So the long days deepened, and the sun grew hot and strong over the town of Edelsheim. In the middle of the day the streets were almost deserted, except by those who, under cover of huge, mushroom-shaped umbrellas, ventured out to make their purchases. Even the roofs opposite had been almost deserted by the birds, which only twittered in the early morning; and the pigeons pattered up and down in the shadow of the eaves, or sat huddled together on the chain which hung across the street opposite Violet's window, for at mid-day their pink feet would have been scorched on the hot tiles of the houses opposite, where they generally congregated.

Violet's canary seldom sang now. In the evening sometimes it trilled out a delicious song, with its head bent on one side, as if it were looking out through the opening in the roofs opposite to the hill, with its crown of trees and the blue sky over it so fresh and free; but in the morning it never sang. Evelina would not allow it to sing; its chattering and loud rejoicing as the sun arose had disturbed her sleep, and rising up early one morning, she had opened the door of her room suddenly, and with smothered, angry words, had rushed in and thrown a black shawl over the cage, which she had carried with her in her hand from the inner room. Violet, who was awake, and listening to her favourite's song with silent pleasure, protested loudly, but it was all of no use; Evelina was really angry, and she said sharply that if Violet chose to make a fuss about it she would remove the cage from the room altogether.

Violet's heart beat and her eyes flamed, and she cried hotly after Evelina's retreating figure.

"Father will soon come home, and then—"

"Yes; and then thou mayest do as thou choosest, no doubt, and eat the little beast, head and tail, if it pleases thee; but it shall not keep me awake, that is all." Evelina closed the door sharply after her, and flung herself back into bed, angry with Violet and angry with herself.

Both their voices had been raised, and the windows of the room lay wide open to catch even a passing breath of the cool morning air.

And as Evelina had hurried past the window of her room she had caught a glimpse of the old policeman standing on the pavement opposite, and looking up anxiously with strained inquiring gaze at the projecting casement of Violet's room. He must have heard her anguished cry of protestation, "Father will come home soon, and then—" But her own voice, she hoped, had not been raised so loud. "The little spoiled thing! she thinks she must not be crossed in anything," she said pettishly to herself; and so turning on her pillow fell fast asleep.

The same morning brought a letter from Violet's father, and her trouble about the canary bird was soon forgotten. It was such a long letter. Her eyes deepened and her cheeks flushed. She begged of Evelina to go across the street and ask Madam Adler to come over and read it out to her. Evelina took the message somewhat unwillingly, saying that she could read it for her with pleasure. But Violet shook her head and replied nervously, "Madam Adler knows father, and she will understand."

"I suppose," replied Evelina with a short laugh, "any one who does not know thy father must be a blockhead, eh?" and running lightly down the stairs and across the street, she came suddenly face to face in the Adlers' doorway with the policeman.

Evelina blushed a deep conscious blush and tried to hurry past; but laying his hand a moment on her arm he said gravely, while he pointed across at the window opposite,—

"How is the little maiden up yonder?"

"Oh, she is like a mad thing this morning. She has got a letter from her father, and I have just flown across to call Madam Adler to read it to her."

"So; that is good," he replied, still looking fixedly at Evelina's blushing face, and seeking to fix the eyes which looked every way except at him.

"Let me pass, if you please," she said nervously; "the child will be impatient if I delay."

"You are very kind to our Violet?" he said, moving a little aside. "She is happy?"

"Oh yes, happy enough; that is to say when she gets everything she wants. She is a trifle peevish sometimes, and hard to manage. But we are great friends."

"I fancied I had heard her crying this morning very early; was it not so?"

"Pah!" cried Evelina with a toss of her head, "one must not stand in the street and count every cry a sick child gives. The canary bird chattered so that she could not sleep, nor I either, so I threw a shawl over its head, and there was an end of the matter."

"So," said the policeman again, only this time more gravely, and allowed Evelina to go past him up the stairs.

Madam Adler did not lose a moment in hastening to come at Violet's call. She too had had a letter from her husband, and had only just read the first line; but she thrust it into her pocket and hurried across the street. Little Violet's trembling heart must first be quieted, and then when she was satisfied Madam Adler would return and read her own letter in the quiet of her room with many thanks to the good God who had spared her husband so far.

Reading the Letter. Page 163.

She drew her chair beside the bed, and having kissed the little white face with its ardent, loving eyes, she took the letter from Violet's hand and read it out to her slowly. It was just such a letter as she had expected it would be—overflowing with love, and with almost no allusion to the war or its horrors, but giving accounts of their camp-life,—the bivouacs under the trees, the fires lighted on the grass, and the large camp-kettles swung upon poles over the blazing logs; and of the little children who came out of the villages and stole through the woods to stare at them; and of one little maiden who had made so bold as to come and sit on John's knee, and had stroked his beard and chatted to him in French, and finally had kissed him ere she went away. Sometimes they slept on the ground with nothing but the bright stars overhead, and sometimes they made houses of leaves and boughs, into which they crept at night, and were as comfortable as could be.

But the chief part of the letter was taken up with home affairs. John wanted to know all about his Violet;—whether she was happy; what she did all day; whether she went out to drive in her carriage; if Fritz took good care of her, if Madam Adler came often to see her. Had the good doctor been to pay her a visit; was the canary well; did the poor back ache much? And inside the envelope, folded up carefully in a small piece of tissue-paper, were some wild flowers gathered from under the trees where they had bivouacked the night before. Violet could put them into mother's Bible. The flowers which she had given him were quite safe. He kept them always in a little package near his heart, and he loved to think of the words which Violet had printed for him—"To meet again."

It is needless to say that Violet's eyes were full before this letter was ended, and Madam Adler had to speak quickly of the one which she must write to him in answer, and of all the news she would have to tell him—about her watch, and about the doctor's visit, and how Ella's front tooth had fallen out, and she could no longer eat the hard ginger-bread nuts in the bakery.

Madam Adler promised to come over the next day to help her to write this letter, and having placed her mother's Bible on the bed beside her, she returned with an anxious heart to her own house to finish the closely-written page which lay hidden away in her pocket.