In old German towns, Frankfurt among them, the ground-floor consists of a great hall where the vehicles were housed.  This floor opens in folding trap-doors, for the passage of wine-casks into the cellars below.  In one corner of the hall there is a sort of lattice, opening by an iron or wooden grating upon the street.  This is called the Geraems.  Here the crockery in daily use was kept; here the servants peel their potatoes, and cut their carrots and turnips, preparatory to cooking; here also the housewife would sit with her sewing, or her knitting, giving an eye to what passed in the street (when anything did pass there) and an ear to a little neighbourly gossip.  Such a place was, of course, a favourite with the children.

One fine afternoon, when the house was quiet, Master Wolfgang, with his cup in his hand, and nothing to do, finds himself in this Geraems, looking out into the silent street, and telegraphing to the young Ochsensteins who dwelt opposite.  By way of doing something, he begins to fling the crockery into the street, delighted at the smashing music which it makes, and stimulated by the approbation of the brothers Ochsenstein, who chuckle at him from over the way.  The plates and dishes are flying in this way, when his mother returns:  she sees the mischief with a housewifely horror, melting into girlish sympathy, as she hears how heartily the little fellow laughs at his escapade, and how the neighbours laugh at him.

This genial, indulgent mother employed her faculty for story-telling to his and her own delight.  “Air, fire, earth, and water I represented under the forms of princesses; and to all natural phenomena I gave a meaning, in which I almost believed more fervently than my little hearers.  As we thought of paths which led from star to star, and that we should one day inhabit the stars, and thought of the great spirits we should meet there, I was as eager for the hours of story-telling as the children themselves; I was quite curious about the future course of my own improvisation, and any invitation which interrupted these evenings was disagreeable.  There I sat, and there Wolfgang held me with his large black eyes; and when the fate of one of his favourites was not according to his fancy, I saw the angry veins swell on his temples, I saw him repress his tears.  He often burst in with ’But, mother, the princess won’t marry the nasty tailor, even if he does kill the giant.’  And when I made a pause for the night, promising to continue it on the morrow, I was certain that he would in the meanwhile think it out for himself, and so he often stimulated my imagination.  When I turned the story according to his plan, and told him that he had found out the denouement, then was he all fire and flame, and one could see his little heart beating underneath his dress!  His grandmother, who made a great pet of him, was the confidante of all his ideas as to how the story would turn out, and as she repeated these to me, and I turned the story according to these hints, there was a little diplomatic secrecy between us, which we never disclosed.  I had the pleasure of continuing my story to the delight and astonishment of my hearers, and Wolfgang saw, with glowing eyes, the fulfilment of his own conceptions, and listened with enthusiastic applause.”  What a charming glimpse of mother and son!