"Perhaps, on the contrary, it is beginning," she retorted, starting on her errand.
As soon as Mrs. Birkenfeld was admitted to the doctor's office, she inquired after Dora's wound and was informed that it was healing rapidly. To her anxious question if the arm might remain stiff for life, he laughed and said that was out of the question. When young people had been foolish, he often found it advisable to keep them in suspense in order to teach them a lesson, for such a mishap might be more serious a second time. The doctor was quite sure the injury would be healed in a couple of days. Mrs. Birkenfeld was intensely relieved, as she could not have borne the feeling that her thoughtless children had caused the little stranger a permanent injury.
Before returning home, Mrs. Birkenfeld stopped at her neighbor's house to see Aunt Ninette and reassure her, too, about Dora. When talking about the little girl, she heard from the aunt for the first time that Dora, for urgent financial reasons, was to become a seamstress.
This deeply grieved Mrs. Birkenfeld, for Dora seemed too young and frail for such confining, constant work. She was quite glad that the child would have a long holiday before going back to the city. Mrs. Birkenfeld begged the aunt to let Dora off from sewing till her arm was completely healed, and let her be out of doors and play with her own children. A seamstress she knew could sew some shirts meanwhile if necessary.
Mrs. Birkenfeld's quiet, thoughtful ways had a most beneficent influence on Aunt Ninette, who never once complained during their long conversation. All her recent worries had somehow vanished and her outlook had grown bright and cheerful, which made her feel quite strange. She spoke gratefully of her husband's well-being in the pleasant, airy summer house, which he liked so much that he was unwilling to forsake it, even late at night. Upon leaving, Mrs. Birkenfeld invited her neighbor to come to her garden as often as possible, since otherwise she would be so lonely. Aunt Ninette promised to do this, quite forgetting the noisy children who had annoyed her so much at first.
Dora had hardly opened her eyes that morning, when she was out of bed with a jump. The joyful prospect of going over after breakfast had made her wide awake at once. She had to wait quite a little while, though, before she was allowed to go, because her aunt did not approve of being too forward. Only after Mrs. Birkenfeld, who had stayed quite a while, asked for Dora, was she called, and then allowed to go. This time she neither paused nor looked about her shyly, but in a few leaps, was in the corridor of the big house.
Through the open door of the living room, she received a many-sided welcome. The twins, Paula, and Hun, ran towards her and led her into the room.
Jul had just returned from his morning ride and had flung himself into an armchair, stretched out his long legs in front of him, as if extending an invitation for somebody to rid him of his boots. Dora immediately rushed up to him and asked obligingly if she might take them off, taking hold of the boots at once.
But Jul pulled his feet back hastily and exclaimed, "No, no, Dora, how can you dream of such a thing? I won't let you!" Then politely jumping from his seat, he offered it to Dora.
But the twins pulled her along between them and cried loudly, "Come with us, Dora, come with us!"