Mary shook her head; then she asked: 

“Is it Hiram, the stammerer, the trainer, that they are hunting?”

“I fear it is.”

“Yes, yes,” said the child.  “Stay—­oh, dear! it will grieve you again, but I think—­I think they said—­the shoes belonged—­but I did not attend.  However, they were talking of a groom—­a freedman—­a stammerer. . . .”

“Then they certainly are hunting down an innocent man,” cried Paula with a deep sigh; and she sat down again in front of her toilet-table to finish dressing.  Her hands still moved mechanically, but she was lost in thought; she answered the child vaguely, and let her rummage in her open trunk till Mary pulled out the necklace that had been bereft of its gem, and hung it round her neck.  Just then there was a knock at the door and Katharina, the widow Susannah’s little daughter, came into the room.  The young girl, to whom the governor’s wife wished to marry her tall son scarcely reached to Paula’s shoulder, but she was plump and pleasant to look upon; as neat as if she had just been taken out of a box, with a fresh, merry lovable little face.  When she laughed she showed a gleaming row of small teeth, set rather wide apart, but as white as snow; and her bright eyes beamed on the world as gladly as though they had nothing that was not pleasing to look for, innocent mischief to dream of.  She too, tried to win Paula’s favor; but with none of Mary’s devoted and unvarying enthusiasm.  Often, to be sure, she would devote herself to Paula with such stormy vehemence that the elder girl was forced to be repellent; then, on the other hand, if she fancied her self slighted, or treated more coolly than Mary, she would turn her back on Paula with sulky jealousy, temper and pouting.  It always was in Paula’s power to put an end to the “Water-wagtails tantrums”—­which generally had their comic side—­by a kind word or kiss; but without some such advances Katharina was quite capable of indulging her humors to the utmost.

On the present occasion she flew into Paula’s arm, and when her friend begged, more quietly than usual that she would allow her first to finish dressing, she turned away without any display of touchiness and took the necklace from Mary’s hand to put it on herself.  It was of fine workmanship, set with pearls, and took her fancy greatly; only the empty medallion from which Hiram had removed the emerald with his knife spoiled the whole effect.  Still, it was a princely jewel, and when she had also taken from the chest a large fan of ostrich feathers she showed off to her play-fellow, with droll, stiff dignity, how the empress and princesses at Court curtsied and bowed graciously to their inferiors.  At this they both laughed a great deal.  When Paula had finished her toilet and proceeded to take the necklace off Katharina, the empty setting, which Hiram’s knife had bent, caught in the thin tissue of her dress.  Mary disengaged it, and Paula tossed the jewel back into the trunk.