"Max, how you frightened me!" cried Hannah; then, "oh, Maxy, what's the
matter?" Mitz was forgotten; he gave a leap, shawl and pillow-case, and
before Hannah could prevent, had crept out of his bandages and was
standing a free cat, with arched back and a defiant tail. By this time
Mrs. Liseke had come out of the fire-place with her two youngest in her
arms. She was elegantly dressed in a bed-sheet, which trailed behind her
and was gracefully tied under her chin. Mitz's mother followed,
stretching all-fours luxuriously.
No, Max wouldn't tell. He plunged two black hands in his breeches'
pockets and made up faces and danced a wild war dance, while Mitz and
family fled into various corners.
"Why don't you slap him?" pouted Liseke.
"No," little Hannah said, wisely. "He likes cookies." Coaxingly: "Maxy
dear, won't you tell?"
"No, you bet I won't! you're nothing but girls."
"Is it a surprise, Max?" Hannah suggested, anxiously.
"Won't tell yer," contemplating his brass-tipped toes.
"Maxy, I'll give you a big cookey if you'll tell."
"You nasty thing, I don't want a cookey."
"Maxy: two? three--four--five--six--there! now you'll tell?"
"Give 'em first," said this practical boy, apparently conquered.
Six noble cookies were counted into his hand.
"Now I won't tell yer at all. It's a surprise! Father said I wasn't to
tell," he cried, scornfully, with his mouth full.
"Oh, Haneke, papa's going to surprise us! Now I know what it is!" Liseke
whispered excitedly "It is a piano, and perhaps--perhaps a stool.
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