At the entrance to the house Kurt had a brilliant idea.  “Oh, mother,” he called out excitedly over the prospect, “tonight we must have the story of the Wallerstaetten family.  It will fit so well because we were able to see the castle today, with all its gables, embrasures and battlements.”

But the mother answered:  “I am sorry to say we can’t.  Uncle is here today, and as he has to leave early tomorrow morning, I have to talk to him tonight.  You have to go to bed early, otherwise you will be too tired to get up tomorrow after your long walk.”

“Oh, what a shame, what a shame!” Kurt lamented.  He was still hoping that he would find out something in the story about the ghost of Wildenstein, despite the fact that one could not really believe in him.  Sitting on the tree that afternoon, he had been lost in speculations as to where the ghost might have appeared.

When the mother went to Maezli’s bed that night to say prayers with her she found her still very much excited, as usual, by the happenings of the day.  She always found it difficult to quiet the little girl, but to-day she seemed filled by very vivid impressions.  Now that everything was still, they seemed to come back to her.

Maezli sat straight up in her bed with shining eyes as soon as her mother appeared.  “Why was the Knippel-soup allowed to spoil Apollonie’s Sunday peace?” she cried out.

“Where have you heard that, Maezli?” the mother said, quite frightened.  She already saw the moment before her when Maezli would tell the district attorney’s wife that new appellation.  “You must never use that expression any more, Maezli.  You see, nobody would be able to know what you mean.  Kurt invented it apparently when Apollonie spoke about having so much to swallow.  He should not have said it.  Do you understand, Maezli, that you must not say it any more?”

“Yes, but why is anyone allowed to spoil Apollonie’s Sunday peace?” Maezli persevered.  Apollonie was her special friend, whom she wanted to keep from harm.

“No one should do it, Maezli,” the mother replied.  It is wrong to spoil anybody’s Sunday peace and no one should do it.”

“But our good God should quickly call down, ‘Don’t do it, don’t do it!’ Then they would know that they were not allowed,” was Maezli’s opinion.

“He does it, Maezli!  He does it every time anybody does wrong,” said the mother, “for the evil-doer always hears such a voice that calls out to him:  ‘Don’t do it, don’t do it!’ But sometimes he does it in spite of the voice.  Even young children like you, Maezli, hear the voice when they feel like doing wrong, and they do wrong just the same.”

“I only wonder why God does not punish them right away; He ought to do that,” Maezli eagerly replied.

“But He does,” said the mother.  As soon as anybody has done wrong, he feels a great weight on his heart so that he keeps on thinking, ’I wish I hadn’t done it!’ Then our good God is good and merciful to him and does not punish him further.  He gives him plenty of time to come to Him and tell Him how sorry he is to have done wrong.  God gives him the chance to beg His pardon.  But if he does not do that, he is sure to be punished so that he will do more and more evil and become more terribly unhappy all the time.”