All at once, Willi and Lili came racing towards him from the other side, crying loudly, "Rolf, Rolf, a riddle, guess it! Look at it, you must guess it!" and Lili held a piece of paper directly under Rolf's nose, while Hun kept on crying, "Guess, Rolf, guess!" The inventor of riddles was now in an extremity himself.
"Give me a chance, and I'll guess it," he cried, waving his arms to fight them off.
"As you can't guess mine, I'll go to Jul," said Hun disdainfully, turning his back.
Rolf seized the small slip of paper, yellow from age, which Lili was showing him. He looked perplexed at the following puzzling words written apparently by a child's hand:
"My hand.
Lay firmly
Wanted to be
But otherwise
One stays
And each
And now will
This leaf
When the time comes
That the pieces
fit
We'll rejoice
And we'll go
Never."
"Perhaps this is a Rebus," said Rolf thoughtfully. "I'll guess it, if you leave me alone a minute. But I must think hard."
There was not time for that just then, for the dinner bell rang loudly and the family began to gather around the large dining' room table.
"What did you do this morning, little Hun?" asked the father, as soon as everybody had settled down to eating.
"I made a riddle, papa, but Rolf won't guess my riddles, and I can't ever find Jul. The others are no good, either."
"Yes, papa," eagerly interposed Rolf now, "I made four or five lovely riddles, but no one has time to guess except those who have no brains. When Jul has guessed one, he is exhausted. That is so disappointing, because I usually have at least six new ones for him every day."