became her years; and, when seen from behind, she had quite a youthful and pleasing appearance. The elder daughter then came bouncing in briskly: she inquired after Frederica, just as both the others had also done. The father assured them that he had not seen her since all three had gone out together. The daughter again went out at the door to look for her sister; the mother brought us some refreshment; and Weyland, with the old couple, continued the conversation, which referred to nothing but known persons and circumstances,—as, indeed, it is usually the case when acquaintances meet after some length of time, that they make inquiries, and mutually give each other information about the members of a large circle. I listened, and now learned how much I had to promise myself from this circle.
The elder daughter again came hastily back into the room, uneasy at not having found her sister. They were anxious about her, and blamed her for this or that bad habit; only the father said, very composedly, "Let her alone: she will come back!" At this instant she really entered the door, and then truly a most charming star arose in this rural heaven. Both daughters still wore nothing but German, as they used to call it; and this almost obsolete national costume became Frederica particularly well. A short, white, full skirt, with a furbelow, not so long but that the neatest little feet were visible up to the ankle; a tight white bodice and a black taffeta apron,—thus she stood on the boundary between country girl and city girl. Slender and light, she tripped along as if she had nothing to carry; and her neck seemed almost too delicate for the large fair braids on her elegant little head. From cheerful blue eyes she looked very plainly round, and her pretty turned-up nose peered as freely into the air as if there could be no care in the world; her straw hat hung on her arm; and thus, at the first glance, I had the delight
