He studied not only the riddles themselves, but his Latin lessons more earnestly, and he took to early rising, and every morning before breakfast he worked with his Lexicon in the garden, as if his livelihood depended on the solution of Latin puzzles.
Hunne too was a lucky boy in these days, for no matter how often or how long he hung upon Dora, and claimed her as his own property, never once did the good-natured girl avoid or repulse her little friend; but always lent herself to his wishes, and took so much pains to amuse him, that it seemed as if she found her own pleasure in pleasing him.

Mrs.Birkenfeld had persuaded Aunt Ninette to leave Dora entirely at liberty both morning and evening, and when in the afternoon she took her sewing and sat with the family under the apple-tree, she found that even shirt-making might be an agreeable occupation, under such favorable circumstances as these.
One day Dora made a new riddle for Hunne; for indeed his "nut-cracker" one had become rather an old story; yet he couldn't bear to give up riddle-giving.

To his unspeakable joy this new riddle had a triumphant experience, quite unprecedented in the family annals--no one could guess it.

This time nobody could turn him off with, "Oh, go away with that same old charade." For as no one knew the answer, no one could laugh at the little questioner, and he and Dora agreed not to give the slightest hint that might lead to the right guess, and so put an end to this delightful state of things.
The riddle was this: "My first makes you cry--not for sorrow, For my second a spoon you may borrow, To my whole, you say, 'thank you--to-morrow.'" What could it be?
Julius said it was "Hot-tea, because if the tea is very hot and you try to drink it, the tears start to your eyes, and then you cool it with a spoon, and you would like to let it stand till to-morrow." Hunne jumped for joy, crying "Wrong, wrong!" Miss Hanenwinkel suggested "Plum-jam," because Hunne often cried when he couldn't have plums, and everybody ate jam with a spoon, and if plum-jam was not on the supper-table to-night, it was sure to be, to-morrow.
"Wrong! wrong!" cried Hunne again.
"Well, I guess Tear-ful," said Rolf; but that was even worse than the others.
"I think it may be Snow-drop," said the mother.

"The sight of the snow makes you cry for joy, and a spoon is used for your drops if you are ill, and you always want snowdrops to-morrow." Mamma had failed! "Not Snowdrops; no!" screamed Hunne, almost beside himself with delight.
"I guess it is _ice-cream_," said Mr.Birkenfeld.