What a delight their care was to me. Such a garden will
never be seen again. I have to sigh every time when I think that
anything so beautiful should be forever lost."
"But that can't be helped," Uncle Philip answered. "There is one great
advantage you have here. Nobody can possibly disturb your Sunday peace.
You need not throw up your hands and exclaim: 'Falcon is the worst of
all.'"
"Oh, Mr. Falcon, so you still remember," Apollonie exclaimed. "Yes, I
must admit that the three young gentlemen have trampled down many a young
plant of mine. Still I should not mind such a thing if I only had the
care of the garden back again, but it doesn't even exist any more. Mr.
Trius's only harvest is hay and apples, and that is all he wants
apparently, because he has thrown everything else out. Please do not
think that I am swimming in pure peace here because no boys are stamping
down my garden. Oh, no! It is very difficult to read my Sunday psalm in
peace when I am given such a bitter soup of grief to swallow as I got
yesterday. It keeps on burning me, and still I have to swallow it."
"You probably mean the Knippel-soup from yesterday?" Kurt interrupted,
full of lively interest. Loneli had only just told him that things had
gone very badly the day before when she had returned home all soiled from
her fall and with the empty milk-bottle. So he felt more indignant than
before and had immediately interpreted Apollonie's hint.
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