"But of what use are they?" said the incorrigible mother who, you see, was not yet quite cured.
Meanwhile the story was noised abroad that Hansi had found a treasure in the forest.
The very next day, Christmas Day, as they were eating their goose, stuffed with apples, there was a ring at the bell—in walked a very pompous Prussian policeman with fierce moustaches.
"Mrs Herzchen here?" he asked abruptly.
"What do you want?" asked that lady, much indignant at being disturbed during her Christmas dinner.
"Young person answering to the name of Hansi Herzchen here?"
"Yes, sir. Please, sir, that's me," said Hansi, rising and curtsying, and growing very red.
The policeman produced a paper in which he entered all sorts of memoranda.
"Age and date of birth?" he demanded of Hansi.
"Seven years old, of course," answered Hansi. "My birthday is on February 27th, if you want to know. It was on a Sunday last year."