“My mother is dead,” he answered. “She died nearly three years ago.”
“Oh, Fritz, I am so sorry!” The tears started to Gretel’s eyes. “I always hoped I should see her again some time. She was so good to me always, especially after Father died. I wanted to thank you both for all you did for me then, and so did my brother and sister-in-law.”
Fritz Lippheim glanced uneasily up and down the crowded street.
“I would never have recognized you if you had not spoken, Gretel,” he said. “Why, you are quite grown-up.”
“I am fifteen,” said Gretel. “I was only ten when you saw me last, but I would have known you anywhere. Can’t we go somewhere where it isn’t quite so crowded? I want to ask you about so many things. I have just seen the lady I am with go into that market, so I know she won’t be through her shopping for a few minutes longer.”
For a moment the man hesitated; then he led the way round a corner, into one of the quiet side streets.
“Now that I look at you more closely,” he said, “I can see a strong resemblance to the little Gretel of five years ago. Are you living in New London?”
“No,” said Gretel; “I am only visiting here. I live in New York, with my brother and his wife. You remember my half-brother, Percy Douaine, who was in China when Father died. He came home the next year, and took me to live with him. It was all quite like a Cinderella story, for I wasn’t very happy with Mrs. Marsh and her daughter, and Percy made everything so wonderful and beautiful for me. Now he is married to one of the dearest women in the world, and I am just as happy as I can be—or would be if it were not for this terrible war.”
“Oh, yes, the war; the war has changed many things,” said Fritz Lippheim, with a sigh. “I am sometimes glad to think the little Mother did not live to see these sad days. I suppose you are quite an American now.”
“Oh, yes,” said Gretel; “we are all good Americans, of course. But I am afraid I mustn’t stand talking any longer. My friend may be looking for me. Can’t we meet again somewhere?”