"Good-morning, Baron Discher. I owe you an explanation."

"I did not know it."

"I refused you as a juryman, through my attorney. I know you are a just man."

"Thank you."

"I only refused you because it would be pleasanter for you not to have to sit on a jury in such hot weather."

The Baron laughed and held the k.n.o.b of his riding-whip to his mouth; then he said, "Good-morning," gave his horse the spur, and rode on.

A presentiment of the reception he was exposing himself to came over Landolin. He wanted to turn back: there was no necessity for his presence at the festival; but he was ashamed for his family to see him so irresolute. Peter is, then, in the right in having taken the reins from his hand. He went toward the town with long strides. Gunshots echoed, multiplying themselves in the wood through which he was pa.s.sing, for the dedication of the flag was just beginning in the church.

Landolin moderated his step; indeed he sat down on the side of the road; he had already missed the chief solemnity, and could take his ease. The coach came up from the railway station. The driver asked Landolin if he would ride. Landolin was tired, and it was a good opportunity for returning; but he refused as if something drove him to the city. He laughed at himself as he recollected that in his childhood the May-meadow had been a place of execution. What can happen to him?

He is acquitted, free, and in all honor.

Now clear trumpet-notes sounded from the upper town. Landolin hastened his steps--not to miss the procession.

CHAPTER XLVII.

Up and down the valley, in all the villages of the district, there was busy life on this Sunday morning. The children on the street announced to one another that they too were going. Not a few were exceedingly proud, for soldiers' caps had been given them; and many a father was persuaded into promising his son that he would buy him one, too. The youth of the whole district seemed to have caught a martial enthusiasm.

The men of the fire-companies, in glittering helmets, gray linen coats, and red belts, a.s.sembled before the court-house. They formed in line, the signals were sounded; and they marched out, accompanied by an escort of men, women, and children. They stopped at the forest to put green twigs in their caps. The children shouted, the old people walked thoughtfully along, and the maids and matrons, in their Sunday dress, whispered to one another.

As the little mountain-rivulets flow down to the river in the valley, so to-day, the stream of humanity rose, and flowed down the roads and foot-paths, to the May-meadow near the city.

But there were few of the old peasant-costumes to be seen among the men. Military service and the railroads do away with that, and efface the many distinguishable differences between village and city. But in still another manner a new ground of equality is established. This marching side by side, and especially the election of the officers of the soldiers' a.s.sociations and fire companies, bring about an equalization or readjustment of the former cla.s.sification. To be sure the captain of the organization was the district forester, but Anton Armbruster was unanimously chosen lieutenant; and the son of the district physician, who was a merchant, and a member of the a.s.sociation, had cast his vote for Anton.

Landolin reached the valley in good season. The May-meadow on which the procession was to disband, where tables were arranged, and a green platform put up for the speakers, was kept clear by the young pupils of the Gymnasium.

The women and young girls, with their white ap.r.o.ns and gay caps, sat in rows and groups in the outer meadow near the forest, and some daring boys had climbed the linden trees, which to-day sent out a strong fragrance.

"They are coming! They are coming!" was heard among the waiting crowd; and the music of the trumpets at the head of the column was drowned by the hurrahs which arose from the people on the hollow slope of the meadow, and in the trees.

Landolin stood on the edge of the crowd, near the students, and was surrounded by a group of people who seemed not to know him.

The procession drew nearer. The band struck up one of the national hymns, and all the people joined in singing.

"Who is carrying the flag? Why, that is not the miller's Anton--where is he? I don't see him. He isn't there at all."

These words Landolin heard from the people behind him, and a feeling of terror came over him. He had intended to walk by Anton's side, and show the whole world on what friendly terms he was with the man who was so highly honored. Now Landolin felt as though his protector had forsaken him. He strained his eyes to see if Anton was not there after all, but he was not to be seen.

"See the lieutenant there. That is the son of the district judge--it was good of him to get a furlough to come to the celebration. Yes; he has inherited his good disposition from his parents; his mother in particular."

Thus the people around Landolin were talking. Then he heard a person who had just come up say:

"Do you know why Anton Armbruster did not come? He is ashamed, though he hasn't done anything to be ashamed of; but Landolin, whose acquittal was such an atrocity, was to be his father-in-law. Aha! There stands Landolin himself! That man there with the broad back, that's he."

Landolin's broad back moved. The cordon of students was broken, and he found himself in the midst of the festivities.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

High up in the mountain forest, near the log-hut where the woodcutters lived from Monday morning till Sat.u.r.day night, Anton sat this Sunday morning. About him lay axes, and wedges of iron or ash, as if resting themselves. For the men who used them had all gone down to the valley to spend the Sunday at home with their families, or perhaps at the celebration in the city. No sound was heard save the occasional twitter of the wren who was just brooding. All the other birds were mute, and the hawks circled in silence over the treetops. A drowsy odor of pitch from the felled trees and split wood rose from the ground on which the weary, tried young man had slept. A cannon thundered, and Anton awoke and felt at his side for his gun. He imagined for a moment that he was lying in the field before the enemy; but he smiled sadly as he reflected that the enemy he had to combat was no visible one, who could be mortally wounded. It was not a cannon which had awakened him, but a mortar from the city, where the flag was being dedicated. Anton drew a deep breath and his face lighted up as though he were being greeted by hundreds and hundreds of his old comrades, as though he held the many faithful hands that were stretched out toward him. But he soon looked sadly down before him. He had not only destroyed the celebration for himself, but had robbed his companions of a great part of their pleasure, by sending a messenger early in the morning to say he could not be with them. What did his companions' love profit him, when the love of the one for whom his heart beat was wanting? What did he care for a joy or an honor that Thoma did not share?

He stood up. There is yet time. He can yet hasten to join his comrades, and though late, he will be gladly welcomed. He rejected the thought, and gave himself up to painful questionings and fancies. Would he find happiness in anything again? He had humbled himself before Thoma, and she had scornfully spurned him. He had done what he could to set matters right again. Perhaps Thoma will be softened when she sees that for her sake he avoids the most enticing pleasures. She knows what he suffers, but what must she suffer!

Thoma was not in the solitude of the forest, she was solitary and forsaken in her father's house. She, too, heard the report of the mortar, and she asked herself if Anton was at the celebration, honored and happy. No, it cannot be. She mourned deeply that she had been forced to destroy and fill with sadness this day, and all the coming days of his life. She remembered in terror that she had yesterday said to Anton: "I cannot rejoice in stolen goods." Is it then so hopeless?

Had not the words escaped unguardedly from the depth of sorrow? She almost envied her mother, who could sleep all day long. She must stay awake, and harbor such bitter thoughts in her soul.

What will happen to her father at the celebration? Will he, rebuffed on all sides, allow himself to be drawn into committing a new crime? With folded hands, staring fixedly before her, Thoma sat in her bed-room, till at last her heavy heart was lightened by a flood of tears.

CHAPTER XLIX.

Thoma was not curious to learn why Peter was talking with his mother so long, nor would it have given her pleasure had she known, for he whispered:

"Mother, hereafter you mustn't let father roam around the world this way, and I'll help you keep him at home. We've helped him through, and that's enough. He must be quiet now, and not keep people gaping at him."

The mother looked at Peter sadly, as though looking at a stranger.

Peter understood the look to mean something quite different, and continued confidingly:

"We've got the upper hand now, mother; but we won't make a noise about it. Before, you weren't accounted anybody; neither was I. 'Twas always the farmer and Thoma; we two were never spoken of. Now help me. You can do it smoothly as a wife can, and I'll be quiet about it too. Not a soul shall notice that I control the farm. But, on the other hand, you must see to it that he doesn't roam around any more. Of course he's told you that he lost a great deal of money in stocks. However, that's past and over with. We won't say a word of reproach to him about it, but I'll guarantee that he shan't squander any more."

"Is our whole house bewitched?" said the mother, speaking her thoughts aloud--"Is our house no longer a home? Where shall I go?"

"Mother, you mustn't talk so, nor look at it that way. I am here, and you shall see what I'll do. Good fortune has followed us for your sake.

Wherever I've been, people say, 'Yes certainly, Landolin must be helped out of his trouble, for Johanna's sake.'"

"Not for my sake," exclaimed his mother. "Your father is innocent, and he proved himself so; nothing is due to me."

"Of course not, and everything is all right. And besides, now let me tell you something. That Tobias is an unfaithful rascal. I shall only keep him through harvest; then I'll send him away. He may claim that it was he who lied father out of the sc.r.a.pe, but that won't help him; on the contrary he must learn that we don't fear him. Father was acquitted at the trial, and no appeal can be taken from that. I asked the lawyer."

After an astonished silence his mother asked,

"What did you say? Your father is no longer master?"

"Yes, mother; don't you think I've managed it cleverly? Not even you have noticed it. He thought, too, that I ought to keep Tobias; but I know better."