When G.o.dfrey appeared at the supper-table, his future mother-in-law looked at him from head to foot, and from side to side, as if he had been trying to cheat her into taking false coin for true. And when G.o.dfrey begged Lina to bring a gla.s.s of fresh water to him in his room after supper, Mrs. Nussler interposed and said, that Lina had something else to do, so he turned to Mary, the parlour-maid, and asked her to do it, but Mrs. Nussler told him he had better go to the pump for it himself, it was no further for him to go than for Mary. Thus she drew a magic circle round him, over which no woman must venture.

The next day when they were all at dinner, the coachman came to the door, and signing to Mrs. Nussler, said: "Oh, if you please, mistress, I want to speak to you for a moment."--Mrs. Nussler at once signed to Brasig, and the two old friends went out into the porch with Christian.--"Well?" asked Mrs. Nussler.--"Here it is," said Christian, pulling a large letter out of his pocket, "and I know the woman's name too."--"Well?" asked Mrs. Nussler again.--"Yes," whispered Christian in his mistress' ear, "her Christian name is 'Minnie,' and her family name is 'Stry.'"--"What? Mini--stry?" cried Mrs. Nussler.--"Ha, ha, ha!"

laughed Brasig, pulling the letter out of Mrs. Nussler's hand. "That comes of ignorant people meddling with outlandish words; this is the vocatation from the ministry," and opening the parlour-door, he shouted: "Hurrah! You old methodist you! The marriage is to be next week."--And Mrs. Nussler threw her arms round G.o.dfrey's neck, kissed him, and said: "G.o.dfrey, dear G.o.dfrey, I've done you great wrong; but never mind, G.o.dfrey, Lina shall bring you some water every evening, and the marriage shall be whenever you like."--"Bless me!" said G.o.dfrey.

"What is ....."--"Nay, G.o.dfrey, I can't explain, it's too hard for me, but I'll tell you when you've been married three years."

So the wedding took place, and I might tell how Mina and Lina had a good cry together after the ceremony was over; how nice G.o.dfrey looked when Lina had cut his hair properly; how Mrs. Nussler a.s.sured every one who came near her that she was not bit tired, which meant that she was completely worn out. But I'll tell nothing about the marriage that I did not see myself, and there is one thing I can vouch for having seen it, and that is, that at half-past three the two old friends, young Joseph and young Bolster, lay down on the sofa together, and fell fast asleep.

Hawermann was at the marriage, but was very quiet and sad; Louisa was there also, her heart full of love for her little Lina, and she was very quiet too, but quietly happy. Mrs. Behrens had refused the invitation sent her, but just as all the company were giving three cheers for the bride and bridegroom, the door opened, and Mrs. Behrens came into the room in her widow's weeds. She threw her arms round Lina's neck, and said: "I am glad that you are to have it, very very glad; and I pray that you may be as happy as I was. You are now the nearest," Then she kissed her and patted her on the shoulder, and after that turned away and hastened out of the room without looking at any one else. As soon as she was in the pa.s.sage she called: "Hawermann,"

but she need not have done that for he was already by her side, and after helping her into the carriage, he took his place beside her, and so they drove back to Gurlitz.

They got out of the carriage at the entrance to the church-yard, and walked together to the quiet green grave, there they stood hand in hand silently gazing at it and at the flowers that were growing on it. As they turned to go away little Mrs. Behrens said with a deep sigh: "I am ready now, Hawermann." They got into the carriage again and drove to Rahnstadt. "Louisa knows all about it," she said, "and will follow me tomorrow with the things." They went together into the new house, and little Mrs. Behrens kissed Hawermann, and thanked him for his kindness to her in having made everything look so like the dear old parsonage.

She went to the window, and looking out, said: "Yes, it's very very like; all is here except the grave."--They looked out of the window for a long time in silence, at last Hawermann took her hand and said: "Mrs.

Behrens, I have a great favour to ask of you. I have given Mr. von Rambow warning and am to leave him at Christmas. Will you let me have the garret, and will you allow me to board with you?"--If it had not been such a sad moment for them both' she would have asked a number of questions, and would have talked the whole thing over, but as it was she only said: "Your home is always wherever Louisa and I are. You are the nearest to us both."

It is ever thus in the world; what brings joy to one, brings sorrow to another, and marriage and death go side by side, although the difference between them is greater than between summer and winter.

There are some people to be found with such beautiful dispositions, that in spite of their loss being the other's gain, or of their having gained by the other's loss, their love to each other forms a bridge over the abyss which might have separated them, but which their generous love has changed into a firm bond of union. And of this Mrs.

Behrens and Lina were a bright example. Each clung to the other with a comprehending love and sympathy that never failed as long as they lived.

And our old friend G.o.dfrey did his part to strengthen the ties binding Mrs. Behrens to her old home. In his first sermon also it must be confessed that he thought less of himself than of the example his predecessor had always showed, so that when Brasig came out of church he stroked Lina's cheek and kissed Mina, saying: "He is growing much more sensible. Methodists are often quite reasonable mortals; but they're the devil's own. I once knew a Methodist, I mean parson Mehlsack, who was really a good sort of man, but he had given himself so completely to the devil that he no longer preached about G.o.d; and as for the parson over in the beautiful Cracow districts, he proved padagraphically that there are _three hundred and thirty three_ separate devils rushing about the world, without counting the regular devil and his grandmother. Now look here, Lina, this is the chief discomfort for the like of us in such matters. Suppose that you, and some of your friends seat yourselves round a bowl of punch in Rahnstadt, and you finish that bowl, and then another, and another, and a gentleman in a brown surtout seats himself beside you--the devil always wears a brown surtout, it's part of the contract that he should do so--and talks to you pleasantly the whole evening, and when you wake next morning, you see the same gentleman standing before you, and he says to you, says he: 'Good morning, my friend, you signed a paper for me last night,' he then shows you his cloven foot, and if he's in a good humour, he lets you have a sight of his tail, and flips you playfully over the ears with it, and so you become his heritable property. That's the way with _honest_ Methodists, and with the other's it's even worse I can tell you."

So G.o.dfrey and his wife took up their abode at the parsonage, and Mina of course went to pay them a visit. It sometimes happened when G.o.dfrey came into the parlour in the dusk that he gave Mina a kiss by mistake, but it did not matter, for it was all in the family. A short time after the young couple went to their new home, Pomuchelskopp, his wife, Mally and Sally went to return the clergyman's call, and to try to get the lease of the glebe. Pomuchelskopp offered G.o.dfrey half as much as Mr.

von Rambow had given for the land, and his wife declared that it wasn't worth a penny more, for Joseph Nussler had refused to take it. G.o.dfrey bowed, and was going to have said: "Yes," when Lina started up out of her sofa corner, and said: "Wait a moment! I've got something to say to that. We must ask the advice of some one who understands the matter,"

and she called out at the door: "Uncle Brasig, please come here."--So he came in dressed in a loose linen coat, and taking his stand right in front of his old school-fellow who was wearing his blue coat and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, asked: "What's the matter?"--Lina went up to him: "Uncle Brasig," she said, "_need_ the glebe be let. I should so like to farm it myself."--"Then it shan't be let, my dear little Lina," he said, stooping and kissing her, "I will farm it myself."--"I won't have any small tenant," cried Pomuchelskopp.--"Don't be afraid, Samuel--a--don't be afraid, Mr. Samuel, I am only going to be his reverence's bailiff."--"Mr. Nussler signed a paper giving me the land...."--"No, showing what a fool you are," said Henny, thrusting her husband out of the room.

"My dear parson," said uncle Brasig as he and G.o.dfrey were walking in the garden, "you have not to thank me for having made this arrangement, it was all Lina's doing. It is a marvel to me how positive these innocent little creatures grow when once they're married. Well, perhaps it's better to trust everything to them, they always know best. Most probably you will wish to talk me out of my hatred of certain people, for you no doubt preach from the Christian standpoint of holding out your left cheek to the man who struck you on the right cheek, but I tell you that there must be hatred; where there is no hatred there can be no love, and I don't at all approve of the story of the right and left cheeks. I confess that I can hate; I hate Samuel Pomuchelskopp!--How?--What?--Why?--Wouldn't you hate him if he treated you as he treats me?"--"My dear Sir, the wickedness of the principles you have just ....." he was about to have vindicated his right to be a clergyman by giving the old bailiff as severe a lecture, as he had done on a former occasion about fishing, when fortunately Lina came up and throwing her arms round her old friend's neck, exclaimed: "Uncle Brasig, dear uncle Brasig, how are we ever to thank you for giving up your quiet life for our sake."--"Don't distress yourself, Lina. Love is as strong as hatred. Did you notice that I called Pomuchelskopp, Mr.

Samuel, although he was really christened Samivel, which is a much grander name."--"No, no," interrupted G.o.dfrey, "he must have been christened Samuel."--"No, reverend Sir, 'Samuel' is a Jewish name, and although he is really a Jew, that is, a white one, he was christened _Samivel_, and his wife's name is Canary."--"Uncle Brasig,"

laughed Lina, "what a funny way of p.r.o.nouncing it. Her name is Cornelia."--"It's quite possible, Lina, that she may call herself that now, for she may well be ashamed of the ugliness of her real name, but I know that I'm right. When the old parson at Bobzin died, and the clerk was taking the register-books for the new clergyman to look at, I saw amongst the entries: 'Mr. Samivel Pomuchelskopp to Miss Canary Klaterpott,' so you see that you see she was a Klaterpott, and a Canary too.--But that's enough of her, Lina, she has got nothing to do with us, and you and I will do everything capitally together and will have a happy union in farming matters. You must give me the small corner room overlooking the yard, and the devil himself must take part against me, if G.o.dfrey isn't able to farm his own land after a year and a day.

Good-bye, for the present. I know of two good milch-cows which I shall at once secure, then I'll get those two horses from old Prebberow, and we'd better keep George, Mr. Behrens' former servant, for he's a splendid d.i.c.kshun'ry of the management of horses and cattle. Good-bye,"

and he went away, old heathen that he was, in his clinging to his hatred.

Whoever maintains that he has a right to hate another man, must be content to be hated in his turn, and no one was so hated on that day as uncle Brasig himself.

When the Pomuchelskopps were at home again, Henny began to stroke the quiet father of the family and Mecklenburg law-giver the wrong way, and stung him with her sharp words as though with thorns and nettles. She continually taunted him in the words of her favourite proverb: "Ah, yes, Kopp," she would say, "you're as wise as the Danish horse which always came home three days before it began to rain!"--At last the much enduring man could bear it no longer, he sprang to his feet, exclaiming: "Mally, have I not always been a kind father to you?"--But Mally was too deeply ingrossed in the Rostock paper to be able to answer.--"Sally," he cried, "can I help the world being so wicked?"--But Sally st.i.tched and sewed the body of a little cupid in her worsted work so diligently that she could only sigh and look as if she were sorry her father was not like the cupid in her work that she might run her needle into him after her mother's example. Gustavus then came in clattering a slate against a board, as if he had been sent for to play an accompaniment to the family drama.

But when things get to a certain pa.s.s they become unbearable! Human nature cannot deny the argument of a stick, and our old friend was now determined to show his rebellious family that he was master in his own house; having thus a.s.serted himself he rushed out of doors and left them alone. He hastened into the garden, and up to the sundial, but he found no comfort there. He had certainly showed his own flesh and blood that he would not be bullied, but that did not make him happier, for there before his very eyes lay the glebe, the beautiful glebe. And beyond that was Pumpelhagen. Both of these were his by rights, for had he not paid three hundred pounds for the glebe, and how much more to Slus'uhr, to David and to that wretch Mr. von Rambow! He could not bear the sight, and turning round, gazed up into the blue sky, and asked himself if there was any justice on the face of the earth. At that moment Phil came to him, and pulled him by the tail of his blue coat--for in putting Henny down, he had for the time being put an end to all order in the house--and told him that Mr. von Rambow was there, and wanted to speak to him.

Mr. von Rambow? Ah, ha! He had some one now whom he could bully, he would make him pay for all the discomfort he had suffered that morning at the hands of his own family. Mr. von Rambow? Well! He was about to have gone to him, when his visitor stood before him: "Good morning, Mr.

Pomuchelskopp. I hope I see you well--I came to hear what arrangements you had made about the glebe."--Ah! The glebe! Wait, I mustn't let him guess, and Pomuchelskopp looked slyly down to the point of his nose without making any reply.--"Well," said Alick, "how is it settled?"--But Pomuchelskopp made no answer, and continued to gaze down his nose as if it were a mile long, and he had not nearly reached the end of it yet.--"What's the matter with you, neighbour? I hope it's all right."--"I hope so too," answered Muchel, stooping to pull up a weed, "at least the three hundred pounds I lent you are all right?"--"Why?"

stammered Alick in amazement, "but what has that to do with it?"--Wait, Alick. Do not be in such a hurry. Wait. He wants to plague you a little. What must be, must be.--"Mr. von Rambow," said Muchel pulling up another fine weed, and then turning to his visitor with a flushed face, "Mr. von Rambow, you got the three hundred pounds, and _I_ was to have had the glebe, but I hav'n't got it."--"Why, you were so sure of it ..." began Alick.--"Not nearly so sure as you. You got the three hundred pounds--didn't you now? You got the money I say--and I," here he tapped his left foot impatiently on the ground and muttered the next words in a low gruff tone that seemed to come from the lowest region of his stomach, "and I, have been taken in!"--"But ...."--"You needn't say 'but' to me, I've heard enough 'buts' this morning. Let us talk of bills instead," here he groped in his pocket, "Oh, Ah, I see I have another coat on, my pocket-book isn't here. I've had one of your bills for the last three weeks."--"But, Mr. Pomuchelskopp, pray--why do you speak to me about it to-day? It isn't my fault that you didn't get the lease of the glebe."--It was all of no use. He had better have been quiet. Pomuchelskopp had heard too much that day of the glebe, so he pretended not to hear Alick's last words, and said: "I am a kind-hearted man, and am always willing to do what I can for my friends. People say that I'm rich, but I am not rich enough to be able to throw away money. There's time enough for that, But, Mr. von Rambow, I must _see_, I must _see_ something. I must see to my business, and when a man signs a bill, he must see ...."--"Oh, Mr. Pomuchelskopp,"

cried Alick in great anxiety, "I forgot all about it. Indeed ..... I didn't remember."--"Oh," said Muchel. "You didn't remember? But a man ought to remember such things, and ...." he suddenly stopped himself before he had said too much, for his eye fell on Pumpelhagen--no--He must take care--He must not shake the tree before the plums were ripe.

"And," he went on, "I have to thank that fellow Brasig for my disappointment. That's all the reward I get for the kindness I showed the man when he was a lad. I lent him money to buy a watch. I gave him trousers when his own were torn, and now? Ah! I know what it is, it's all that sly rascal Hawermann's fault."

If you give the devil _one finger_, he seizes your _whole hand_, and then he leads you where he wills, and if he desires it, you must fall on your knees before him, and entreat him for mercy in your abject misery and gnawing pain. So it was with Alick. He was obliged to agree with Pomuchelskopp, for he had now to row in the same boat with him, and so he joined him in his accusations of Brasig and Hawermann. Why?

Because Pomuchelskopp held his bills and had therefore the whip hand of him. The light-hearted, gallant young officer of a few years back, was gone, and in his stead was a broken spirited man who tried by telling all the scandalous stories he had heard of the two old bailiffs to propitiate the Moloch who stood beside him in a blue coat and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons. He had betrayed his best friend. He had spoken falsely. As he thought of what he had done while he was riding home, he felt a bitter contempt of himself rising up in his heart, and he rode quickly in order to leave the house where he had behaved so basely as far behind him as possible.

He rode home, and when he came to his fields where Hawermann was at work, he saw the old bailiff standing in the full heat of the sun beside the sowing machine, getting everything in order. When he saw that, he felt as if coals of fire were burning his head. When he had gone a little further he met a man in a linen coat, and saw that it was uncle Brasig. Brasig was standing by the wall and shouting across the field: "Good day, Charles. Here I am at the old work, I'm going to buy some cows, and everything is getting into good order. We're going to farm ourselves, and Samuel Pomuchelskopp is out in his reckoning." At that moment he heard Alick's horse, and turned round to see who was there. The remorse Alick felt for what he had done made him speak more kindly than usual: "How d'ye do, Mr. Brasig. You're always on your legs?"--"Why not, Mr. von Rambow? They do me good service in spite of gout now and then, and as I've undertaken to manage farming matters for the young people at the parsonage, I am on my way to Gulzow, to get a couple of milch-cows from farmer Pagel for the parson."--"You know all about such things of course, Mr. Brasig," said Alick wishing to be civil.--"Yes, thank G.o.d, I know pretty well. We farmers have only to give a glance at a field and we can see whether it has been properly treated. Look, I was over there yesterday," pointing to the paddocks, "I went past the fence, and I saw that the mare and foal were quite starved, and no wonder. Some one steals the oats out of their manger and if you want to put a stop to that, you'll have to have a lock put on it."--Alick looked at him; was it not pure love of aggravation that made him say that? Naturally! He gave his horse a touch of the spur: "Good-bye," he said and rode away.--Brasig looked after him: "If he's too great a fool to take the hint, he needn't do it. I meant him well.

It seems to me as if the young n.o.bleman does not want G.o.d's .... nay, I oughtn't to say that. He'll come to his senses at last, but he'll have much to suffer first. Charles," he shouted across the field, "he has given me another hint to mind my own business!" Then he went away to buy the cows.

CHAPTER XVII.

Winter had come again, and the earth had to consent, with or against her will, to receive her rude visitant. It is all very well when winter comes in pleasantly with bright frosty weather, but when it brings a nasty cold rain at Christmas time, it is very disagreeable. This year, however, it came in merrily as I have often known it do, with the cracking of whips and tinkling of sledge-bells. I remember well how William of Siden-Bollentin drove up to my door in a sledge, his horses smoking in the frosty air. He sprang to the ground, rubbed his cold blue cheeks, slapped his arms once--twice--thrice, across his chest to warm himself, and said: "Good-morning, Mr. Reuter, I've come to fetch you. My master and mistress send their compliments, and you've nothing to do but to get into the sledge, for the foot-bags and cloaks are lying in a heap on the seat ready for you. To-morrow's Christmas, and little Jack told me to drive as hard as I could."--When winter comes like that my wife and I rejoice and welcome it with delight, so we gave the old groom a gla.s.s of wine, seated ourselves in the sledge, and off we went at the rate of ten miles an hour--and yet when we got to the front-door at Bollentin, Fred Peters greeted us with: "What the devil has made you so long in coming?"--His wife embraced my wife, took off her hood, and said to me; "Uncle Reuting, I have a nice little dish of cabbage and sausage ready for you."--And the two girls, Lizzie and Annie, whom I have so often carried in my arms when they were little babies, ran up to me, gave their old uncle a hearty kiss, and then threw themselves into my wife's arms. Fred and Max, who were now great school-boys, came and shook my hand in the old high-school fashion, and while they were doing so, Jack was watching his opportunity to spring out upon me. As soon as he caught me, I gave him a ride on my foot, and would have liked to have been his playfellow for the rest of the evening. Then little Ernest, the baby, was introduced to me, and we all stood round that wonder of the world, and exclaimed at his look of wisdom, and at his being able to take so much notice. Last of all came the old grand-mother. After that the amus.e.m.e.nts of the evening began.

The Christmas tree was lighted up. The Julklapp knocked, and the first thing it threw in was a poem written by my wife, the only one she ever made, and which was as follows: "Here I sit, and am so hot; and ask naught by day ....." There it ended, and it was no matter, for it was perfect as a fragment. Then Christmas day came with a solemn hush into the world, and G.o.d scattered His soft snow-flakes like down upon the face of the earth, so that no sound was to be heard without. On the next day parson Pieper and his wife, and the superintendent and his wife came, and Anna too, who is a great pet of mine, for she was once my pupil. Then came Mrs. Adam, the doctor's wife, and Mrs. Schonermark, the sheriff's wife; they brought Lucy Dolle with them, and she had rather an uncomfortable seat between the two ladies. After that another sledge drove up, out of which Dr. Dolly lifted a great round bundle, beside which he had been sitting, and handed it over to the two parlour-maids, who were standing ready to receive it. When the bundle was unrolled, and all the furs, cloaks, shawls and foot-bags which composed its outer covering had been removed, Mr. Schroder, the barrister, was disclosed to view. He was not ready even then, for he seated himself on one of the hall-chairs, and Sophie took possession of one leg, and Polly of the other, and then they pulled off his fur-boots, while I held him firmly, lest his legs should be tugged off.

Then came another sledge, and out of it sprang Rudolph Kurz--he jumped right over the reins the coachman was holding in his hand, and after him came Hilgendorf. Do you know, Hilgendorf? Hilgendorf, our Rudolph's teacher? No? Well, it is not necessary that you should. To describe him in a few words: Hilgendorf is a natural curiosity, his bones are made of ivory--"pure ivory." He is so hard that any one thumping him on the shoulder or knee has his hand badly bruised--because of his ivory bones.

Then coffee was drunk, and the barrister told stories, very good stories they were too, and he told them with fire, that is to say, his pipe was continually going out while he was talking, and he had to light it again every now and then, so that before long he had smoked a whole boxful of matches. Max was deputed to sit beside him, and see that he did not catch fire during his consumption of matches. After that there was whist with van der Heydt and Manteufel, and various other things of the sort, for that was the barrister's usual play.

During supper, whilst he was disposing of roast goose and other good things, the barrister made all kinds of beautiful poems out of the most extraordinary rhymes; for instance, "Hilgendorf," "Schorf," and "Torf,"

and when given "Peters," he made the next lines end with "Koters," and "versteht er's." When we at last separated, we all shook hands, and parted in peace and good-will, every face saying: "Till next year!"

The day after Christmas pa.s.sed very differently at Pumpelhagen. The weather was bright and beautiful there also, but the peace and good-fellowship that should have made the day a happy one, were wanting. Each member of the household was busy with his or her own private thoughts, with the exception of Fred Triddelfitz and Mary Moller, who spent the afternoon together eating ginger-bread-nuts. Fred said after a time: "I can eat no more, Polly, for I have to go on a journey to-morrow. I am to take three loads of wheat to Demmin, and if I eat more ginger-bread I may be ill. I shouldn't like that you know, especially as I want to make up the parcel of our reading-books for the library, that I may change them in Demmin, and so let us have something to read in the evening." He then rose and went out to visit his sorrel-mare, and Mary Moller felt that his heart was not entirely hers, for he divided it between her and his mare.

Hawermann was sitting alone, buried in thought. He was very grave, for he felt that his active work in the world had now come to an end, that he might fold his hands on his knees, and take his rest. He was sad when he thought of how his life at Pumpelhagen had ended, and how all his joy in the place had turned to sorrow.

Alick and Frida were sitting in another room. They were together, and yet they were alone, for they thought their own thoughts, and did not confide them to each other. They were silent; Frida calm and quiet, and Alick rather cross. Suddenly sledge-bells were heard outside, and Pomuchelskopp drove up to the door. Frida picked up her work and left the room, so Alick was obliged to receive his visitor alone.

The two gentlemen were soon busily engaged talking of farming matters, such as horse-breeding, and the price of corn. The afternoon would have pa.s.sed innocently and peacefully, if Daniel Sadenwater had not brought in the post-bag. Alick opened it, and found a letter for Hawermann. He would at once have given it to Daniel, but he saw his own crest on the envelope, and on looking more closely, he discovered that it was addressed in his cousin's hand-writing. "Is that confounded plot still going on behind my back?" he exclaimed, as he threw the letter to Daniel, almost hitting him in the face with it: "Take that to the bailiff."--Daniel went away looking rather dazed, and Pomuchelskopp asked Alick sympathisingly what had put him out.--"Isn't it enough to make any one angry to see how that idiotic cousin of mine has allowed himself to be caught in the toils laid for him by that old rascal and his daughter, and how obstinate he is in carrying on that foolish love-affair?"--"Oh," said Muchel, "I thought that was over long ago. I was told that your cousin had broken off all connection with these people as soon as he heard what every one was saying about them."--"What is it?" asked Alick.--"Oh, what is said about your bailiff and the labourer, Kegel--isn't that the man's name--and the three hundred pounds."--"Tell me, what do people say?"--"You know. I think that was why you gave the old fellow the sack."--"I don't understand. Tell me what you mean."--"Everyone knows it. It is said that Hawermann and the labourer had made a compact together. That Hawermann let the labourer escape, and that he got half of the money for doing so. That he gave him an estate-pa.s.s, which enabled him to get an engagement as ordinary seaman at Wismar."--Alick paced the room with long strides: "It isn't possible! He can't have deceived me so shamefully!"--"Ah, people even go so far as to say that he and the labourer had arranged about the theft from the very first, but I don't believe that."--"Why not? What was the old sinner talking secretly to the woman for? What made him take such a prominent part then, when he is generally so very retiring."--"If there had been anything in that,"

said Pomuchelskopp, "the mayor of Rahnstadt would surely have noticed it"--"The mayor! I have very little confidence in his judgment. They make out now that the wife of a poor weaver was the thief who stole the money from the labourer on the public road. And why? Because she tried to get change for a Danish double Louis d'or which she had found. She declared that she had found it, nothing would make her change her story, and so the wise mayor of Rahnstadt had to set her free."--"Yes,"

answered Muchel, "and the man who saw the Louis d'or was Kurz, the shopkeeper, and he is a relation of Hawermann's I think."--"I'd give another hundred pounds with pleasure," cried Alick, "if I could only get to the bottom of this villany."--"It would be difficult to manage," said Pomuchelskopp, "but, first of all I'd--when does he go?"--"Hawermann? To-morrow."--"Well, you should go over his books very carefully, you can't tell whether they're in good order or not. Be particular to add up the columns of figures yourself, and you may perhaps find something wrong, at any rate it's the best check. He must have feathered his nest pretty well, for I hear he is going to live in Rahnstadt on his savings. Certainly he has been receiving a high salary here for a number of years, but I know that he had to pay off a good many, and rather considerable debts, when he first became your father's bailiff. After that he--as I hear from attorney Slus'uhr--lent out his small savings, and perhaps some of the estate-money at usury, and has made a good thing of it."--"Oh," cried Alick, "and when I asked him once ....." but he stopped short in order not to betray himself, but he felt as if he hated Hawermann for not having helped him when he could so easily have done so, for having refused him a.s.sistance because he had not offered him a high enough percentage on the money he had wanted to borrow.

After this there was very little more conversation, for each of the gentlemen had too much to think of to care to talk, and when Pomuchelskopp at length drove home, he left young Mr. von Rambow a prey to all kinds of suspicious fancies, which made him so restless and uneasy that he could not go to sleep the whole night.

In an upper room in the Pumpelhagen farm-house Hawermann was sitting over his desk, with his account-book open before him. He was going over the last months' accounts to make sure that they were all right, and corresponded with the quant.i.ty of money he had in his safe. Since Alick had come into the estate, he had taken him the books every quarter to be examined, but the young squire sometimes said he had no time to look at them, and sometimes without looking at them, had returned them, saying, he was sure they were all right, and that it was not necessary to show them to him. Hawermann had not made use of this carelessness of his master, but had been even more particular than before, and had kept his books as he had been accustomed to do from his youth up. He had taught Triddelfitz to keep an account of the corn used, and to bring it to him every week; if ever the lad made a mistake in his report he scolded him for it far more severely than for any carelessness in other things.

While the old man was sitting at his desk Fred came in, and asked his advice about this or that concerning his journey to Demmin. When all was settled, and Fred was about to leave the room, the bailiff called him back: "Triddelfitz," he said, "I hope you have your corn-account ready."--"Yes," said Fred, "that's to say, very nearly."--"Didn't I ask you to be particular about having it ready for me to-night, and to be sure that you added it up properly?"--"All right," said Fred, leaving the room. Daniel Sadenwater came in, and brought the bailiff a letter; and as it was growing dark Hawermann took it to the window. When he saw that it was from Frank his heart beat quicker, and as he read it, his eyes shone with pride and joy, and his heart softened and thawed under the influence of the young man's affection, in the same way as the snow on the roof melts in the sunshine, and before he had finished the letter a few tears had fallen from his eyes upon the paper.

Frank wrote that he had heard that Hawermann was going to leave Pumpelhagen, that he was now free, and must consent to his sincere desire to write to Louisa at once. The enclosed letter was to be given to her, and Frank hoped that it would lead to three people being happier than before.

The bailiff's hands trembled as he put his daughter's letter into his pocket-book, and his knees knocked together as he thought of the future happiness or unhappiness of his only child being thus in his hands. He seated himself on the sofa, and considered what he ought to do. In the morning the sea sometimes rises in wild billows, at noon it is calmer, but still gloomy and uncertain looking, but in the evening the blue sky is reflected in the smooth mirror of the water, and the setting sun encloses the picture in a golden frame.

Something of this sort was going on in the old man's spirit. At first his thoughts were tumultuous and confused, then he grew calmer, and was able to think whether he should be failing in his duty to Mr. von Rambow if he consented to do as Frank wished him. But what duty did he owe to the man who had returned him evil for good, and who was even now driving him away by his conduct? None. And he raised his head proudly, feeling that his conscience could not reproach him for his actions or thoughts, and then he determined that he would not sacrifice his best and dearest for the sake of a foolish boy, that he could not make his child suffer because of unjust social prejudices. Then he pleased himself by thinking of the happy future before Frank and Louisa, and lost himself in a delicious day-dream.

While he was thus engaged the door opened, and Christian Degel rushed into the room, exclaiming: "Oh, sir, you must come at once, the Rubens-mare has been taken very ill, and we don't know what to do." The bailiff rose and hastened to the stable.

Scarcely was he gone than Fred Triddelfitz came in carrying a portmanteau, club-books, shirts, and clothes of all kinds. He laid the portmanteau on a chair by the window, and began to pack up his things that he might be able to cut a figure in Demmin, when he caught sight of Hawermann's farm-book; for the old man had forgotten in his excitement to shut his desk.--"That'll, do for me," said Fred, and seating himself in the window as it was beginning to grow dark, he set to work to enter the corn-account.

Before he had quite finished Christian rushed into the room again: "Mr.

Triddelfitz, you must go at once--this very moment--and fetch a rape-cloth from the granary, we are going to pack the mare in wet sheets." When Fred heard footsteps coming he hid the book behind him on the chair, and when Christian thrust the key of the granary into his hand, he left the book lying on the chair and went away with the groom.

He met Mary Moller coming from the cow-house just as he got to the granary door; "Mary," he cried, "will you be so kind as to put up my things for me. You'll find them with the portmanteau on the chair at the parlour window; be sure you don't forget the books."--Mary did as she was asked. It was very dark and she was in love, so she packed Hawermann's farm-book as well as the novels from the lending library.

When Hawermann came back from the stable he locked his desk without noticing that anything was missing, and next morning Fred Triddelfitz set off at c.o.c.k-crow for Demmin with his wheat and portmanteau, never thinking he had anything with him that he ought not to have had.

After the old bailiff had given the labourers their orders for the last time, he returned to his house to collect and pack his things so that he might leave that afternoon, but before he was quite ready, Daniel Sadenwater came in, and desired him to come to Mr. von Rambow.

Alick had spent a very restless night; his best thoroughbred mare in which he had placed his hopes had been taken ill; the suspicion Pomuchelskopp had aroused, troubled him; the difficulty of farming by himself overwhelmed him, and then he must pay Hawermann's wages at once, to say nothing of various small sums he had got the bailiff to pay for him to the labourers, and the total amount of which he did not know. The bailiff had given him warning, not he the bailiff, and he must try to think of some pretext to put off paying him at once what he owed him. A good reason for such conduct is difficult to find, but a subject of quarrel is always to be had, and may be made to serve as a pretext for putting off the payment of one's debts. It is a wretched means to gain such an end, but a very common one! And Alick determined to make use of it, thereby showing how much his pride as a man and a gentleman had been lowered. Nothing has so much influence on a weak man's character as being short of money, especially when he wants to keep up appearances. "Needy and b.u.mptious" is a true proverb.