"The police!" Nell gave a queer little jump. "Oh, Sarah, isn't it hot to-day?"
"You do look pale, miss; it's a nasty un'ealthy day, an unlucky day, my mother 'ud say."
"Unlucky! Oh, why, Sarah?"
"Well, you see, miss, it was on just such a warm, unseasoning (Nell supposed she meant unseasonable) day that father was run over and killed."
"Oh, don't, Sarah!" Nell hurried away into the hall. She stood a moment, hesitating. A latch-key fumbled in the lock of the door. She waited, knowing it was Herr Schmidt. Miss Kezia never fumbled. He came in with his heavy tread.
"Ach, Fräulein, it is a bad day, eh?"
"Horrible!" she said.
He glanced at her and smiled.
"Poor Mr. Weather," he said, chuckling. "We are angry when he is colt, we are angry when he is warm."
"May I—may I come and talk to you a little, Herr Schmidt?"