"What shall I bring you from Germany, dear lady?" he asked.
She always heard him better than she heard most people, and laughed like
a pleased child at the question. "I spent a winter in Berlin, when I was
a young woman," said she. "I remember it clearly enough. There was a
little shop in one of the streets--I forget just which--where they sold
pictures of the emperor, in little carved frames. William the First, it
was then, grandfather of the present Emperor. I should like such another
little picture of the present Kaiser--and thank you!"
"You shall have it--and something else, of my own choosing, if I may.
Good-bye, dear lady. May I kiss you good-bye?"
She permitted the privilege, beaming with pleasure under the reverent
touch of her fair cheek. Then she gave Burns a parting admonition.
"Take good care of that wife of yours; she is well worth it," she said.
"I realize that more every day, Madam Chase. I'll take care of her--with
my life," he said, soberly, close to her ear. Then he bore Ellen away,
both looking back with friendly eyes at the pair they left in the
cottage, and wishing them well with all their warm hearts.
They had barely sailed when the first heavy snowfall of the season
covered the world with a blanket of white, and this was the forerunner of
almost continuous genuine winter weather.
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