It seemed to Violet, as the long autumn days went by, and she sat in the old place in the window, that the town was changed. All the people who went by in the street were dressed in black; very few smiled as they looked up at her, though they kissed their hands as usual and nodded their heads. The basket-bell seldom rang now; and, worst of all, Fritz never came to see her.

It was not that Evelina had carried her threat into execution; but, alas! Fritz had got the hooping-cough, and the doctor had forbidden him to enter Violet's house. It would be fatal to the child, he said, to catch such an illness; and one must remember not only her weakness, but also the great love of poor John away at the war, who was ever, day and night, thinking of his darling, and wondering whether God would spare her to him until his return.

So the days dragged on somewhat heavily, and Violet grew very weary. No air seemed to come down from the hill far away. The little children who went on expeditions to gather nuts were nearly all dressed in black, and they did not come back singing and dancing as they used to do. Evelina once brought in an apronful of nuts and poured them into Violet's lap; and Ella, too, came bouncing in one afternoon with an old cap of Fritz's full to the brim with the choicest hazels; but Violet had no fancy for them, though she kissed Ella and thanked Evelina for remembering her.

"When father comes home," she said to Ella, "then he will take me in my carriage to the hill, first to see mother, and then all the way up the hill; the nuts will not be gone by that time?" she said questioningly.

"I will take thee out to-morrow to the hill, if thou choosest," said Evelina, looking round towards the corner of the room where the carriage stood covered over by a rug; "it would brighten thee up a bit, and Miss Ella could come too if she liked."

"Yes, yes!" cried Ella, jumping about wildly and flinging her arms around Violet's neck. "Come, come, come, come to-morrow and gather nuts with Ella!"

"I should like to go with father first," said Violet nervously, for the temptation was great; "and my back aches so, I should be frightened."

"Thy back will not ache less for waiting," observed Evelina shortly.

"No, not one bit less," urged Ella with the broadest smile of satisfaction on her face.

"And as to waiting for thy father," continued Evelina, "goodness knows when he will be back again; the leaves and nuts and all may be off the trees before the war is over."

"Yes; leaves and nuts and all," echoed Ella; "and mother says perhaps the snow will be on the ground before our soldiers come home, and battles and battles and battles. And do you know they tumble all the dead horses into great big holes—fifteen great horses into one hole; and one great enormous shell which a man shot out of a gun, it first went through a house, and then it went through a garden, and then it went through a wall, and then it went through a woman who was baking a cake, and at last it went through a steeple, and down tumbled the whole church, and every one was killed; and was not that a grand shot, Violet?"

Ella spread out her arms triumphantly and laughed in concert with Evelina, who shrieked in the corner.

"The policeman said it was not one bit true; but he is a mouldy old fellow," cried Ella excitedly; "he was never in no battles, only marching up and down and up and down. He gave me a flower for thee, Violet, yesterday, and as I was standing in the street it fell in the gutter, and the water carried it off in one moment under the stones."

"A flower? for me?"

"Yes; he had it in his hand, and he said, 'Give this to my little friend in the window up there;' and while I was looking ever so high up trying to see thee, down fell the flower in the water, and away it goes. But what harm? it was only a little violet," cried Ella, drawing close to Violet with eyes full of a great mystery.

"What is it?"

"Fritz found it out himself the other day and showed it to me and to mother."

"What?" again asked Violet, her eyes gazing eagerly into the little face before her.

"Violets have got humps on their backs; and thou—thou—art a violet too, and thou hast a hump on thy back; and is not that funny?"

"Hush!" cried Evelina, catching Ella by the skirt of her dress and trying to draw her back from Violet's chair; "such talk is not allowed in this room."

"Oh yes, let her tell me; I love to hear what Fritz says about the violets."

"What a strange child she is!" cried Evelina to herself as she let go the skirt.

"Go on," said Violet anxiously; "what more did Fritz say?"

"He had seven violets in his hand. He spread them all out on the table and counted them, for he had sent me with a whole penny to the shop, and only got back seven flowers. The woman had no flowers in her shop, only lovely yellow wreaths with writing on them to hang on dead people's graves; and when I brought one back to Fritz he was mad angry, and said he would not send thee over such a thing for all the world. He called me a blockhead, and said thy father was not dead, but quite alive and well, and it was no use; and so the woman gave the violets."

"Yes," said Violet somewhat faintly.

"And Fritz was so angry. He spread them all out on the table, and was going to chop off all their heads with a knife, when he found out about the humps; and then he called mother up from the bakery and showed them to her."

"And what did she say?" asked Violet, deeply interested in Ella's recital.

"Fritz asked was that why they called thee Violet, because thou also hast a hump? and mother said, 'Hush, foolish boy.' Violet was like a little angel when she was born, and soon she would be an angel again. And then Fritz got his penknife and cut open all the humps, to see what was in them; and there wasn't anything to see, only things all folded up, and quite shining."

"Ah," murmured Violet faintly.

"And then Fritz gave a great cough, and away flew all the violets off the table—heads and tails, and humps and all; and mother had to hold Fritz by both the hands, for he coughed as if his head would have fallen off too."

Ella laughed heartily at the recollection, and letting go Violet's dress clambered up into the window, where, kneeling on the window-sill, she seized upon some of the wooden animals ranged along the ledges, and began with infinite pains to make the camel try to kiss the elephant. "Only I don't know where the elephant keeps his mouth," she said plaintively.

By-and-by she ceased playing and fell to singing, her round face pressed against the window-frame, and her eyes looking out towards the hill.

Evelina put down her knitting and listened. The child had the sweetest voice in all Edelsheim—clear, fresh, and true. She sang unconsciously a hymn about green pastures and lambs who followed their Shepherd by the side of still waters, and whom, when weary, he carried in his bosom tenderly and full of care.

Evelina looked across at Violet to express her admiration and amazement at the beauty and pathos of the child's voice; but Violet did not see her, for her eyes were fixed on the little cap beside her filled with the fresh hazel-nuts, with their pale green leaves, and rich with the odour of the trees which grew on the hill yonder still hanging about them. A great longing was beginning to fill her soul—to go out like all the other children and see the woods and the squirrels and the boughs laden with their fruit; to see the cattle and the fields and the little waterfall close by the road, at the foot of which Fritz had told her one could always find lovely damp moss with leaves which looked like trees. She had some of these leaves put away in mother's Bible, and she would like to see them and gather them for herself.

And now so deep was her reverie that she did not even notice Ella's descent from the window-sill, and was scarcely conscious of the parting kiss, given in some haste as Fritz had signalled to Ella to return home at once, and had held out to her view a tempting cake full of currants, and covered over with pink sugar.

When Ella was gone Evelina rose up to prepare the dinner; but her attention was once more drawn to the child's deep reverie, and to the earnest gaze fixed so immovably upon the cap full of green nuts which rested on her knees.

"Well, Violet, what art thou thinking of, with thy great big eyes so wide open?" she asked, turning round with the wooden bread-plate in her hand. "Art thou searching for a wood-fairy amongst the leaves?"

"No; I was thinking."

"Thinking of what?"

"I was thinking of the hill, and of the carriage father made for me, and of what thou wert saying a few minutes ago about—about—about going to the hill."

"Yes, certainly; why not? We will put thee in thy carriage after dinner, and away we shall go all the way up the hill; and we shall have rare fun. I shall send across after dinner for Miss Ella, and she shall push and I will pull; and then, when we are there, we can pack all the nuts into the foot of the carriage, and then we will cover thee all over with boughs, and every one will say as we return, 'Oh, look at our little Violet hidden among the sweet green leaves.'"

Evelina was in her best mood to-day; and, besides, when she looked into the child's eyes she always felt a stirring in her heart, like the good seed trying to thrust itself up amongst the tares and follies of her vain and wavering nature.

Violet could not eat much of the dinner Evelina had got ready for her, though it was hot and tempting enough. Evelina had a taste for cookery, and the meals were always well and skilfully prepared.

To-day her mind was too disturbed to be conscious almost of what she was eating. This expedition to the hill was full of an excitement which choked and stifled her. To be out in the fresh air, to hear the birds sing, to see the trees waving, to watch the children gathering nuts; perhaps they even might hold down some of the boughs close enough to her carriage, so that she might gather some herself! And then only to think what a letter she could write to her father! how rejoiced he would be to think that his carriage had been used at last, and that the expedition to the hill had been such a happy one.

Evelina ate her own dinner very happily, and tried to induce Violet to do the same. She laughed and chatted, and was herself quite elated at the thought of the expedition. The little girl grew more and more excited as Evelina described all the things they would see and all the people they would meet. Her eyes glowed and her cheeks burned, and when the dinner was over she watched with an ever-increasing anxiety the preparations which Evelina began to make for their expedition.

The carriage was drawn out from its covering; the cushions were dusted; pillows with clean frilled covers over them were placed carefully on the cushions to support Violet's back and shoulders. Then on the rail at the back was hung a basket for the nuts; and on the foot Evelina threw a scarlet shawl of her own, which gave a bright and glowing finish to it all.

"Evelina, thou art too kind," cried Violet, stretching out her arms suddenly. "I will tell father—I will tell everybody—how good thou art to me."

Evelina returned the child's embrace warmly, blushing a little as she did so.

"Ah, if so, thou wilt be better than Master Fritz yonder," she cried, looking quickly across at the house opposite. "A nice character he gave of me to the policeman, who will not so much as look at me now if I meet him in the street. But what do I care?—not one hazel-nut for him or his long sallow face, the old stick-in-the-mud. He asks every one as many questions about thee as if he were thy father."

"He is my friend," said Violet nervously, as she heard the thrill of anger in Evelina's tones.

"Bah! I suppose because he walks up and down the street, and kisses hands to thee now and again as he goes by, he reckons himself thy friend—much more of a friend than those who take care of thee all day and all night. But what is the use of talking? It is not of him we are thinking, but of the lovely ride we are going to have to-day to the woods. Let me see now;—where is thy hat? and thou wilt want some little coat, I suppose, to put over thy dress."

"I have no hat," replied Violet, looking up with suddenly clouded eyes—"no hat, and no coat."

"How is that?—neither hat nor coat?"

"Father said he would buy me a hat and cloak when he took me out in my carriage; but he is not here now. O Evelina, cannot I go in the carriage as Ella often goes in Fritz's wooden cart? Or Ella, perhaps, would lend me a hat. Do go across if thou canst find me one somewhere." It seemed to Violet as if some great impediment had suddenly started up in the path of her promised happiness.

"I need not go to trouble Madam Adler about hats. I could put something better on thy head than anything she could lend thee," said Evelina with a little laugh. "Why, a beggar child in Edelsheim would not pick Miss Ella's hat out of the gutter."

Violet did not hear this remark about Edelsheim or her little friend Ella. A thought had suddenly come into her head, and she was struggling with herself how best she could make it known to her companion.

"Evelina!"

"Well, what is it? I suppose thou art too grand to wear one of my hats?"

"No, no; but I have thought of something. I would like to wear mother's hat, which is in the box."

"What! the splendid Leghorn with the blue silk ribbons? Impossible."

"Why?" asked Violet, colouring violently as she met the astonished eyes of Evelina. "It has forget-me-nots on it, and I would love to wear it—oh, this one day. Do not shake thy head so, Evelina. Father said that by-and-by, when I was big, I might wear it."

"Thy father, of course, can give thee leave to do what he likes when he is here; but to wear such a hat to go to the hill, the very thought of it is ridiculous."

"But mother would love me to wear it. She gave me always what I asked for," pleaded Violet with tear-choked earnestness.

"And that is just why thou art such a little spoiled brat, who must have everything thine own way. Then let us talk no more about it. The hat would be destroyed if it were crushed up against the pillows, the brim would be broken; and the dust and leaves and dirt off the trees would ruin the trimming. Wait some day until I take thee to church, and then—"

"To church!" cried Violet, stretching out her hands suddenly, and uttering a cry of joy.

"Yes, yes; why not? We can draw thee there some day in the carriage, and I can carry thee inside in my arms."

"And I shall see where mother is asleep. Is it not so, Evelina?"

"Yes, yes. Now dry up thy tears, and think of the nuts and the trees, and all the fun we are going to have."

Violet drew a deep sigh of relief, and turned her eyes once more towards the carriage. Her heart was too full for any words as she wiped the tears off her cheeks and pinafore, and gazed with interest at Evelina, who, having finished setting the room in order, began to prepare herself for the expedition by putting a little muslin tippet on her shoulders, tied up with blue bows; and the daintiest white frilled cap upon her head, which sat just far enough back to show the pretty golden curls which clustered round her forehead coaxingly.

"Now, little lovebird," she said, turning with her pleasantest smile towards the sick child, whose eyes, she could see, were following all her movements with an almost ardent admiration,—"now I am off to look for a little hat for thyself. I saw one in a shop yesterday, just beside the flower-shop, and it is just the very thing for thee. It is made of brown straw, shady, and yet not too large. I shall not be a moment away."

"Thou art too good, Evelina," cried Violet eagerly. "And if thou seest the policeman tell him that I am going out to-day in my carriage. He will be glad, I know, to hear that, for he is my friend; and I will say to him how good thou art to me."

"Yes, yes," shouted Evelina, turning briskly down the stairs; "if I see him I shall tell him." And Violet, leaning back in her chair, folded her arms on her lap and looked across at the top of the green hill, in whose cool shadows she hoped so soon to be resting.

Evelina was not very long away. She returned blushing and smiling with a pretty brown hat in her hand having a wreath of yellow buttercups twisted round its crown.

"There, darling," she cried, placing it on Violet's head, "is not that lovely? The woman in the shop nearly wept for joy when she heard it was for thee; and she chose this wreath for thee herself. She actually refused to take any money for it, not a penny, though I said if thy father were at home he would insist on paying her. 'Ah, that is another thing,' she said, pinning the flowers round the hat so tastefully. 'I would accept twenty shillings this moment to know he were safe at home.' Was not that good of her?" asked Evelina, tilting the hat a little back on Violet's head. "We must not quite cover up thy face for all that, my angel," she added laughing, "or what would the old policeman say?"

"The policeman!" cried Violet eagerly; "why, didst thou see him?"

"Ah, now indeed I have some news for thee. I met him just at the corner by the flower-shop, and told him all about that promised drive to the hill this afternoon; and what dost thou think? He said if we could wait a while, until his duty was over, he would come with us there himself, and that he would rather draw thee one mile in thy little cart than the king himself in his state coach. I laughed at the old silly. As if he could draw the king one step, let alone the heavy state coach! But he is, after all, a good soul, for he nearly wept with joy at the news that thou wert going out, and asked so many questions about the carriage and the cushions that I thought I should never get home. So now I have been across and told little Ella that we shall not be ready just yet awhile; and her mother is delighted at the delay, for the child had just spilt a whole bottle of ink over her dress and pinafore and stockings, and she will require time to make her neat again. She had been crying, too, poor little wretch! for her eyes were sticking out like crabs' eyes; and Fritz had her on his knee, and was cramming bon-bons into her mouth."

"Good old Fritz," said Violet softly.

"Oh, good indeed! thou shouldst have heard all he said, and the names he called me; because why? he thinks thou shouldst not go to the hill without him. But his mother told him that was folly, as the summer would be over before he had done coughing. And then he talked a lot of rubbish about the doctor, and asking his leave; but bah! who listens to such a chattering magpie?"

"Poor Fritz! father promised him that he should be the first to draw me in the carriage to the hill," said Violet, half speaking to herself; but Evelina, who had grown angry, caught the words, and said quickly,—

"Very good. Let Fritz be the first to draw thee to the hill! the policeman and I can well afford to wait for such an honour." Then seeing that the child had quite failed to take in the meaning of her cutting words, she added in a more kindly tone,—

"See now, it wants nearly two hours to the time when the policeman can come here, and—"

"Two hours!" interrupted Violet, with almost a cry of disappointment.

"Yes, two hours; and so much the better for thee, for now the sun is so hot it would just bake thee into a little pie. There was a child yesterday, Master Fritz said, who went to the hill and got such a headache from standing in a cornfield beside the river that last night they thought it was going to die."

"Oh," said Violet thoughtfully;—she was thinking of the story in the Bible which Fritz had told her one time long ago. "And is it well now, Evelina?"

"I do not know; I did not ask. The policeman can tell thee. He is not such a bad old fellow, after all. He is going to bring out cakes, and strawberries and cream, and a kettle, and I don't know what else, and we are to have tea under the trees. Is not that lovely?"

"Lovely! too, too lovely!" replied Violet, her eyes kindling with a speechless joy. "And perhaps, Evelina, I shall hear the nightingales singing in the woods. Mother used to walk down there with father in the evenings long ago to listen, and once she had me in her arms—father told me so; but then I was only a very small baby. And shall I see glow-worms, too, and those little mice which have wings?"

"Yes, yes, everything," replied Evelina, who was busy buttoning on a pair of very dainty boots: "we shall have a delicious evening, that is certain. And I would have thee go asleep now and think no more about it, and when thou awakest the two hours will be gone, and we shall lift thee straight away into thy carriage, and then hurrah for the hill! Why, thou wilt feel just like a bird escaped from its cage; and when once thou hast stretched thy wings and flown to the woods, I reckon we shall have pretty hard work to keep thee in the house any longer."

"My wings!" echoed Violet in a tone of such concentrated interest that Evelina looked up startled and astonished; "when shall I have wings?"

"Little goose," replied the girl, turning away her head suddenly from the sight of those pleading eyes; "how can I tell thee? Perhaps we shall cheat thee after all of thy wings, when we get thee out into the fresh air and the fields; and then what will thy father think when he comes home?"

"I do not understand what thou meanest," said Violet plaintively.

"Never mind what I mean: wings are all very well, no doubt, for birds and things that cannot walk; but fine fat arms and legs are better still. Ah, thou shouldest see thy cousins at GÜtzberg; they are something like children. I would not drag one of those fat things to the hill in thy carriage, not for all thou couldst give me."

"But thou rememberest the little sick girl in the book, dost thou not, Evelina?" asked Violet, puzzled and anxious.

"In what book?"

Violet placed her hand on the spotted cover beside her on the table. "The picture is in mother's Bible," she said softly.

"Oh yes, to be sure, I remember all about it; but we need not think about such sad things to-day. Go to sleep now, and I will draw this blind down beside thee and darken the room a bit."

As Evelina stretched up her arms to reach the tassel of the narrow blind beside Violet's chair she caught her by her apron and said earnestly,—

"But thou, Evelina, thou believest that I shall have wings?"

"Of course I do."

"And will it be soon?"

"Oh, how can I tell? before the winter, I daresay."

"Before the winter?" repeated Violet reflectively; "that is not long to wait."

"What a strange child thou art!" cried Evelina, putting her arms suddenly round Violet's neck and kissing her; "why art thou in such a hurry to leave us all? Is not Evelina good to thee?"

"Oh yes, too good; only my back aches so, and the wings are so long coming."

Evelina looked at the little white face turned up to her so wistfully, and said in her softest voice, "Pray to God, darling, for thy wings. He can give them to thee when he likes."

"Yes, I do pray every day, and Fritz too; and thou, Evelina, thou also wilt ask God every morning and every evening when thou sayest thy prayers, wilt thou not?" Evelina suddenly flushed scarlet and turned away her face from the earnest pleading eyes. "Wilt thou not, Evelina?"

"Yes, yes, of course; only do not let us talk any more about wings. Thou wilt be too tired for thy drive. Lie back on thy pillows now and dream of strawberries and cream, and thy friend the old policeman sitting with thee under the trees on the hill, and all the care he will take of thee, and of the long letter we must write by-and-by to thy father of all we have seen and done."