“Princess, to you the western breeze
Bears many a ship and heavy laden;
What is the best we send in these?
A free and frank young Yankee maiden.”
"Cologne, Germany.
"Dear Miss Billikins:
"Prepare to clap your hands and chortle with joy! In six weeks and two days more I shall be at home with you! Perhaps I am a trifle conceited to think that you will be as delighted over the prospect as I am.
"Even my grief at leaving my beloved Germany is drowned in joy at the thought of being home again; and when I see papa and mamma's dear faces I shall be the happiest girl this side of the Atlantic. After all, there is no place like America, and no people like the Americans.
"In proof of which, I can a tale unfold—a tale, Miss Billy, which will make your blood-189- stand on end and your hair run cold in your veins. I have had an adventure that brought the tears of shame and contrition to my eyes, and which will bring the tears of sympathy to yours. Get out your largest and most absorbent handkerchief and prepare to listen.
"It rained yesterday,—not one of the mild English drizzles, but a regular American downpour that lasted all day. About four o'clock I put my music aside and went downstairs, with the intention of taking a stroll, or more literally, a swim. Frau Henich held up her hands in holy horror at the sight of my costume, which was a combination of bathing suit and bicycle skirt.
"Will the bold Fr?ulein venture out in such wetness?
"The bold Fr?ulein would.
"Did she not fear the dampness?
"The Fr?ulein adored dampness.
"Was there no message that could be sent?
"The Fr?ulein had no message. She was going out for her pleasure.
"Frau Henich looked at me in pity and amazement. Generally she considers me erratic, but on occasions of this sort she knows I am unbalanced. As I closed the door I could feel that she was still wondering in which-190- branch of my family insanity was rampant. Now there is a certain tiny store in Cologne which I intend to buy out some day. It is a most fascinating place, with the windows full of gay knit garters, and hideous pictures of the saints, and dried herrings, and with funny little reward-of-merit-cards and work-boxes tucked away in dark corners.
"Of course none of these things are exactly in my line, but the mistress of the house sells a delicious little German cake that is my especial delight. Whenever my music lessons go badly or I fail to get a letter from home, I comfort myself with a bag of these little 'pfeffernes.'
"On this rainy day the shop was even more inviting than usual. It was brightly lighted with three candles, a big pussy cat was purring on the mat, and there was an odour of hot gingerbread in the air. My long walk had made me hungry, and I recklessly ordered two dozen cakes, a square of the frosted gingerbread, and a little pail of sauerkraut which tasted and smelled very German indeed. It was dark outside, so I didn't stay to practise my German on the rosy-faced woman behind the counter, but took my bundles hurriedly. I paddled out, leaving a long stream of green water in my wake—(the colour in my green-191- umbrella has 'run' as you predicted)—and faced the storm.
"The long narrow street was deserted, and I sprinted along making good time, though my feet were soaking wet and I could feel the water gurgle in my shoes at every step. As I started across a muddy street within two blocks of Frau Henich's, a sudden gust of wind blew my umbrella inside out. I righted it by facing about and holding it against the wind. Then clutching my bundles a little tighter, and still treading determinedly backwards, I bumped forcibly into a man who was coming towards me. The result was what might have been expected. We sat down in the street. The gingerbread went into his lap, the cakes fell about me like stars from a rocket, and from what I could see in the dusk the kraut seemed to be equally divided between us. We both sat perfectly still for a moment. Then six feet of masculinity arose from the mud, with the sound of a suction pump, and approached me, with the air of a count. 'Are you hurt, Fr?ulein?' he inquired, in irreproachable German that made me green with envy. I felt of myself in the cleanest places and decided that I was not. He helped me up with difficulty, for the mud had a strong attraction for me, too, and I feebly began to-192- collect my thoughts, and my cakes, and to look about for my umbrella.
"By this time my companion in misery had a beautiful un-German-like apology ready for me, and proposed that we move on, and repair damages by the street lamp. I replied, in very bad German, that my boarding-place was just around the corner, and that I would prefer to remove the signs of our collision at home. He graciously acceded to my humble request, and crossed the street with me, holding the remains of my umbrella over my head. When we reached the lamp I could fully appreciate the humour of the situation. The aristocratic chest of the Count was plastered with white frosting, his hat was caved in, and his noble face was covered with spatters of mud. My skirt dripped mud and water at each step, my hands were gloved with honest German soil, and my hair fell over my face in degraded little stringlets. We both fairly reeked with kraut. But the Count, courteously oblivious to our picturesque and barbaric appearance, walked by my side, with that skeleton of an umbrella gallantly protecting the remains of my Knox hat, and discoursing cheerfully upon the vagaries of the German climate. Naturally my answers were not so teeming with wisdom as usual, for I was fairly overcome with-193- suppressed emotion and mud. Beside, I am awfully stupid about languages, and all the German I have learned since I have been here would rattle if it were shaken about in a peanut shell. If he had asked me about the lamb of the daughter of the gardener, or the pink frock of my sister's child, I could have conversed fluently; but as it was I maintained a dignified silence and let him think that I was a mode............