"Every animal has its ways," replied Gabriel. "I have no talent for developing into a bear."

"It can be learnt," said Mr. Hummel, benignantly. He raised his eye-brows, and made a sly grimace. "Something is in progress in the garden over there; they are probably speculating again on some new arrival, to which I, in due time, shall take upon myself, under all circ.u.mstances, to give the right name"--he lowered his voice--; "something anonymous has been unpacked, and brought out into the garden." With a feeling of indignation at his own caution, he continued: "Believe me, Gabriel, the world is growing cowardly from this over-production of children; and people are so crowded that freedom ceases to exist; life is now slavery from the cradle to the grave. Here I stand on my own ground, and if I choose to dig a hole on this spot to the centre of the earth, no man can prevent me; and yet, on my own property, we cannot express an outspoken opinion; and why?

Because it might be heard, and displease the ears of strangers. To such a point have we come; a man is the slave of his neighbors. Now, only think, I have but one neighbor opposite; on the other side I am protected by the water and the factory, yet I must swallow the truth, as I dare not speak out beyond my boundary. He who is surrounded on all sides by neighbors must lead a lamentable life; he cannot even cut off his head in his own garden without the whole neighborhood raising a cry because the sight is not pleasing to them." He pointed with his thumb to the neighboring house, and continued, confidentially: "We are reconciled now; the women would not rest until we were. I a.s.sure you they lacked the true spirit to carry on a quarrel over there; the affair became tedious and so I gave in."

"Yet it is well that all is settled," said Gabriel. "If the fathers quarrel, how can the children meet on good terms?"

"Why shouldn't they make faces at each other?" returned Mr. Hummel, crossly. "I can't bear this everlasting bowing and sc.r.a.ping."

"Every one knows that," replied Gabriel. "But if Miss Laura meets the Doctor in our house, which often happens, she surely cannot growl at him."

"So they meet often!" repeated Hummel, thoughtfully. "There again you have an instance of this overcrowding; they can't get out of each other's way. Well! I can trust to my daughter, Gabriel; she has my disposition."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," replied Gabriel laughing.

"I a.s.sure you she is quite of my mind," affirmed Hummel, decidedly.

"But, as to this cessation of hostilities, you need not rejoice so much at it; for, depend upon it, it cannot last long between our houses.

When the ice has thawed, and the garden amus.e.m.e.nts begin, there will be trouble again. It has always been so and I do not see why it should not continue so, in spite of reconciliations, and in spite of your new mistress, for whom I nevertheless have great respect."

The conversation, which had been carried on in the garden, was interrupted by a dark, solemn-looking man, who presented a large letter in a tinted envelope. He introduced himself to Mr. Hummel, and brought him an invitation for his absent daughter to undertake the office of G.o.dmother to a baby that had just been born to limit the s.p.a.ce in the world still more. To this invitation no objection could be made; the young mother, the wife of a lawyer, was Laura's friend, and the daughter of her G.o.dmother. It was an old connection of the family, and Hummel, as father and citizen, duly accepted the invitation.

"For whom is the other letter you have in your hand?" he asked of the messenger.

"For Doctor Hahn, who is to stand with Miss Laura."

"Indeed!" said Hummel, ironically; "matters are going at a great pace. Take your letter over there. Did I not tell you so, Gabriel?" he added, turning to his confidant. "Scarcely reconciled before the tribunal, and at once sponsors together; who may know but that to-morrow morning the old scarecrow himself will come over and offer to be 'hail-fellow-well-met' with me. There again you have the consequences of over-crowding, and of Christianity too. This time my poor child is the victim."

He took the letter into the room and threw it on the table before his wife and daughter.

"This comes from reconciliation, weak women," he cried, tauntingly. "Now you will have nurse, midwife, G.o.dfather, and all, about your heels."

The ladies studied the letter, and Laura thought it inconsiderate in her G.o.dmother to have chosen just the Doctor for her partner.

"That's to accommodate the sponsor's carriage," exclaimed Mr. Hummel, mockingly, from the corner. "It was made to carry two at once. Now, that fellow Humboldt will come over here in white gloves in order to fetch you to church, and I believe he will have impudence enough to send you a sponsorial present."

"If he did not do so, it would be an insult," replied the wife. "He must do it, or it would give occasion for people to talk. We cannot object to it; he will send a basket of flowers with gloves for the G.o.dmother, and Laura will send him in return the pocket-handkerchief, as is the custom among our acquaintances. You know that Laura's G.o.dmother thinks a great deal of these things."

"His flowers in our house, his gloves on our fingers, and our handkerchief in his pocket!" said the master of the house, bitterly; "Pray, what are things coming to."

"I beg of you, Hummel," rejoined his wife, displeased, "do not annoy us by finding fault with the civilities which are unavoidable, on such an occasion, and of which no one takes advantage."

"I thank you for your civilities which one cannot avoid, and to which no one attributes anything. Nothing is so insupportable to me, among the people here, as their eternal obeisances before one's face, whilst they pull one to pieces behind one's back."

He left the room and slammed the door behind him.

The mother then began:

"He has nothing really to say against it; he only wishes to maintain his character for sternness. It is not absolutely necessary that you should send the Doctor a present on this occasion, but you still owe him some little attention from that encounter with the shepherd."

Laura was reconciled to the thought of becoming G.o.dmother with the Doctor, and said:

"I will make a design for the corner of the handkerchief, and will embroider it."

The following morning she went out to buy cambric. But Mr. Hummel also went out. He visited an acquaintance who was a furrier, took him confidentially aside, and ordered a pair of gloves of white cat's skin for a small hand; he directed that a cat's claw be fastened at the point of each finger. But he wished it to be a delicate one, of an unborn cat, or failing in that, of a very young kitten, and that the claw should stand out stiffly. Then he entered another shop and asked for some colored printed cotton pocket-handkerchiefs--such as one buys for a few pennies--and chose one black and red, with a frightful portrait, that just suited his frame of mind. This purchase he put in his pocket.

The morning of the christening arrived. In the house of Mr. Hummel the flat-irons clattered; the mother added some last st.i.tches; and Laura tripped busily up and down the stairs. Meanwhile, Hummel wandered back and forth between the door of the house and factory, watching every person that entered. Spitehahn was sitting on the threshold growling whenever the foot of a stranger approached the door of the house.

"Show yourself as you are, Spitehahn," grumbled Hummel, approaching his dog; "and catch hold of the woman from yonder by the dress; she will not venture in, if you keep watch."

The red dog answered by showing his teeth maliciously at his master.

"That's right," said Hummel, and continued his walk.

At last Dorchen appeared at her own house-door, and tripped with a covered basket in her hand to the steps of Mr. Hummel's house.

Spitehahn rose grimly, uttered a hoa.r.s.e growl, and bristled his hair.

"Call that frightful dog away, Mr. Hummel," cried Dorchen, snappishly.

"I have a message for Miss Laura."

Mr. Hummel a.s.sumed a benevolent expression of countenance and put his hand in his pocket.

"The ladies are at work, my pretty child," he said, drawing out a heavy piece of money; "perhaps I can attend to it."

The messenger was so startled at the unexpected politeness of the tyrant, that she made a mute courtesy and let the basket slip out of her hand.

"It shall be attended to carefully," completed Mr. Hummel, with an engaging smile.

He carried the basket into the house, and called Susan to take it to the ladies; after which he went into the hall again, and stroked the dog. It was not long before he heard the door of the sitting-room fly open and his name called loudly in the hall. He entered cautiously into the ladies' room, and found them in a dreadful state of disturbance. A beautiful basket was standing on the table, flowers were scattered about, and two little fur gloves, with large claws at the ends of the fingers, lay on the floor, like paws cut from a beast of prey. Laura was sitting before them sobbing.

"Holloa!" cried Mr. Hummel, "is that one of the sponsorial pleasantries?"

"Henry," cried his wife vehemently, "your child has received an insult; the Doctor has dared to send these to your daughter."

"Ha!" cried Hummel; "cat's paws, and with claws! Why not? They will keep you warm in church; you can lay hold of the Doctor with them."

"It must be a joke," cried Laura, with the hot tears flowing down her cheeks; "it is because I have sometimes teased him. I should never have believed him capable of such rudeness."

"Do you know him so well?" inquired Mr. Hummel. "Well, if it is a joke, as you say, take it as a joke then; this emotion isn't necessary."

"What is to be done now?" cried the mother; "can she still stand G.o.dmother with him after this insult?"

"I should think so," replied Mr. Hummel, ironically; "this insult is a childish affair compared to others--compared to house-building, bell-ringing, and dog-poisoning. If you can stomach all that, why not cats' paws, too?"

"Laura has hemmed and embroidered a handkerchief for him," exclaimed the mother; "and she had taken the greatest pains to finish it in time."

"I will not send it to him," cried Laura.

"So you hemmed and embroidered it yourself?" rejoined Hummel. "It is charming to live in friendship with one's neighbors. You are weak womenfolk, and you take the matter too seriously. These are courtesies which one cannot avoid, and to which no importance is attached. Do as you said you would. You must just send the thing over to him. You must not give him or any one else occasion to make remarks. Keep your contempt to yourself."