bread-knife."

Anxious and with half-folded hands she had stood behind the doctors.
Now she rushed off and brought the desired implement.

"But you're not going to hurt him?" she asked with big, beseeching
eyes.

"No, no, we're only going to cut his leg off," jested one of the
by-standers and took the knife from her clinging fingers.

Two incisions, two rents along the shin--the leather parted. A steady
surgeon's hand guided the knife carefully over the instep. At last the
flesh appeared--bloody, steel-blue and badly swollen.

"Freshie, you idiot, you might have killed yourself," said the surgeon
and gave the patient a paternal nudge. "And now, little miss,
hurry--sugar of lead bandages till evening."




Chapter II.


Her name was Antonie. She was the inn-keeper Wiesner's only daughter
and managed the household and kitchen because her mother had died in
the previous year.

His name was Robert Messerschmidt. He was a physician's son and a