"It is time for you all to go to bed, teeny children," exclaimed Dorothea,looking up from her spinning. "Father is very late to-night; youmust not sit up for him."

"0h, five minutes more, dear Dorothea!" they pleaded; and littlerosy and golden Ermengilda climbed up into her lap. "Hirschvogelis so hot, the beds are never so hot as he. Cannot you tell usanother tale, August?"

"No," cried August, whose face had lost its light, now that hisstory had come to an end, and who sat serious, with his handsclasped on his knees, gazing on to the luminous arabesques of thestove.

"It is only a week to Christmas," he exclaimed suddenly.