But Christian’s Elsa she could not abide either sight or mention of.  Which was passing strange in so sweet and charitable a maid as our Helene.  Also the girl at the guard-house was a good daughter, besides being particular of her company, and in that garrison place untouched by any breath of scandal.

But no; Helene would have none of her.

“Feech!” she would say, making a little grimace of disgust which she had brought with her from her northern home; “that noisy, mewling cat, purring and stroking her face, in the window, I cannot abide her.  I know not what some folks can see in her.  There are surely more kinds of blindness than of those that wait about kirk doors with a board hung round their necks, saying, ’Good people, for the love of God, put a copper in this wooden platter.’”

“Why, Little Playmate, what ails thee at the maid?  She is a good maid enough, and, I am sure, a pretty one.”

So would I say to try her.  Whereat the lass, being slender herself, and with a head that sat easily on her shoulders, would walk off like the haughty little Princess she was, and thrust her chin so far forward that even the pretty round of it bespoke a pointed scorn.  And the poutlets would come and go on her red lips so quickly that I would come from the window, leaving my book and Christian’s Elsa, and a thousand Elsas, just to watch them.

“So, Great Brother,” Helene would say, “you think she is pretty, do you?  ’Tis interesting, for sure.  As for me, I see not anything pretty about her.  Now, there is Katrin Texel, she is pretty, if you like.  What say you to her?”

And this was because the minx knew well that I never could abide Katrin Texel, a girl all running to seed like a shot stalk of rhubarb, who would end up in the neighborhood of six foot in height, and just that “fine figure of a woman” which I never could abide.

“Feech!” I would say, copying her Wendish expression.  “I would as soon set my feather bolster on end, paint it black and white, and make love to it as to Katrin Texel.”

“You do worse every day of your life,” retorted Helene, with pretty spite, tapping the floor with the point of one delicate foot.

“And, pray, what do I that is worse?” I said, knowing full well what.

The Little Playmate was silent a minute, only continuing to tap the flags with a kind of naughtiness that became her.

“Katrin Texel would not look at you, charming as you think yourself,” she said, at last.

“Did she tell you so, Little Sister?” said I, drawing a bow at a great venture.

The arrow struck, and I was content.

“Well,” she answered, somewhat breathlessly, “what if she did?  Surely even your vanity can take nothing out of a girl saying that she cannot abide you.”

But I answered nothing to this, only stroked the mustache which was beginning to thrive admirably on my upper lip.