"There," broke in Miezi, "that is just what he called me! Twice he called me that, and he had his big stick raised like this, and he was going—"
Miezi had her arm raised to illustrate the man's attempt to strike her, when she suddenly caught the warning look from her brother across the table, and remembered her promise not to tell her parents about what had happened that night. In her great confusion her face grew scarlet, and she pushed her arms as far as possible under the table.
"I am surprised to have my birthday celebration take this turn," said the father. "On one side of the table my daughter speaks of something about which we have heard nothing, while, on the opposite side, my son kicks my leg until it feels as if it might be black and blue. I should like to know, Otto, where you learned such gymnastics."
It was now Otto's turn to blush, which he did to the roots of his hair. He had intended to hush his sister with the kicks, but evidently he had not struck where he intended. For a time he was too embarrassed to look his father in the face.
"Well, Miezchen, what was the rest of the story which Otto did not allow you to finish? You say he called you a dreadful name, raised his stick at you, and—?"
"Then, then," began Miezi,—she realized, now, that she had told, and must sacrifice the candy rooster in consequence,—"then he didn't kill me, anyway."
The father laughed heartily. "It was good of him not to kill my little girl, but what then?"
"That was all."
"The story has a happy ending," said the father. "The stick remains poised in the air and little Miezchen comes home as the artichoke. Now let us forget everything except that this is my birthday and that we are to do justice to the feast provided."