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Updated: May 29, 2025
Lottchen said that she could never have treated her little friend Hansi so cruelly, and that she hated that man Brutus. At last they reached the end of the woodpath, and there lay Waldheim for so the farm was called before them. A big dog sprang out to meet them.
"Thank you, thank you, dear Heinzelmen," said Hansi, clasping her hands in ecstasy. There was a big paper parcel addressed to Mrs Herzchen in a very queer handwriting. She opened it with much excitement, thinking it would contain a silk dress, at least.
"Real Heinzelmen and no mistake," thought Hansi delightedly, "they can help me, if anyone can." She counted them, they were seven in number, like Snowdrop's dwarfs. They made quite a noise as they marched up in order, whistling a merry tune. When they saw Hansi, they took off their red caps, and their white hair flew about them like a mist, till Hansi could hardly see them any more.
"I shall sell them at once, or they may vanish away," she said. "I should strongly advise you not to do so," her husband replied, and the children said, "Oh Mother, do let us keep them always, they are so beautiful?" "But of what use are they?" said the incorrigible mother who, you see, was not yet quite cured. Meanwhile the story was noised abroad that Hansi had found a treasure in the forest.
"February 27th, 1897," said Hansi, prompted by her mother. Residence temporary or otherwise . Baptism date of . Vaccinated . All these facts Hansi's mother supplied at once. They are so constantly demanded in Germany that she had them always ready at hand, tied up in seven different packets for each child. Married or single? Here Hansi giggled, and he entered solemnly the word "spinster."
To Hansi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . well-wisher . . . . . . . from her . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . friend and Signed HIMSELF! "Thank you very much," said Hansi, feeling duly impressed, and she never forgot this difficult fact in the multiplication table again, although she didn't quite understand the diagram, and in fact lost it on the way home.
They then took Hansi's pine cones and ferns and grasses, and even collected the frozen cobwebs from the bushes and let the spray from the waters fall on them, and lo and behold the most exquisite gems were ready for the decoration of the Christmas tree. "You live at No 7, and you are seven years old," said the eldest of the dwarfs, addressing Hansi. Hansi considered a moment.
But they did not see the Heinzelmen or even the squirrel, although they repeated seven times seven is forty-nine in the hope of attracting them. Now a dear little Heinzelman, whom I met out for a walk, told me this story "himself"; but he vanished at this point, and so must I. I wish Hansi and all her brothers and sisters a very merry Christmas, and so, I am sure, do you.
Although my personal sympathies were strongly with the Cassagnacs, who are editors of L'Autorite, especially in their condemnation of the severity of the German Government in regard to "Hansi," the Alsatian caricaturist and author of Mon Village, I managed with the help of some of my Russian, Italian, English, and Spanish colleagues to avoid needless duels and quarrels between French and German journalists.
Have I the story right thus far?" I answered that he had. "Good! Then Zikali went on to choose you companions for your journey, but two, leaving out the guards or servants. I, Umhlopekazi, called Bulalio the Slaughterer, called the Woodpecker also, was one of these, and that little yellow monkey of a man whom I saw with you to-day, called Hansi, was the other.
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