"Can you recall, Max, the girl whom we were speaking of at the table to-night when Andreas came? We could hear her father's loom from our garden, they lived so near us. I told you the girl was very pretty. She had a charming manner and her name was Aloise."
"Never in my life have I known anybody by that name," asserted Max.
"I know why you say so," corrected his sister. "We never called her that, and I am sure that you never did. We called her Wisi, much to our dear mother's disgust. You often went over to get her when we wanted to have some music, because she could sing so well."
"Oh, yes, I remember Wisi," said Max, "and I used to like the girl, too; but I don't believe that I ever knew of her being named anything else."
"I know that you used to know, Max," persisted Mrs. Ritter. "Mother so often deplored the fact that we would not use the pretty name Aloise, and she never liked what we did call her."
"What became of Wisi?" inquired Max.
"Well," continued Mrs. Ritter, "Wisi and I were much together, for we were in the same class and went from grade to grade at the same time. Andreas, through all those years, was her stanchest friend, and she willingly accepted his attentions, often finding his friendship of great advantage to herself.
"For one thing we were supposed to bring certain examples worked out on our slates when we came to school in the morning, but Wisi's slate was usually blank. She was always light-hearted and merry, and she would put her slate on her desk in a very unconcerned way and go out to play; when she returned, the slate was filled with neatly copied examples.
"Once it was brought before the school that some one had broken a windowpane, and again, that some one had shaken the teacher's fruit trees, and I remember that we all knew it was Wisi's fault; but Andreas took the blame upon himself and the punishment also. The rest of us accepted it as a matter of course, for we all liked Wisi and were used to having her escape.
"How it happened that the quietest, most earnest boy in school should care especially about the most mischievous girl used to puzzle us, and I often wondered if Wisi were not indifferent to Andreas's interest in her. I asked mamma about it one day, and she said, 'I am afraid that Aloise is somewhat vain, and that she may live to see the bad results of her carelessness.' After that I worried about her myself.