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Updated: May 15, 2025
Then I went to a fashionable school, was taught French, and deportment, and dancing. Father Hohlfelder made some bad investments, and lost most of his money. The patent medicine fell off in popularity. A year or two ago we came to this city to live. Father bought this block and opened the little drug store below. We moved into the rooms upstairs.
I knew they were fair and I was dark; they were stout and I was slender; they were slow and I was quick. But of course I never dreamed of the true reason of this difference. When mother Mrs. Hohlfelder died, I found among her things one day a little packet, carefully wrapped up, containing a child's slip and some trinkets.
"You know me," said the young woman, "as Miss Hohlfelder; but that is not actually my name. In fact I do not know my real name, for I am not the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Hohlfelder, but only an adopted child. While Mrs. Hohlfelder lived, I never knew that I was not her child. I knew I was very different from her and father, I mean Mr. Hohlfelder.
They were mostly young, although a few light-hearted older people joined the class, as much for company as for the dancing. "Of course, Miss Hohlfelder," explained Mr.
You sing because you love to sing. You find pleasure in dancing, even by way of work. You feel the joie de vivre the joy of living. You are not always so, but when you are so I think you most delightful." Miss Hohlfelder, upon entering the hall, spoke to the pianist and then exchanged a few words with various members of the class. The pianist began to play a dreamy Strauss waltz.
"The best and sweetest woman on earth, whom I love unspeakably." "You know that is not what I mean. You could only say a Miss Nobody, from Nowhere." "A Miss Hohlfelder, from Cincinnati, the only child of worthy German parents, who fled from their own country in '49 to escape political persecution an ancestry that one surely need not be ashamed of."
They were now almost at the end of their course, and this was the evening of the last lesson but one. Miss Hohlfelder had remarked to her lover more than once that it was a pleasure to teach them. "They enter into the spirit of it so thoroughly, and they seem to enjoy themselves so much."
When the dance was well under way Miss Hohlfelder left the hall again and stepped into the ladies' dressing-room. There was a woman seated quietly on a couch in a corner, her hands folded on her lap. "Good-evening, Miss Hohlfelder. You do not seem as bright as usual to-night." Miss Hohlfelder felt a sudden yearning for sympathy.
"One would think," he suggested, "that the whitest of them would find their position painful and more or less pathetic; to be so white and yet to be classed as black so near and yet so far." "They don't accept our classification blindly. They do not acknowledge any inferiority; they think they are a great deal better than any but the best white people," replied Miss Hohlfelder.
The paper wrapper of the packet bore an inscription that awakened my curiosity. I asked father Hohlfelder whose the things had been, and then for the first time I learned my real story. "I was not their own daughter, he stated, but an adopted child. Twenty-three years ago, when he had lived in St.
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