Two of the young girls, plump little creatures, whose freckles and good nature well matched their curly red hair, were daughters of Precentor Jahnke, who swore by the Hanseatic League, Scandinavia, and Fritz Reuter, and following the example of his favorite writer and fellow countryman, had named his twin daughters Bertha and Hertha, in imitation of Mining and Lining.  The third young lady was Hulda Niemeyer, Pastor Niemeyer’s only child.  She was more ladylike than the other two, but, on the other hand, tedious and conceited, a lymphatic blonde, with slightly protruding dim eyes, which, nevertheless, seemed always to be seeking something, for which reason the Hussar Klitzing once said:  “Doesn’t she look as though she were every moment expecting the angel Gabriel?” Effi felt that the rather captious Klitzing was only too right in his criticism, yet she avoided making any distinction between the three girl friends.  Nothing could have been farther from her mind at this moment.  Resting her arms on the table, she exclaimed:  “Oh, this tedious embroidery!  Thank heaven, you are here.”

“But we have driven your mama away,” said Hulda.

“Oh no.  She would have gone anyhow.  She is expecting a visitor, an old friend of her girlhood days.  I must tell you a story about him later, a love story with a real hero and a real heroine, and ending with resignation.  It will make you open your eyes wide with amazement.  Moreover, I saw mama’s old friend over in Schwantikow.  He is a district councillor, a fine figure, and very manly.”

“Manly?  That’s a most important consideration,” said Hertha.

“Certainly, it’s the chief consideration.  ‘Women womanly, men manly,’ is, you know, one of papa’s favorite maxims.  And now help me put the table in order, or there will be another scolding.”

It took but a moment to put the things in the basket and, when the girls sat down again, Hulda said:  “Now, Effi, now we are ready, now for the love story with resignation.  Or isn’t it so bad?”

“A story with resignation is never bad.  But I can’t begin till Hertha has taken some gooseberries; she keeps her eyes glued on them.  Please take as many as you like, we can pick some more afterward.  But be sure to throw the hulls far enough away, or, better still, lay them here on this newspaper supplement, then we can wrap them up in a bundle and dispose of everything at once.  Mama can’t bear to see hulls lying about everywhere.  She always says that some one might slip on them and break a leg.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Hertha, applying herself closely to the berries.

“Nor I either,” replied Effi, confirming the opinion.  “Just think of it, I fall at least two or three times every day and have never broken any bones yet.  The right kind of leg doesn’t break so easily; certainly mine doesn’t, neither does yours, Hertha.  What do you think, Hulda?”

“One ought not to tempt fate.  Pride will have a fall.”