of the house, resting after a hard day's work. Sophie was seated near
him, leaning back against the house with her eyes closed. The evening
was warm and beautiful, and gradually the peace of it stole over her.
And so at last she revealed herself to Samuel.

"Do you like music?" she asked.

"Very much indeed," said he.

"Not everybody does," she remarked--"I mean real music, such as
Friedrich plays."

"I don't know," said Samuel. "Who is Friedrich?"

"He's a friend of mine," Sophie answered. "He's a German boy. His
father's the designer at the carpet works. And he plays the violin."

"I should like to hear him," said he.

"I'll take you," she volunteered. "I generally go to see them on
Sunday afternoons. It's the only time I have."

So the next day Samuel met the Bremers. Their cottage was a little way
out in the country, and they had a few trees about it and a flower
bed. But the house was not large, and it was well filled with a family
of nine children. Johann, the father, was big and florid, with
bristling hair. He was marked in the town because he called himself a
"Socialist," but Samuel did not know that. His wife was a little mite
of a woman, completely swamped by child-bearing. Most interesting to
Samuel was Friedrich, who played the violin; a pale ascetic-looking