He recognized Hawermann the moment he saw him, and welcomed him heartily.  “How d’ye do, dear old friend, what an age it is since I saw you last.  How are you getting on?  Good morning, Mr. Braesig.”  Just as Braesig was about to explain the reason of his and Hawermann’s visit, Mrs. Behrens, who had begun to take off her husband’s clerical garments, called out:  “Don’t speak, Mr. Hawermann; Braesig be quiet, leave it all to me.  I’ll tell you all about it,” she continued, turning to her husband, “for the story is a sad one—­yes, Mr. Hawermann, terribly sad—­and so it will be better for me to speak.  Come,” and she carried her pastor off to his study, saying in apology for doing so as she left the room:  “I am the nearest to him, you know.”

[Illustration:  BIBLE LESSON BENJAMIN VAUTIER]

When Mr. Behrens returned to the parlor with his wife, he went straight up to Hawermann, and taking his hand, said:  “Yes, dear Hawermann, yes, we’ll do it.  We’ll do all that lies in our power with, very great pleasure.  We have had no experience in the management of children, but we will learn—­won’t we, Regina?” He spoke lightly, for he saw how deeply Hawermann felt his kindness, and therefore wished to set him at ease.  “Reverend Sir,” he exclaimed at last, “you did much for me in the old days, but this * * *.”  Little Mrs. Behrens seized her duster, her unfailing recourse in great joy or sorrow, and rubbed now this, and now that article of furniture vigorously, indeed there is no saying whether she might not have dried Hawermann’s tears with it, had he not turned away.  She then went to the door and called to Frederika:  “Here, Rika, just run down to the weaver’s wife, and ask her to send me her cradle, for,” she added, addressing Braesig, “she doesn’t require it.”  And Braesig answered gravely:  “But Mrs. Behrens, the child isn’t quite a baby.”  So the clergyman’s wife went to the door again, and called to the servant “Rika, Rika, not the cradle.  Ask her to lend me a crib instead, and then go to the parish-clerk’s daughter, and see if she can come this afternoon.  Good gracious!  I forgot it was Sunday!  But if thine ass falls into a pit, and so on—­yes, ask her if she will come and help me to stuff a couple of little mattresses.  It isn’t a bit heathenish of me to do this, Braesig, for it’s a work of necessity, as much so as when you have to save the Count’s wheat on a Sunday afternoon.  And, my dear Mr. Hawermann, the little girl must come to us this very day, for Frank,” turning to her husband, “the old Nuesslers will grudge the child her food, and Braesig, bread that is grudged * * ” she stopped for breath, and Braesig put in:  “Yes, Mrs. Behrens, bread that is grudged maketh fat, but the devil take that kind of fatness!” “You old heathen!  How _dare_ you swear so in a Christian parsonage,” cried Mrs. Behrens.  “But the short and the long of it is that the child must come here today.”  “Yes, Mrs. Behrens,” said Hawermann, “I’ll bring her to you