“Oh, take her with us to Switzerland.  She never makes any noise,” and Uncle Titus went on with his writing.

“My dearest Titus, how can you decide such a thing in one second?  To be sure she never makes any noise, and that is the most important thing.  But there are so many other things to consider, and arrange for, and think over!  Oh dear!  Oh dear me!”

But Uncle Titus was again absorbed in his work, and paid not the slightest heed to his wife’s lamentations.  So, seeing that she could expect no help from him, she went into her own room, thought everything over carefully again and again, and at last decided that it was best to follow the doctor’s advice, and take Dora with them.

In a day or two the expected letter came from Hamburg.  It was very short.  The old uncle knew nothing about his brother’s residence in Switzerland, now thirty years back.  Tannenburg was certainly quiet enough, for his brother had always complained of the want of society there, and that was all he knew about it.  But this was satisfactory so far, and Aunt Ninette decided at once to write to the clergyman at Tannenburg for farther particulars.  Solitude and quiet! this was just what Uncle Titus needed.

This second letter brought an immediate answer which confirmed her hopes.  “Tannenburg is a small place, with scattered houses,” wrote the clergyman.  “There is just such a dwelling as you describe, now ready for lodgers.  It is occupied by the widow of the school-teacher, an elderly and very worthy woman, who has two good-sized rooms and a little bed-room which she will be glad to let.”  And the widow’s address was added, in case Mrs. Ehrenreich should wish farther information.

Mrs. Ehrenreich wrote immediately, setting forth her wishes at full length and in great detail.  She expressed her satisfaction that the houses in Tannenburg were so far apart, and she hoped that the one in question was not situated in such a way as to be undesirable for the residence of an invalid.  She wished to make sure that there was in the vicinity no smithy, no locksmith, no stables, no stone-breaker’s yard, no slaughter-house nor mill, no school, and particularly no waterfall.

The answer from the widow, very prettily expressed, contained the agreeable assurance, that not one of these dreaded nuisances was to be found in her neighborhood.  The school and the mill were so far away that not a sound could reach her dwelling from either, and there was no waterfall in that part of the country.  Also there was not a house to be seen far or near, except the large residence of Mr. Birkenfeld, standing surrounded by beautiful gardens, fields and meadows.  The Birkenfelds were the most respected family in the neighborhood.  He was a member of every committee, and was a most benevolent man, and his wife was full of good works.  The widow added that she herself owed a great deal to the kindness of this family, particularly with regard to her little house which was their property, and which Mr. Birkenfeld had allowed her to occupy ever since her husband’s death.  He had proved to be the kindest of landlords.