Marianne had first heard of her Aunt Erna's journal in Berlin.

It had been on the night when Ludwig Brandt had come in with the news that the French had made the French Consul, Napoleon, Emperor.

When he had told his news the children with glowing faces informed him that their Carl had been kissed that very day by the Queen.

Ludwig, who was always serious, called the little fellow to his knee. Marianne never forgot how solemn it all was.

"Listen, my little Carl," he said, and waited until the laughter had all died from the chubby dimpled face, "a great and noble woman has kissed you. All your life think of it as a kiss of baptism. The call of war will come to you as to all Germans. Let the kiss of the Queen make of you a brave, a true, a patriotic soldier!"

How Ludwig's voice had rung through the room and how Pauline had gazed in admiration! And then Ludwig had taken little Carl on his knee and told him a nice little story of Queen Louisa, of when she had gone with her husband on his Huldigung, the journey German sovereigns take to receive the oaths of allegiance in their provinces and cities.

In the village of Stargard, in Pomerania, Ludwig related, the good people who had arranged the welcome had dressed little girls in white that they might strew flowers before the new young Queen, and the quick eye of the Queen noticed that, as there were nineteen, one must walk alone.

She turned to the grown people.

"Where is the twentieth?" she demanded, and her face grew crimson with anger when she heard their answer.

"Majesty," they said, "the child was so ugly that we sent her home."

"Poor child!" cried the Queen, "poor child! Send for her, and at once!" she commanded.

And when the poor little thing appeared, her plain, pale face all wet with tears, Queen Louisa held out her arms as she would to one of her own Royal children.

"Come, Liebchen," she said, "come at once to me. Tell me your trouble, every bit of it."

And then she petted her and praised her and drove away all the little thing's shame and tearfulness and told her stories of the Crown Prince, and the little girl forgot all about her ugliness and the people's cruelty. But to the grown people Queen Louisa was very stern, as she could be when it was necessary.

"Was my coming," and she looked at them until they blushed, "to be made a cause of sad memories to a dear little girl only because of her ugliness?"

"Our Queen is an angel," said Madame von Stork as Ludwig ended.

Then Marianne told stories, also, of things she had heard of the Queen at Frau Rat Goethe's.

"Bettina Brentano," she began, "is a friend of the mother of our Goethe!"

"My goodness, Marianne!" cried Franz, who was home in those days, "don't pronounce that name as if it were sacred!"

But Marianne paid no heed to him.

"Frau Rat," she continued, with a toss of her head, "loves our Queen with all her heart. She has known her since she was as old as Carl. Once, when she and her sister, the Princess Frederika, were little girls, they came to Frankfort to the coronation of the Emperor Leopold."

Then, while Carl crowded to her knee and even her father stopped his reading to listen, Marianne told how, one day, the two princesses came to visit Frau Rat with their Swiss governess, FrÄulein de GÉlieu, and of how in Frau Rat's garden was a pump which at once attracted the princesses.

Little Louisa, who loved the old lady, and was not a bit afraid of her in spite of the great turban she wore, whispered in her ear how much she would enjoy pumping like a common child.

The mother of Goethe nodded. She had no taste for prim etiquette and saw no real reason why the little princesses should not enjoy themselves.

"Come, dear FrÄulein de GÉlieu," said she to the governess. "Come into my saal. I will show you my beautiful snuffbox with the picture of my famous son upon it."

Then, leading the lady, she softly locked the door and Louisa and Frederika, running to the pump, clung to the handle, and pumped and pumped until the water ran in streams and splashed their stockings and elastic strap slippers, and made them for once enjoy themselves quite as if they had not been princesses.

When time for good-byes came the two happy little girls threw loving arms around the neck of this kind Frau Rat and grateful little lips whispered thanks for her kindness, telling her that never, never, never would they forget their joy in being permitted to play like other children. "Never, dear Frau Rat, never!" they cried.

Nor did Louisa, at any rate.

"Frau Rat," concluded Marianne, "showed me one day the most beautiful gold ornaments she had only a few months before received as a present from our Queen, who really loves her."

A second time Louisa visited Frankfort-on-Main. It was two years later when, Leopold being dead, Francis, the last Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, came to receive the crown which, in 1806, just before the battle of Jena, he resigned forever.

At that time the Princess and her brother Carl came to supper with Frau Rat Goethe.

There was omelette, very light and delicious, and famous bacon salad, a dish much loved in that day throughout Germany.

"Oh, how fine!" cried Carl and the princess, and when they stopped eating there was not even so much as a half leaf left on either plate!

All her life Frau Rat loved to tell about this, and Marianne related how she joked when she told the story.

"And, mother," said Marianne, "Frau Rat told me that our Queen, though she was then a princess, made her own satin shoes for the coronation."

Madam von Stork beamed approval.

She opened her lips to impress the importance of sewing upon Marianne, but the young girl was too quick for her.

"Frau Rat, father, says that our Queen reads both Goethe and Schiller always."

Before Madame von Stork could answer, the maid appeared with wine and cake, and, when all were settled, Marianne had told more stories about Goethe's mother and what a fine old lady she was, but so amusing in her great turban, with its red, white and blue feathers, or great decoration of sunflowers, with her hair all arranged and plaited with ribbons, her face rouged, her embroidered kid gloves, her rings, and her famous speech:

"I am the mother of Goethe!"

When Marianne told all this she altered her voice and put on what her brothers called her "Goethe manner," and, turning to Herr Brandt, she exclaimed:

"Oh, Uncle Ludwig, the Frau Rat showed me her son's playthings and the dresses he wore as a child. Oh, think of my touching, my handling what his noble hands have rested upon! Oh, how it thrilled, how it over-powered me!"

The boys burst into a roar, but her father with a glance quieted them.

"And what is Frau Rat like, Marianne?" he asked.

Delighted to talk on her favorite topic, Marianne told how, when the Frau Rat announced, "I am the mother of Goethe," her voice rang out like a trumpet.

Ludwig pushed back his glass.

"The trumpet we should hear," he said, "is the voice of her son singing songs of patriotism. Never mind, Mariechen," for Marianne was beginning to cry out, "your idol is not entirely perfect. Now, when at last we have a literature in Germany, why will not our poets rouse our people? The imitation of France is on us like a curse. All must be French. We must speak French, we must read French, we must despise all things German. I tell you, Richard, it is now the calm before the storm. Over Prussia is gathering a cloud and the day will come when the sun shall shine no more for us."

He arose and paced up and down the floor.

"Oh, Ludwig," cried Madame von Stork, "come, come, sit down and enjoy your doughnuts."

But Ludwig Brandt was not to be soothed with cake.

"Good-night, Clara," he said suddenly, and bending, kissed Madame von Stork's hand.

With an "Auf wiedersehen," he departed.

"My goodness," cried Madame von Stork, "but Ludwig is uncomfortable. Here we were enjoying a quiet, happy evening, and in he comes and upsets everything. See, Marianne, see, there he has spilt wine on the tablecloth. It is the English in him which makes him so solemn. Perhaps if dear Erna had lived she might have made him gayer. And speaking of Erna, Marianne, you are old enough to read your dear aunt's journal. It is really a history of our dear Queen the child kept to please Ludwig. To-morrow, when you visit your grandmother, you must ask her to lend it to you."

It was this same journal which Marianne brought forth in the sitting room.

Before she could begin reading Elsa and Ilse crowded to her side.

"Sister," they said, "tell Bettina what happened when you took us to grandmother's and she gave you the book, won't you?"

Marianne laughed.

"We had cherry compote for supper," she said, "and we all had some, and Otto whispered to Wolf that he could keep more stones in his mouth than Wolf could, and all the others heard and in whispers they all dared each other, and they kept on eating and eating until their cheeks were quite puffy."

Bettina laughed gaily.

"And there was company," put in Elsa.

"And grandmother asked Otto a question," said Ilse.

"And then——" Carl shouted.

"Otto couldn't keep his in——"

"And Wolf laughed——"

"And, oh, Bettina, it was awful! Stones shot everywhere out of everybody's mouth and oh, grandmother!" She held up her hands.

Bettina thought this very funny and they all laughed and would have made a great noise had not Marianne put the tiny key in the brass lock of the red book.

"Come, now, be quiet," she said, "and I will begin the journal of our Aunt Erna."