Hermann’s sole idea of pleasure was making others miserable. He was full of mischief, and took delight in provoking his sister, and teased her constantly. One day he glued the hair of Danys’s favourite doll, and she broke, in revenge, the legs of all the animals in his Noah’s ark.
Another day Danys entered into a loud detail of grievances of which her brother was the cause. She had to keep strict watch on him; but he did everything that he was told not to do, and gave her a world of trouble. When he got ideas into his head, there was never peace till he had what he wanted. He was mamma’s own pet, and could get almost anything he liked out of her, and led her by the nose. Whatever Hermann did, whatever Hermann said, was always right, and Danys was always in the wrong, and had undeserved punishment even when she was behaving in the most exemplary manner. She was Hermann’s scapegoat and accustomed to hear herself roughly spoken to by her mother, and always roared at. “I wish I were as small as a needle and Hermann as big as an elephant, perhaps I wouldn’t have always to bear the blame then!” said poor Danys, her eyes filling with tears.
“It is perfectly true,” shouted Hermann, giving Danys a vicious little pinch, “I can thump her as much as I like, and she doesn’t dare to touch me even with her little finger!”
But Danys, who was in a rebellious mood just then, turned upon him in a rage, and a resounding slap came before we could interfere, thereupon Hermann belaboured her with his little fists, straining to get his teeth into her hands.
Hermann was a very wicked little boy, and took delight in torturing animals and insects. What pleased him more than anything was to help the cook to wring the chickens’ and hens’ necks and then to boast of it afterwards, showing us his blood-stained hands. Horrid little creature! There never was such a child for mischief; he enjoyed playing all sorts of tricks on Frau Weidemann. That imp of a boy stole behind her chair when she was knitting in the garden, and took a malicious pleasure in tangling her skeins of wool. At dinner Hermann loved annoying Danys; the little pig dropped hair into her soup and gave her furtive little kicks under the table. Frau Weidemann did all she could to train him a little.
One day, just as we were sitting down to table, Hermann brought me a radish, fresh from its bed of mould, and the hand that held it out was evidently the spade that had dug it therefrom, and in sore need of soap. Frau Weidemann told him that he must always be washed and brushed before he went down to the dining-room, and ordered him to go and wash his hands immediately, but Hermann, who had no acquaintance with the word must, set his mouth in a hard curve and didn’t move; he looked so obstinate that I was strongly tempted to shake him. A more wilful boy I never saw: he’d try the temper of a saint. But this time Frau Weidemann had her own way, and ordered him out of the room. Hermann reluctantly obeyed, with rage in his little heart, and dashed from the room, banging the door with a shock that made the room rattle. Hermann ran straight to his mother, who didn’t come down to dinner that day, to complain of Frau Weidemann, and instead of giving him a good scolding, Mrs. G. rewarded him with chocolates and kisses.
That night when I went to bed, passing through the dark corridor, I suddenly felt a tight grip on my wrist, it was Hermann, who giving an emphatic tug at my skirts, said in a husky whisper, “That’s you who must have clean hands, because you are a young lady, and as to me, I may have them dirty as much as I like. I cannot be always washing myself and always thinking of my nails, like grown ups!”
Both children had got bad manners at table; they fidgeted on their chairs, kicked their legs right and left, and were eating noisily, rattling vigorously their knives and forks. They spilt their soup all over their napkin and spattered jam all over themselves. They also made a point of overeating themselves, transferring the largest and best pieces to their plates; they had several helps of pudding and wanted to have all the cake.
One morning Frau Weidemann caught Hermann throwing stones at passers-by over the hedge of our garden. “What are you doing, horrid little boy?” cried out our hostess.
“I am chasing these people away, I don’t want them to stare at me!” declared Hermann vehemently.