An Old Heart Goes A-Journeying by Hans Fallada

beautiful.
    “The Vogels liked Unsadel,” she began once more, “but they didn’t like the Gaus. So they rented this old derelict cowshed from them and had it cleaned up and a fireplace built in. . . .”
    “The ro-o-of. . . .” growled Philip.
    “What’s that?—Oh yes, quite right, Philip, they had the roof rethatched, and some nice furniture put in. They said it was only the rubbish that was lying about in their attic—That’s how the old cowshed became what it is now, and from the first of October to the first of April they never come here, so we can live quite undisturbed. . . .”
    “Yes,” said the Professor, “we know we can live here undisturbed, Rosemarie, but is it right that we should be living here?”
    “Oh!” she replied thoughtfully, at once adding, “Yes, it’s quite right. The Vogels saw how nasty the Gauswere to me, and they often used to say: ‘Frau Gau, can Rosemarie help us a bit today? We’ll pay for her.’ So Frau Gau would say ‘Yes,’ and Frau Vogel would say: ‘You sit down there quietly, Rosemarie, and mend your stockings. My husband can fetch the water and chop the wood—it will do his tummy more good than it will your back.’ Then he used to swear, but not really meaning it, you know. They never really quarreled, they just had a joke together. Are there really married people that don’t quarrel, Godfather?”
    “Of course there are, Rosemarie,” said her godfather in a shocked tone. “You know that perfectly well. Think of your dear parents, of Farmer Tamm in this very village.”
    “Tamm?—” said Rosemarie slowly. “Why,
he
wastes all his money, and
she
has to mind every penny. And my parents. . . .”
    “Rosemarie,” said her godfather sternly, sitting up very stiff in his chair. “Do you remember the Fourth Commandment?”
    “Yes, Godfather,” she said obediently, and fell silent. Then she went on: “But it is so, Godfather,
it is so
. I remember Mamma crying when Papa gave money away or lent it because he couldn’t say no. It is so.”
    “You are wrong, Rosemarie,” said the Professor firmly. “I knew my friend Thürke. You are definitely wrong.”
    Rosemarie fell silent.
    “And surely it is right to help other people with one’s money?” continued the Professor.
    “But if it doesn’t help them—if it’s just wasted, as it is by Stillfritz, who just drinks it. . . .”
    “Oh my child, my child,” exclaimed the Professor sadly. “How quick you are to judge everybody and everything, even your dear parents. Stillfritz was the only person today who remembered to get some food for poor starving Philip. . . .”
    She was silent.
    “Why are we here? By what right are we here?” the Professor asked once more, “I must know.”
    She looked at him. Though scarcely more than a child, her eyes were plaintive, defiant, and a little sad. Something stirred and thrilled his ancient heart, some feeling he had never known. . . . He also had loved children, they stood nearest to His kingdom.
    His thoughts came and went, but the warmth within him stayed and thrilled his being as he laid his hand on her shoulder saying: “I am very hungry and very tired, and you must be so too. And it is very late. But far better that we should make our way to the nearest inn than stay in a place where we have no right to stay.”
    She too had felt that quick flush of human sympathy and understanding. “But we really have the right to be here, Godfather,” she assured him softly. “Frau Vogel must have said to me twenty times over, ‘If you simply can’t stand it, Rosemarie, come and stay with me. I’ll help you out.’ And we were in a bad way, weren’t we?” she said smiling a faint and roguish smile. “And after all I’m staying with her here.”
    “I hope it’s all right,” he murmured, looking dubiously at the child.
    “I’m certain she wouldn’t mind.”
    “But what about me?—And the boy?—” asked the Professor once more.
    “Oh, you belong to