“Oh, little mother, I hope you are not angry with me any more,” Kurt begged her heartily.  “I shall never do anything any more you don’t want me to, for I know now what it feels like.  I know that this was my punishment for doing what you had forbidden me to do.”

When his mother saw that Kurt had realized his mistake and had humbly borne the punishment, she did not scold him any further.  She confirmed everything Loneli had told him about the knight.  She also agreed with the little girl that the watchful Mr. Trius had probably discovered long ago what Kurt had planned to do that night.  With the horrible apparition he had probably meant to punish and banish the boys for good.

“Oh, Kurt,” the mother concluded, “I hope I can rely on you from now on not to have anything more to do with the matter of the fabulous ghost of Wildenstein.”

Kurt could give his honest promise, for he had enough of his endeavour to prove the non-existence of the ghost.  It put him into the best spirits that there had been nothing supernatural about it, and that he was able again to talk with his mother as before.  With a loud and jubilant song he joined his brothers and sisters.

Mrs. Maxa was also very happy that Kurt had regained his cheerfulness.  What met her ears now, though, was not Kurt’s singing, but loud cries of delight.  Opening the door, she distinguished the well-known calls of “Uncle Philip, Uncle Philip!” So her longed-for brother was near at last.  Her two little ones, who had met with him on their stroll home, were bringing him along.  All five children shouted loudly in order to let their uncle know how welcome he was.

“Oh, how glad I am that you have come at last!  Welcome, Philip!  Please come in,” Mrs. Maxa called out to him.

“I’ll come as soon as it is possible,” he replied, breathing heavily.  He held a child with each hand, and three were between his feet, all welcoming him tumultuously, so that for the moment it was impossible for him to move forward.

Gradually the whole knot moved into the house and towards the uncle’s armchair.  Here ten busy hands fastened him down so that he should not at once get away.

“You rascals, you!” the uncle said, quite exhausted.  “A man is lucky to escape from you with his life.  Are you trying to throttle your godfather, Lippo?  Whoever put two fat little arms about a godfather’s neck like that?  You seem to have climbed the chair from behind and to have only your foot on the arm of the chair.  If you slip, I shall be strangled.  Who then will find out for whom I brought a harmonica that’s buried in the depths of my coat-pocket?  It gives forth the most beautiful melodies you ever heard, when you have learned to play it.”

A harmonica was the most wonderful thing Lippo could imagine.  His neighbor in school, a little girl called Toneli, owned one and could play whole songs on it—­he had always thought it splendid.  If a harmonica was really destined for him, he had better let go his uncle’s arm.