"There it was again; if it is father, he will beat me to death," murmured he, as he went toward the shop door. "He forbade me to repeat a word of all that to mother."
He opened the door, and there stood not his father but a richly-dressed gentleman, who, with a friendly gesture, pushed the boy aside and entered the shop.
"I want some tobacco, my little fellow," said he; "therefore call Mr. Schommer to give me some from his best canister."
"My father is not at home," said the boy, staring at the handsome, friendly gentleman.
"Well, I did not come precisely on his account," said the gentleman, with a strange laugh. "Call your mother, Madame Schommer, and tell her I wish to make a purchase."
"Mother is lying in the back room on the floor, and I believe she is dead!" said Karl, sobbing.
The gentleman looked at him with amazement. "Did you say dead? That would be very inconvenient, for I have greatly counted on her life. What did she die of? Is a physician with her?"
"No one is with her but my little sister; you can hear her crying!"
"Yes, I can hear her; and it is in truth no edifying music. No one else, did you say? Where, then, are your friends? where is your father?"
"Father is at the ale-house, and friends we have none; we live all alone, for no one will live with us."