“Here, John!” he said, and handed him the work of art with a patronizing air; “here is the violin that I promised you.  My play-days are over; now I must earn money.”

John cast another timid glance at Margaret, slowly stretched out his hand until he had tightly grasped the present, and then hid it stealthily under the flaps of his shabby coat.

Margaret stood perfectly still and let the children do as they liked.  Her thoughts had taken another, very serious, turn, and she looked restlessly from one to the other.  The strange boy had again bent over the coals with an expression of momentary comfort which bordered on simple-mindedness, while Frederick’s features showed the alternating play of a sympathy evidently more selfish than good-humored, and his eyes, in almost glassy clearness, for the first time distinctly showed the expression of that unrestrained ambition and tendency to swagger which afterwards revealed itself as so strong a motive in most of his actions.

His mother’s call aroused him from his thoughts which were as new as they were pleasant to him; again she was sitting at her spinning-wheel.  “Frederick,” she said, hesitating, “tell me—­” and then stopped.  Frederick looked up and, hearing nothing more, again turned to his charge.  “No, listen!” And then, more softly:  “Who is that boy I What is his name?”

Frederick answered, just as softly:  “That is Uncle Simon’s swineherd; he has a message for Huelsmeyer.  Uncle gave me a pair of shoes and a huckaback vest which the boy carried for me; in return I promised him my violin; you see, he’s a poor child.  His name is John.”

“Well?” said Margaret.

“What do you want, mother?”

“What’s his other name?”

“Well—­he has none, but, wait—­yes, Nobody, John Nobody is his name.  He has no father,” he added under his breath.

Margaret arose and went into the bedroom.  After a while she came out with a harsh, gloomy expression on her countenance.  “Well, Frederick,” she said, “let the boy go, so that he may attend to his errand.  Boy, why do you lie there in the ashes?  Have you nothing to do at home?” With the air of one who is persecuted the boy roused himself so hastily that all his limbs got in his way, and the clog-violin almost fell into the fire.

“Wait, John,” said Frederick proudly, “I’ll give you half of my bread and butter; it’s too much for me anyhow.  Mother always gives me a whole slice.”

“Never mind,” said Margaret, “he is going home.”

“Yes, but he won’t get anything to eat now.  Uncle Simon eats at seven o’clock.”

Margaret turned to the boy.  “Won’t they save anything for you?  Tell me!  Who takes care of you?”

“Nobody,” stuttered the child.

“Nobody?” she repeated; “then take it, take it!” she added nervously; “your name is Nobody and nobody takes care of you.  May God have pity on you!  And now see that you get away!  Frederick, do not go with him, do you hear?  Do not go through the village together.”