“Listen, boys!  To-day Tea shall take you to see grandmother.”

Great delight, shared by Tea, for this meant a holiday.

“Mamma, mamma!” she heard behind her, as she ran down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, and then she was off.  First she must get some flowers, then put off her lessons.  For now, now, now!

Out in the street she remembered that it was too early to get anything, so she went for a walk, beyond the town, the freshest, the brightest, that she had ever taken.  She came back again just as Fru Holmbo was opening her shop.  As Ella entered the “flower-woman” was holding an expensive bouquet in her hand, ready to be sent out.

“I will have that!” cried Ella, shutting the door behind her.

“You!” said Fru Holmbo a little doubtfully; the bouquet was a very expensive one.

“Yes, I must have it;” Ella’s little green purse was ready.  The bouquet had been ordered for the best house in the town, and Fru Holmbo said so.

“That does not matter,” answered Ella.  Such genuine admiration of a bouquet had never been seen—­and Ella got it.

From there she went to “Andresen’s at the corner.”  One of the shopmen took lessons in book-keeping from her.  She wished to put him off, and asked him to tell the whole of the large class.  She asked him this with kindling eyes, and he gladly promised to do so.  The daintiest red shawl was hanging just before her.  She must have it to wear over her head to-day when she drove out; for that she would drive to-day there was no doubt.  Andresen himself came up, just as she was asking about the shawl.  He caught a glimpse of her bouquet, under the paper.  “Those are lovely roses,” he said.  She took one out at once, and gave it to him.  From the rose he looked at her; she laughed and asked if he would take a little off the price of the shawl; she had not quite enough money left.

“How much have you?” he asked.

“Just half a krone too little,” she replied.

He himself wrapped up the shawl for her.  In the street she met Cecilie Monrad, whose sister studied music with Ella; she was thus saved a walk to the other end of the town to put her off.  “Everything favours me to-day,” she thought.

“Did you see about those two who committed suicide together at Copenhagen?” asked Cecilie.

“Yes, she had.”  Froeken Monrad thought that it was horrible.

“Why?”

“Why the man was married!”

“True enough,” answered Ella, “but they loved each other.”  Her eyes glowed; Cecilie lowered hers and blushed.  Ella took her hand and pressed it.  “I tumbled into a love-story there,” she thought, and flew, rather than walked, up to the villas, where most of her pupils lived.  On a roof she saw two starlings; the first that year.  The thaw of a few days back had deceived them.  Not that the starlings were dispirited.  No, they loved!  “Mamma, mamma,” she seemed to hear at the same moment.  It was certainly