“I have to tell you something terribly sad about Elvira,” Loneli said, quite downcast.

“What is it?  What is it?” Mea asked.

“She doesn’t ever want to renew her friendship with you and she has asked me to tell you that.  You may be sure that I should not tell you if I did not have to,” Loneli added, “because it makes me so sad.”

Mea reflected a moment, wondering what she had really done.  All she had been guilty of was accusing Elvira of an act of injustice.  So all friendly feelings between them were to be withdrawn for all time as her punishment.

“Elvira can sulk for the rest of eternity, if she wants to,” Mea said now without the slightest trace of sadness.  Loneli was greatly surprised.  “There are other people in this world besides her.  I should have loved to tell Elvira who was staying with us.  Never has anybody been so nice and pleased us so.  I wish I could have told her who is here now, though we don’t know her yet; but Elvira keeps on turning her back on me.  You see, Loneli, the nicest boy, about Bruno’s age, came to see us, and his sister is sick upstairs.  We are not allowed to see her just yet, but I can hardly wait till she comes down.  If she is as nice as her brother, she is the nicest child any of us have ever seen.”

At this description Loneli’s vivacious eyes fairly gleamed with sympathy.

“What is her name,” she asked expectantly.

“Leonore,” Mea answered.

“Oh,” Loneli immediately began, “my grandmother also knew a young lady called Leonore.  She always says that that young lady was as lovely as an angel and that there could not be anybody in the world as wonderful as she.”

“I am rather glad if Leonore is not like an angel, for she might not be my friend then,” Mea said quickly.  “Elvira even, who certainly is not at all like an angel, has to break her friendship with me every few weeks.”

“Maybe she does that because she is so little like an angel,” Loneli suggested.

At this both children laughed.  Often Loneli found exactly the right word to say which would throw light on the matter.  Kurt always enjoyed these remarks of hers.

At that moment shrieks of joy sounded from the house:  “Mama is coming!  Mama is coming!”

Lippo, the watchman, had posted himself again on the stairs as soon as he had returned from school, and he had found ample work there.  Kurt had again forgotten the command and had to be chased away, and even Bruno had made an attempt to quietly steal up to his mother.  But all this had only brought horrified cries from the little boy.

They had both meant no wrong whatever.  All they had wanted was to quickly say a word to the mother through the open door.  Nevertheless, Lippo had grown terribly wrought up about it.  A firm command had been given, and they had tried to break it, so they all had been obliged to give way before his violent noise.