"You're not going out?" said his wife. He looked at her in astonishment. This questioning, this observation of all he did or left undone, was distasteful to him. He was about to say so to his wife, but checked himself, and explained that in prison he had worn slippers, and he felt like putting on his boots again, and going out.

The cracking of a whip was heard in the yard.

It was Peter on the saddle horse, driving the four-horse grain-wagon.

Landolin went out, and met Thoma with sunburnt face following the wagon. For a while she looked at her father in silence, as though she could find nothing to say. Her look was severe and gloomy.

"Good morning, Thoma."

"Good morning, father," she replied. A milder frame of mind seemed to gain predominance as she looked on her father's care-worn face, but she threw back her head as if to shake off the gentle feeling. Now that father and daughter met in the clear light of day, they seemed unfamiliar--yes, almost strange in appearance to each other. To Thoma her father appeared smaller in size than she remembered him; and the self-confident, defiant expression of his face had become uncertain and timorous.

On the other hand Thoma had grown stronger, prouder, more erect in her carriage; her eyebrows seemed to have sunk lower; and between them deep, narrow wrinkles had been traced. These are furrows from which a bitter harvest springs.

"Good morning, master," was the greeting of the head-servant Tobias, in a confidential tone. "You will find everything, the stock and the fields, in good condition."

Landolin only nodded. So Peter had not yet dismissed the head-servant; perhaps he will not do it.

Landolin spoke to the servant who had been taken in Fidelis' place; and asked him, condescendingly, from what district he came, and in whose service he had previously been. The servant answered respectfully, and Landolin was rea.s.sured. Peter had evidently not announced that he was now to be master, and Landolin was almost grateful for this deference, which in reality was simply what was due to him. He went through the stables, and found everything well cared for. A maid, who was singing as she filled the racks with fresh clover for the cows, did not stop her song when she saw him. He looked at her in astonishment, and asked at length, "Why do you not speak to me?"

"Because I've hired out to the Gerlach farmer, and the other two maids are going too."

"Why?"

"Peter has dismissed us; but we would have gone anyway."

Landolin went into the yard again, and while he unfastened the dog's chain and patted him, he said,

"You'll not forsake me, will you?" He pushed the dog's jaws apart, to look into his mouth. "You must be happy! they have broken out my teeth.

I can bite no more, and people are no longer afraid of me. Come; hold still, while I put a spiked collar round your neck. I must have something of the kind for myself."

He went in and sat down in his arm-chair. The dog lay on the floor beside him. Strange! The chair is not so easy as it used to be--the seat is hard, the back too straight! But, notwithstanding this, Landolin forced himself to stay quietly at home. He felt sure that somebody or other would call, if only as they were pa.s.sing. He frequently looked toward the door; but it did not open, and no one came.

Finally, when evening drew near, he went out of doors.

CHAPTER XLIII.

Only a few months ago a strong man had crossed this threshold. He was now changed, and the world was changed, particularly his own household.

During his absence he had constantly thought how merry it was at home.

And yet there was nothing merrier there than quiet, uninterrupted work; and he himself had always been a stern, morose man, before whom every one in the house, save Thoma, trembled. To be sure Thoma had always been light-hearted, and perhaps that was why he thought the whole household merry.

With downcast gaze Landolin went up the road. His present frame of mind was the most injurious a man could be in, and highly improper for a farmer. He was irritable, and, as is always the case with irritable people, he was weak and helpless, and trusted to external causes to bring him new energy and incitement.

As he raised his eyes he saw, at some distance, a woman with a red kerchief approaching him. Is that "Cushion-Kate?" Should he turn back?

He called the dog nearer to him; but it was not "Cushion-Kate;" it was a stranger.

See! There comes the "Galloping-Cooper." He was walking faster than usual, and as he hurried by he said "Good evening" carelessly, and without waiting for a response. Landolin stood still, looked back after him, and shrugged his shoulders contemptuously at the beggarly man, who once, if he wanted to borrow a log of wood for barrel staves, could not find submissive words enough. "Not another chip shall you have from me," said Landolin to himself as he walked on. He had now reached the bailiff's farm. The watch-dog rushed out at Racker; but as soon as he saw the spiked collar he fled. Racker started in pursuit of the coward; but Landolin called him back. The bailiff, who was sitting astride a block of wood, mending a scythe, must certainly have heard him, but he did not look up; and not until Landolin stood in front of him and spoke, did he stop hammering. Then, running his fingers along the edge of the scythe, to see if there were any notches left, he said:

"Back again, eh?"

"As you see. Down! Racker." The dog had been standing perfectly still beside him; and it seemed as though he visited upon the dog a fit of anger which something else had provoked. It galled him that the bailiff should speak so disrespectfully, neither offering to shake hands, nor rising; but he said with a forced smile:

"I only came to tell you, and you may announce it generally, that I shall not be a candidate for councilman for this district at the election; and that I resign my office of judge of the orphans' court."

"All right. I'll attend to it."

Landolin stared at the young bailiff. Is that the way to speak to him?

Must he put up with that? And not dare to get angry and give blow for blow? Yes, Landolin; you are no longer feared. Curb your pa.s.sions, and learn to rule yourself.

After a long pause, during which Landolin struggled against his indignation, he said abruptly:

"Good by."

"Good by," was the dry answer.

Landolin walked away, and the bailiff went on hammering his scythe. But the strokes fell faster and faster; for he thought exultingly that he had treated Landolin as he deserved, for having brought scandal and dishonor upon the whole district. Had not Landolin acted as though he could still lay claim to something? "Now, I think, he'll know what his standing is."

But Landolin only knew that the whole world was hostile to him, and begrudged him his life.

"Good evening, Mr. Ex-bailiff." Thus he was suddenly accosted.

He looked up and saw a rough-looking young man of sinewy make standing before him, and taking off his hat. Disordered, bristly hair fell over his forehead into the unquiet, black eyes, that wandered restlessly here and there.

"Who are you?"

"The ex-bailiff does not remember me? I am Engelbert, the shepherd of Gerlachseck. I have been waiting for you."

"For me?"

"You'll surely take me into service now."

"Where do you come from?"

"From down there."

The vagrant made a motion toward the plain. "I had three years. If my master had been good to me, and had not prosecuted me----"

"So you are just out of the Penitentiary?"

The man nodded, and smiled in a confidential way.

"And why should I, in particular, take you?"

"Well, just because it is so. Of course, after this, your servants will have an easy time. You'll get a new set throughout, and you'd better have me to watch the rest."

The veins swelled on Landolin's forehead, but he concealed his annoyance, laughed aloud, and called out in a commanding tone: