One of us who had seen a play during the vacation at home told the others the plot.  The whole was divided into scenes, and each character was assigned to some representative who was left to personate it according to his own conception, choosing the words and gestures which he deemed most appropriate.

I enjoyed nothing more than these performances; and my mother, who witnessed several of them during one of her visits, afterwards said that it was surprising how well we had managed the affair and acted our parts.

For a long time I was the moving spirit in this play, and we had no lack of talented mimes, personators of sentimental heroes, and droll comedians.  The women’s parts, of course, were also taken by boys.  Ludo made a wonderfully pretty girl.  I was sometimes one thing, sometimes another, but almost always stage manager.

These merry improvisations were certainly well fitted to strengthen the creative power and activity of our intellects.  There was no lack of admirable stage properties, for the large wardrobe of the institute was at our disposal whenever we wanted to act, which was at least once a week during the whole winter, except in the Advent season, when everything was obliged to yield to the demand of the approaching Christmas festival.  Then we were all busy in making presents for our relatives.  The younger ones manufactured various cardboard trifles; the older pupils, as embryo cabinet-makers, all sorts of pretty and useful things, especially boxes.

Unluckily, I did not excel as a cabinet-maker, though I managed to finish tolerable boxes; but my mother had two made by the more skilful hands of Ludo, which were provided with locks and hinges, so neatly finished, veneered, and polished that many a trained cabinet-maker’s apprentice could have done no better.  It was one of Froebel’s principles—­as I have already mentioned—­to follow the “German taste for manual labor,” and have us work with spades and pickaxes (in our plots of ground), and with squares, chisels, and saws (in the pasteboard and carving lessons).

A clever elderly man, the sapper, or Sabuim, already mentioned—­I think I never heard his real name—­instructed us in the trades of the book binder and cabinet-maker.  He was said to have served under Napoleon as a sapper, and afterwards settled in our neighbourhood, and found occupation in Keilhau.  He was skilful in all kinds of manual labour, and an excellent teacher.  The nearer Christmas came the busier were the workshops; and while usually there was no noise, they now resounded with Christmas songs, among which: 

“Up, up, my lads! why do ye sleep so long? 
The night has passed, and day begins to dawn”;

or our Berlin one: 

“Something will happen to-morrow, my children,”

were most frequently heard.

Christmas thoughts filled our hearts and minds.  Christmas at home had been so delightful that the first year I felt troubled by the idea that the festival must be celebrated away from my mother and without her.  But after we had shared the Keilhau holiday, and what preceded and followed it, we could not decide which was the most enjoyable.