Children ask such strange questions!

“Life is a gift from God that must be preserved as long as possible,” returned Ludwig, evading the main question.  “Through us the world exists—­”

“What is the world?” interrupted Marie.

“The entire human race and their habitations—­the earth.”

“Then every person owns a plot of earth?  Where is the plot which belongs to us?  Answer me that!”

“By the way, that reminds me!” exclaimed Ludwig, relieved to find an opportunity to change the subject.  “I have not yet told thee that I intend to buy a lovely plot of ground on the shore of the lake, which is to be made into a pretty flower-garden for thy use alone.  Will not that be pleasant?”

“Thou art very kind; the garden will be lovely.  That plot of ground, then, will be our home, will it not?  What is one’s home called?”

“It is called the fatherland.”

“Then every country is not one’s fatherland?”

“If our enemies live there, it is not.”

“What are enemies?”

“Persons with whom we are angry.”

“What is angry?  I have never yet seen anything like it.  Why art thou never angry?”

“Because I have no reason to be angry with thee, and I never associate with any one else.”

“What do those persons do who become angry with one another?”

“They avoid each other.  If they are very angry they fight; and if they are very, very angry they kill each other.”

The maid was tortured with curiosity to-day.  She drew a pin from her robe, and secretly thrust the point into Ludwig’s hand.

“What art thou doing?” he asked, in surprise.

“I want to see what thou art like when thou art angry.  Did it hurt thee?”

“Certainly it hurt me; see, the blood is flowing.”

“Ah, heaven!” cried the maid, in terror, drew the young man’s head toward her, and pressed a kiss on his face.

He sprang to his feet, his face pale as death, extreme horror depicted in his glance.

“There!” exclaimed the maid.  “Thou dost not kill me, and yet I have made thee very angry.”

“This is not anger,” sighed the young man.

“What is it, then?”

“It has no name.”

“Then I may not kiss thee?  Thou lettest me kiss thee last year, and the year before, and every other year.”

“But thou art fifteen years old to-day.”

“Ah!  Then what was allowed last year, and always before that, is not allowed now.  Dost not thou love me any more?”

“All my thoughts are filled with thee.”

“Thou knowest that I have always been allowed to make one wish on my birthday, and that it has always been granted.  That is what some one accustomed me to—­thou knowest very well who.”

“Thy desires have always been fulfilled.”