They could hear poor Ella's cries all the way up the stairs and long after she entered the little sitting-room opposite. They saw her mother take her upon her knee, and press her head against her bosom, and dry her eyes softly with her handkerchief, and wipe the blood from her lip. And then Fritz saw Evelina come out of the door again; but she did not cross the street or look up at their window as he expected she would do, but instead she walked for some distance along the narrow pavement until she met the policeman, who was slowly returning on his beat.
"Pah!" cried Fritz, shooting out his lips with a motion of the supremest contempt, "she is a sly old fox, and I hate her."
"Whom?" asked Violet, whose mind had wandered far away, and whose hand was resting wearily on the cover of her mother's Bible.
"Evelina," cried Fritz stoutly; "she is a vain old chattering pea-hen."
"Ah no, thou must not say so, Fritz."
"Why not? she does not care one straw for thee."
"Yes, yes, she does; she has told me such lovely things."
"What about?"
"Ah, about a poor sick boy. It was not a fairy tale; it was quite true. He was a poor little hunchback like me, and God gave him wings, beautiful silver wings; and some one threw a stone at him, and all at once he stretched out his wings, and angels came to meet him, and he went right up to heaven;—and this story is true."