"The house over there seems rather blessed with children. Well, we can't help it, and must keep our windows shut," he replied, unmoved.
"But my dear Titus, do you forget that you came here chiefly for the fresh mountain air? If you don't go out, you have to let the strengthening air into your room. What shall we do? If it begins that way, what shall we do if they keep it up?" wailed the aunt.
"Then we must move," replied the husband, while at work.
This thought calmed his wife a little, and she returned to her room.
Meanwhile, Dora had busily set her things in order. A burning wish had risen in her heart, and she knew this could not be granted unless everything was neatly put in its right place. The crowd of merry children, their fun and laughter had so thrilled Dora that she longed to witness their return. She wondered what would happen when they all got out again. Would they, perhaps, come to the garden where the triumphal arch was raised? She wanted to see them from below, as the garden was only separated from Mrs. Kurd's little plot of ground by a hedge. There must be a little hole somewhere in this hedge through which she could look and watch the children.
Dora was so filled with this thought, that it never occurred to her that her aunt might not let her go out so late. But her desire was greater than the fear of being denied. She went at once to her aunt's door, where she met Mrs. Kurd, who was just announcing supper. Dora quickly begged to be allowed to go down to the garden, but the aunt immediately answered that they were going to supper now, after which it would be nearly night.
Mrs. Kurd assured her aunt that anybody could stay out here as long as they wished, as nobody ever came by, and that it was quite safe for Dora to go about alone. Finally, Aunt Ninette gave Dora permission to run in the garden a little after supper. Dora, hardly able to eat from joy and anticipation, kept listening for the carriage to return with the children. But no sound was heard.
"You can go now, but don't leave the little garden," said the aunt at last. Dora gave this promise gladly, and running out eagerly, began to look for some opening in the hedge. It was a hawthorne hedge and so high and thick that Dora could look neither through it nor over the top. Only at the bottom, far down, one could peep through a hole here and there. It meant stooping low, but that was no obstacle for Dora. Her heart simply longed to see and hear the children again. Never in her life had she known such a large family with such happy looking boys and girls. She had never seen such a crowd of children driving out alone in a coach. What fun this must be!
Dora, squatting close to the ground, gazed expectantly through the opening, but not a sound could be heard. Twilight lay over the garden, and the flowers sent out such a delicious fragrance that Dora could not get enough of it. How glorious it must be to be able to walk to and fro between those flower beds, and how delightful to sit under that tree laden with apples, under which stood a half hidden table! It looked white with various indistinct objects upon it. Dora was completely lost in contemplation of the charming sight before her, when suddenly the merry voices could be heard, gaily chattering, and Dora was sure the children had returned. For awhile, everything was still, as they had gone into the house. Now it grew noisy again, and they all came out into the garden.
Mr. Birkenfeld had just returned from a long journey and his children had driven down to meet him at the steamboat-landing on the lake. The mother had made the last preparations for his reception during that time and arranged the festive banquet under the apple tree in the garden. As the father had been away several weeks, his return was a joyous occasion, to be duly celebrated.