"The sight of the snow
makes you cry for joy, and a spoon is used for your drops if you are ill,
and you always want snowdrops to-morrow."
Mamma had failed! "Not Snowdrops; no!" screamed Hunne, almost beside
himself with delight.
"I guess it is _ice-cream_," said Mr. Birkenfeld. "Ice makes me cry
sometimes, it is so cold. Cream certainly needs a spoon, and I have often
heard the cry, 'To-morrow please,' when ice-cream has been mentioned."
Hunne spun round with delight. "No, no!" he shouted. It was almost too
good to be true, that his father should have missed it too. He scampered
about crying out to everyone, "Guess! guess!"
Rolf was really vexed not to be able to see through this simple little
"Hunne riddle" as he called it; and was mortified to perceive that he had
made a worse guess than any one.
Meantime the days were passing. One morning at breakfast Uncle Titus said,
"My dear Ninette, our last week is drawing near. What should you say if we
put off going home, another fortnight? I feel remarkably well here, no
dizziness at all, and an extraordinary increase of strength in my legs!"
"You show it in your looks, my dear Titus--" said his wife tenderly, "you
look ten years younger, at the very least, than when we came here.
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