"But, my dear husband," objected his wife, "I have at least told you
this story ten times over."
"Really," said the colonel, quietly, "it seems that it pleases me then,
if I ask for it again."
"Oh, do begin!" said her brother.
"You cannot have forgotten the child, Max," began his sister, "of whom I
was speaking yesterday, who lived quite near to us. She belonged to the
pale, thin weaver, whose shuttle we could always hear moving back and
forth when we stood in our garden. The child always looked clean and
neat, and had great lively, sparkling eyes, and beautiful brown hair.
Her name was Aloise."
"I never knew anybody by the name of Aloise in my life," interrupted Max
at this point.
"Oh! to be sure not," said his sister. "We never called her so, you
especially. 'Wisi' we called her, to the horror of our dear departed
mother. Don't you remember, now, how often you said yourself that we
must get Wisi to sing with us when mamma played songs for us on the
piano, and we could not make it go at all without Wisi's help?"
At last Max seemed to remember about it, and laughed at the
recollection. "Oh, yes! I remember Wisi," he cried. "Yes, certainly that
was Wisi. I can see her now, before my eyes, with her bright face, as
she stood by the piano and sang so cheerily. I was very fond of her. I
was very fond of her,--of Wisi.
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