"You strange child, what Snakes you cry now?" asked Leuthold.
"I cannot tell; I am so happy!" sobbed Ernestine. "If I only had a father or a mother!"
"But if your father were alive he would beat you again," said Rieka, taking a strictly practical view of the matter. "You ought to be glad that he is no longer here; it is much happier for you."
Ernestine's head drooped. "Oh, I am not longing for my father who is dead; I want a father to love me."
"You have an uncle who loves you fondly, my child," said Leuthold.
"Uncle," the little girl began again after a short pause, "how did the first people get here? Every one has a father and mother; but the first men could not have had any. Where did they come from?"
Leuthold and Heim exchanged glances of surprise.
"Ah, now you are going to the very root of the matter, prying into the deepest mysteries of creation!" said her uncle with a smile.
"There is stuff for a scholar in the child," said Heim; "she must be educated."
"Most certainly!" cried Leuthold with unwonted vivacity; "something must be made of her. In two years she will read Darwin." And he became lost in reverie.