"Du Blümlein fein!" cried Hildegarde. "Yes, to be sure. Come here, little German boy, and we will tell the others about the pretty German name."
"SO DOWN PLUMPED HILDEGARDE."
A roly-poly lad of six, with flaxen hair and bright blue eyes, came forward shyly, and after some persuasion was induced to sit down in Hildegarde's lap. "See now!" she said to the others; "this pansy has a different name in Germany, where this boy—"
"Namens Fritzerl!" murmured the urchin, nestling closer to the wonderful Fräulein who knew German.
"Where Fritzerl came from. There they call it 'Stiefmütterlein,' which means 'little stepmother.' Shall I tell you why? See! In front here are three petals just alike, with the same colors and the same marking. These are the stepmother and her own two daughters; and here, behind, are the two step-daughters, standing in the background, but keeping close together like loving sisters. I hope the little stepmother is kind to them, don't you?"
"I've got one!" piped up a little girl with a crutch. "She's real good, she is. Only she washes my face 'most all day long, 'cause she's 'feared she won't do her duty by me. She brought me red jelly yesterday, and a noil-cloth bib, so's I wouldn't spill it on my dress. My dress 's new!" she added, edging up to Hildegarde, and holding up a red merino skirt with orange spots.
"I see it is," said Hilda, admiringly; "and so bright and warm, isn't it?"
"I've got a grandma to home!" cried another shrill voice. "She makes splendid mittens! She makes cookies too."