"Oh, yes," said Ernestine, recollecting herself; "now I remember; last night my father struck me and threw me down. Yes, it hurt very much!"
"It was not last night, it was several days ago; but you slept the whole time, and didn't you know that they cut off your hair?" asked Angelika, running to the wardrobe and producing a thick bunch of long black hair. "Look, here it is,--there is some blood on it still, but, if you will only give it to me, I will wash it and make my large walking doll a splendid wig of it. Do, do give it to me, you can't make it grow on your head again."
"I'll give it to you willingly," said Ernestine; "but first ask Frau Gedike whether you may keep it."
"Oh, she is not here any more,--Uncle Heim sent her away!" replied Angelika, drawing the dark strands slowly through her fingers.
"Then ask my father."
This answer utterly discomfited Angelika. "I cannot ask your father," she said in a disappointed tone, putting the hair away regretfully. "He is dead! They put him in the hearse a little while ago,--I saw them."
"Oh," said Ernestine, startled, "is he dead? Why, why did he die just now?"
"I think because he was so angry with you," said Angelika with an air of great wisdom. "Don't you know when I am naughty mamma shuts me up in a dark room? and, because your father was a great deal naughtier than I, God has shut him up in a dark hole in the ground, and he must stay there always."
"Ah, for my sake, the dear God should not have done that, for my sake!" said Ernestine, bursting into tears. "Now I have no father any more; I have nobody; I am all alone in the world! My poor father! it is all my fault that he is put into the narrow grave, where the worms will eat him and there will be nothing left of him but bones. Oh, how horrible! how horrible! I saw a skeleton once in a picture, and my poor, poor father will look just like that!" And she wrung her thin hands and writhed about in the bed, moaning loudly.
Angelika was in despair at the mischief she had done. She had quite forgotten that she had been forbidden, if Ernestine should awake, to speak to her of her father. In the greatest distress she walked to and fro beside the high bed, and at last brought a tall stool, from which, when she had mounted it, she could reach Ernestine. She kissed her, she stroked her cheeks, and laid her chubby hand upon her mouth to silence her, but in vain. At last she hit upon the idea of showing her the book that lay beside her. She opened it at a picture and held it up before her, saying, "Look, dear Ernestine, only look at your beautiful book!" The sick child instantly brushed the tears from her eyes when she saw the picture.