The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag

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      "But they are frightful," she said, dubiously, as the red and the black sat down on each side of her, wagging their tails land looking up at her from under their shaggy eyebrows. "And why did you bring two?"

      "They are not intended for exhibition," returned Mr. Hummel in a pacifying tone; "they are country ware-one is a substitute for the other."

      After this presentation they were carried off to a shed. Gabriel once more tried their capacity of eating and drinking; they showed themselves thoroughly satisfactory in this respect, though as regards personal beauty they were not distinguished dogs; and Gabriel went to his room free from anxiety.

      When the clock struck ten, and the gate which separated the court-yard from the street was closed, Mr. Hummel went down himself to the dogs' shed to initiate these new watchers into their calling. He was much astonished, on opening the door, to find that they did not require any encouraging words from him-both rushed out between his legs into the yard. As if driven by an invisible whip, they dashed at a headlong pace round the house and factory-always together, and never silent. Hitherto they had been depressed and quiet; now, either as the result of the good food they had devoured or because their night watch had come, they became so noisy that even Mr. Hummel drew back in astonishment. Their hoarse short bark deafened the horn of the night watchman and the call of their master, who wished to recommend moderation. They chased wildly and incessantly around the court, and a continuous yelping accompanied their stormy career. The windows of the house were thrown open.

      "This will be a horrible night, Mr. Hummel," said Gabriel.

      "Henry," cried out his wife from her bedroom "this is insupportable."

      "It is their first outburst of joy," nothing more, said Mr. Hummel, consolingly, and withdrawing into the house.

      But this view of the matter turned out to be erroneous. Throughout the whole night the barking of the dogs sounded from the court-yard. In the houses of the neighborhood, shutters were thrown open, and loud words of reproach addressed to Mr. Hummel. The following morning he arose in a state of great uncertainty. Even his own sound sleep had been disturbed by the reproaches of his wife, who now sat at breakfast angry and depressed with headache. When he entered the court-yard, and gathered from his men the complaints they had heard from the neighbors, even he hesitated for a moment whether he should keep the dogs.

      Ill luck would have it that just at this moment Mr. Hahn's porter entered the court-yard, and with defiant mien announced that Mr. Hahn insisted upon Mr. Hummel putting a stop to this outrageous barking, or he should be obliged to seek redress before a justice of the peace.

      This attitude of his opponent at once decided the inward struggle of Mr. Hummel.

      "If I can bear the barking of my dogs, other people can do so too. The bells play on your side of the way and the dogs sing on mine, and if any one wishes to hear my views before a magistrate he shall hear enough to satisfy him."

      He returned to the house and with dignity approached his suffering wife.

      "Are two dogs to come between you and me, Henry?" asked the wife, with faltering voice.

      "Never," replied Mr. Hummel; "the domestic peace must be preserved. I am sorry that you have a headache, and to please you I would remove the beasts. But I have collided again with that coxcomb across the way. For the second time he threatens me with a suit and the magistrate. My honor is at stake, and I can no longer give in. Be a good wife, Philippine, and try to bear it a few nights longer. Put cotton in your ears, till the dogs have gotten accustomed to their work."

      "Henry," replied the wife, wearily, "I have never doubted your heart; but your character is rough, and the voices of the dogs are too horrible. Can you, in order to enforce your will, see your wife suffer, and become seriously ill, from sleeplessness? Will you, in order to maintain your position, sacrifice peace with the neighborhood?"

      "I do not want you to be ill, but I will not send away the dogs," replied Mr. Hummel, seizing his felt hat, and going to the factory with heavy step.

      If Mr. Hummel indulged in the hope that he had ended the domestic struggle as conqueror, he was greatly in error. There was still another power in his home, who opened the campaign in a different manner. When Mr. Hummel approached his desk in his little counting-house, he saw near the inkstand a nosegay of flowers. Attached to the pink ribbon hung a note which was sealed with a forget-me-not, and addressed-"To my dear Father."

      "That is my bright-eyed girl," he murmured, and opening the note read the following lines:

      "My dear pa, good morrow!

      The dogs cause great sorrow,

      They are not delightful;

      Their bark is just frightful;

      Their ardor and sanguinity

      Disturb the vicinity.

      For the sake of our neighborhood,

      Be noble, generous and good."

      Hummel laughed so heartily that the work in the factory stopped, and every one was amazed at his good humor. Then he marked the note with the date of its reception, put it in his pocket-book, and after examining the letters that had arrived, he betook himself into the garden. He saw his little daughter sprinkling the beds with her watering-pot, and his heart swelled with a father's pride. With what grace she turned and bent, and how her dark locks hung round the blooming face, and how actively she raised and swung the watering-pot; and, on perceiving him, when she put it down and held her finger threateningly at him, he was quite enchanted.

      "Verses again," he called out to her, "I have received Number Nine."

      "And you will be my good papa," cried Laura, hastening toward him and stroking his chin; "do send them away."

      "But, my child," said the father, composedly. "I have already spoken to your mother about it, and I have already explained to her why I cannot dispose of them. Now, I cannot do to please you, what I have refused your mother; that would be contrary to all family regulations. Respect your mother, little girl."

      "You are a hard-hearted father," replied the daughter, pouting; "and more than that, you are unjust in this affair."

      "Oh, oh!" cried the father, "is that the way you approach me?"

      "What harm does the ringing of bells over there do to us? The little summer-house is pretty, and when we sit in the garden in the evening, and there is a breeze, and the bells tinkle gently, it sounds just lovely-it is like Mozart's Magic Flute."

      "Our street is not an opera-house," the father retorted sharply, "but a public thoroughfare; and when my pet dogs bark you can equally well pursue your theatrical ideas, and imagine that you are in the Wolf's Den, in the Freischütz."

      "No, my father," answered the daughter, eagerly, "you are unjust towards these people; for you wish to spite them, and that vexes me to my heart's core. It is not worthy of my father."

      "Yet you must bear it," he replied, doggedly, "for this is a quarrel between men. Police regulations settle such affairs, and your verses are altogether out of place. As regards the names, it is possible that other words like Adolar, Ingomar, and Marquis Posa, might sound better to you women-folk. But this is no reason for me; my names are practical. In the matter of flowers and books, I will do much to please you but in the matter of dogs I cannot take poetry into consideration." So saying, he turned his back upon his daughter, to avoid protracting the dispute.

      Laura, however, hastened to her mother's room, and the ladies took counsel together.

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