HANS was a little blue-eyed German orphan who had been "adopted" by a man and wife because they thought they could make good use of him; but to their chagrin they were disappointed. Hans had been told again and again that he was an ungrateful, lazy, good for-nothing. This was also the reason why his master whipped him so frequently. Now Hans was only nine years old and, of course, he could not know that he was so thoroughly bad unless he was told and the telling of it accompanied by cuffs, in order to impress this fact more fully upon his dull brain.

It was really true that Hans was lazy and perhaps queer in many ways. He disliked hard work, preferring to wander about the fields and meadows, the ditches, pastures, and the trees of the nearby forest. He had been discovered lying in the grass watching the fleeting clouds overhead and listening to the sighing of the wind in the tall grass and the overshadowing trees. In his imagination the breezes whispered soothing words, soft and low. He watched the busy bees, the ants, and the black carrion beetles tugging great loads up hill.

Often he had observed a lady with two children about his age going by on their way to Sunday-school. With wistful eyes he would watch the romping of the children and listen to their exclamations of joy as they played among the flowers. Sometimes the kind lady would beckon to Hans and talk kindly to him and make him presents. Then little Hans would cry as though his poor heart would break. He hid the gifts in a secret nook in the granary which was also his sleeping place and often he would think of the kind lady and her happy children while the love-hunger shone in his eyes.

Mizi was only a half-starved, homeless, gray kitten which came to Hans while he was hoeing in the orchard. The two understood each other at once, and why should they not? Both were homeless, friendless, and soulless. Everybody knows that a cat, much less a stray kitten, has no soul. You may say that Hans was neither a cat nor a kitten, but some little boys of the neighborhood had sneeringly remarked that he was a "fraid-cat." Besides, his master had whipped all the spirit out of him. Therefore he, too, was without a soul. Hans petted Mizi and gave her some bread-crusts and hid her in the shed to keep her out of sight of his master. Mizi gained in flesh and became very fond of Hans, and at times would try to follow him, but Hans would take her back and put her in a more secure place. Mizi did not know of the cruel master and in spite of all precautions she finally made her escape and searched for Hans. She could not find him, so she mewed again and again and finally succeeded in attracting, not only the attention of Hans but also that of the master who promptly picked up a stone and hurled it at Mizi but fortunately missed her. It may be that Mizi was not so easily frightened as Hans, for in time she tried to get to him even if the master was near. Poor, ignorant Mizi, she did not know that this show of friendliness would get Hans into trouble. The master concluded that Hans was responsible for the presence of Mizi and ordered him to take her and kill her then and there. In agony and despair Hans ran to Mizi to frighten her away but she only rubbed her glossy fur against him and purred gently and only when the frenzied master attempted to grasp her out of the protecting arms of Hans did she attempt to flee—but too late! a vicious kick caught her in the side but she managed to escape under the protecting granary. In the evening Hans went to the shed and called "Mizi, Mizi," and poor, suffering Mizi dragged herself far enough so that little Hans might stroke her head. Hans brought some bread and milk but Mizi only mewed piteously. In the morning Hans found Mizi stiff and cold near the opening of the shed. Poor Hans, he sobbed and sobbed and called, "Mizi, Mizi," most piteously but Mizi did not answer; her sufferings were over.