I cannot say that things have prospered much with us since Fritz left.
The lumber-room itself is changed. The piles of old books are much
reduced, because we have been obliged to pawn many of them for food.
Some even of the father's beautiful models have had to be sold. It went
terribly to his heart. But it paid our debts.
Our grandmother has grown a little querulous at times lately. And I am
so tempted to be cross sometimes. The boys eat so much and wear out
their clothes so fast. Indeed, I cannot see that poverty makes any of us
better, except it be my mother, who needed improvement least of all.
_September_, 1504.
The father has actually brought a new inmate into the house, a little
girl, called Eva von Schoenberg, a distant cousin of our mother.
Last week he told us she was coming, very abruptly. I think he was
rather afraid of what our grandmother would say, for we all know it is
not of the least use to come round her with soft speeches. She always
sees what you are aiming at, and with her keen eyes cuts straight
through all your circumlocutions, and obliges you to descend direct on
your point, with more rapidity than grace.