. Why can’t I become a servant girl? I could do the work well enough. As soon as I have earned enough money, I’ll buy a harp and then I can wander from house to house, singing and playing. I can easily live like that. Nobody needs to be a dressmaker. People can wear petticoats and jackets. That is enough, and those can be woven. All other children are better off than we are. They can learn what they please and we can’t learn anything!” An outburst of tears choked all further words.
During her sister’s speech Nika had been quietly drawing, but she was holding her head lower and lower over her work without once looking up. She continued her studies, but her eyes seemed to be filling. Pushing her work away, she held her handkerchief before her face.