"He caught your greyhound by the collar, because I had tumbled into the ditch."

"_What had Fritz Triddelsitz to do with the business?_" asked Habermann with terrible emphasis. "And what had Louise's hat and shawl to do with it?"

"Only this Karl, that they didn't fit the Frau Pastorin at all well, because she is much too large for them."

"Zachary," said Habermann, reaching his hand over the fence, "these are merely evasions. _Will_ you not tell me,--and we such old friends,--or _dare_ you not tell me?"

"Karl--the devil take the whole rendezvous business, and the Frau Pastorin's worry besides!" cried Brasig, and grasped Habermann's hand across the fence, and shook it in the tall nettles that grew by the fence, until both were stung, and drew back. "Karl, I will tell you.

The Pastor will tell you himself--why shouldn't I? Your Fritz Triddelsitz, the cursed greyhound, loved you, doubtless because you have been like a father to him, and now his love has gone on to Louise, for love always goes on, for instance, mine for your sister and Mining."

"Brasig, speak seriously."

"Am I not speaking seriously, when I speak of your sister and Mining?"

"I know that," said Habermann, reaching after Brasig's hand again, in spite of the nettles, "but what had Franz to do with it all?"

"For all I know, he may love you too, for your fatherly kindness, and for all I know, his love may have gone on to your daughter."

"That would be a misfortune!" cried Habermann, "a great misfortune! To put that right again, is more than I can do; the Lord himself must help us!"

"I don't know about that, Karl: he has two estates----"

"Not a word, Zachary: come in, and tell me all you know."

And when Brasig had told all that he knew, and was again under way, and steering toward Rexow, Habermann stood looking after him and talking to himself: "He is a good fellow, his heart is in the right place; and, if I found it was really so, I should like it right well,--but--but----"

He did not mean Brasig this time, however, he meant Franz.

On this Sunday morning young Jochen was sitting, about breakfast time, in his usual chimney-corner, and in his arm-chair. Lining and Mining had spread the table for breakfast, and had brought in the dishes of ham, and sausage, and bread, and b.u.t.ter, and when all stood ready on the table, Frau Nussler herself came in, and set down a platter of hot scrambled eggs, saying: "There, Jochen, don't let it get cold!" and went out again, to see about some thing or other.

The eggs were still crackling in the dish,--they were really splendid--but young Jochen did not stir. Whether it was, that he had not yet smoked out his pipe, and wanted to finish it, or that he was lost in thought over two letters, which were lying in his lap, he did not stir, and his eyes remained fastened upon one particular spot. And on this spot, under the stove, close by him, lay young Bauschan, looking at his master. Young Bauschan was the latest new-comer of the whole Bauschan race, which had been brought up and weaned in the house, since old Jochen's time; when one spoke _to_ him he was called "Bauschan," but when one spoke _of_ him, he was called the "Thronfolger" (crown-prince,) not on his own account, but on Jochen's account, because, so far as anybody could recollect, this was the only joke he had ever perpetrated.

So, as I said before, these two young people, young Jochen and young Bauschan, sat and looked at each other, each thinking his own thoughts; young Jochen's suggested by his letters, and young Bauschan's by the savory smell which came to his nose. Jochen did not move, but the crown-prince stroked himself with his paw over his thoughtful face, his nose grew sharper, and the nostrils quivered, he crept out from under the stove, put on a courteous mien, and made his compliments to young Jochen with his tail. Young Jochen took no notice, and young Bauschan inferring that everything was in its usual condition, went nearer to the table, looked round sideways, more after Frau Nussler than for young Jochen, then laid his head against the table and indulged in blessed hopes, as young folks will. Hope kept him quiet for a time, but--one really needs something more substantial, for one's stomach,--the crown-prince returned to put his two paws--merely the fore paws--in a chair, and bring himself a little nearer. His nose came directly over the dish containing the red bacon, and--now, young folks--Bauschan snapped at it, exactly as we should in our youthful days, when a pair of red lips smiled up to us; and--just like us--he was frightened, in an instant, at his wickedness, and crept away, but--that I should have to say it! with the bacon in his teeth.

"Bauschan!" cried young Jochen, as impressively as the mother, who keeps guard over the red lips; but for all that, he did not move; meanwhile Bauschan--whether that as crown-prince he believed himself possessed of a species of regal right over all the red lips in his realm, or that he was so spoiled that even such a sweet, clandestine t.i.tbit made no impression upon him--looked Jochen boldly in the face, licked his chops, and hankered for more. Jochen looked him right in the eye, but did not stir, and after a little while Bauschan got up again on a chair, this time with his hind legs, and ate up a plate full of sausage. "Bauschan!" cried Jochen. "Mining, Bauschan is eating up the sausage!" but he didn't stir. The crown-prince bestirred himself, however, and when he had made way with the sausage, he addressed himself to his chief dainty, the dish of scrambled eggs. "Mother, mother!" cried young Jochen, "he is eating up the eggs!" But young Bauschan had burned his moist nose against the hot dish, he started back, upset the platter, knocked the k.u.mmel bottle over with his tail, and disordered the whole table, young Jochen never stirring the while, only calling from his corner, "Mother, mother! The confounded dog! he is eating up our eggs!"

"What are you roaring about, young Jochen, in your own house;" cried one, who just then entered the door, but it was such a singular figure, that Jochen was frightened. He let his pipe fall from his mouth, in his terror, put out both hands before him, and cried, "All good spirits praise the Lord! Herr Pastor, is it you, or, Brasig, is it you?"

Yes, it was Brasig, at least one who looked at him near enough, and had time to consider, would recognize the yellow-topped boots as belonging to an inspector's uniform, but Jochen had no time to consider, for the figure which entered the door at once perceived Bauschan's misdeeds, and ran into every corner of the room, in search of a stout stick for the crown prince's back, and behind him fluttered in the air two long, long black coattails, like the wings of a dragon, and out of the high black coat-collar, and under the high black hat, which had slipped down half over his eyes, shone a red, angry face, as if a chimney-sweep had taken a glowing coal in his mouth, to frighten the children. Young Jochen was no longer a child, to be sure, but yet he was frightened, he had started up, and held on with both hands to the arms of his chair, and exclaimed alternately, "Herr Pastor! Brasig! Brasig! Herr Pastor!"

and the crown-prince, who was still in his childhood, was terribly frightened, he also ran into all the comers, and howled, and could not get out of the room, for the door was shut, and when the black figure beat him with the yellow stick--necessity works wonders--he sprang through the window sash, and took half the gla.s.s along with him.

This made uproar enough to raise the dead, why, then, should not Frau Nussler hear it in the kitchen? and, just as she opened the door, Brasig was shoving up his hat with one hand, and pointing with the other, still holding the stick, to the broken window, while he uttered the remarkable words, "You can thank n.o.body but yourself, young Jochen!

For what does the dumb creature of a crown-prince understand? All the beautiful k.u.mmel!"

"Good heavens!" cried Frau Nussler, coming in. "What is all this, Jochen? Bless me, Brasig, how you look!"

"Mother," said young Jochen, "the dog and Brasig--what can I do about it?"

"For shame, young Jochen," cried Brasig, going up and down the room with great strides, his long coat-tails almost dipping in the k.u.mmel, "who is master of this house, you, or young Bauschan?"

"But, Brasig, why in the world are you dressed so horribly?" asked Frau Nussler.

"So?" said Brasig, looking at her with great eyes, "suppose you had gone to a rendezvous with the Frau Pastorin, last night, and tumbled into the ditch, so that your clothes were all damp and muddy, this morning? And suppose you got a letter, that you must come here to Rexow, to a family council? And what was I to do? Is it my fault that the Herr Pastor is tall as Lenerenz's child, and as thin as a shadow, and that his head is so much bigger than mine? Why did the Frau Pastorin rig me out in his uniform this morning, so that all the old peasants going to church called out to me, from a distance, 'Good morning, Herr Pastor!' but that I might come here, out of pure kindness, to your family council?"

"Brasig," said young Jochen, "I swear to you----"

"Don't swear, young Jochen! You will swear yourself into h.e.l.l. Do you call this a family council, with all the k.u.mmel running about the room, and I in the Pastor's clothes, to be made a laughing-stock of?"

"Brasig, Brasig," exclaimed Frau Nussler, who scarcely knew her old friend in his anger, and who had been picking up the broken fragments and setting the table-cloth straight, "don't mind such a trifle! Sit down, it is all right again, now."

Under Frau Nussler's friendly words, Brasig quieted down, and allowed himself to be seated at the breakfast-table, only growling to himself, "The devil knows, young Jochen, I have always lived in the hope that you would grow a little wiser with years, but, I see well, what is dyed in the wool will never wash out. Meanwhile though--what is the matter here?"

"Yes," said Frau Nussler--"Yes," said Jochen also, and his wife was silent, for she thought Jochen was really going to say something; he said nothing, however, but "It is all as true as leather." So Frau Nussler began again: "Yes, there is Rector Baldrian's Gottlieb, Jochen's sister's son, a right good fellow, and well-educated, and has studied his Articles as a Candidate--you have seen him here a great many times."

"Yes," nodded Brasig, "a right nice young fellow, a sort of Pietist, combed his hair behind his ears, and instructed me that I did wrong to go fishing Sunday morning."

"Yes, that is the one. And he has got through with his schooling, and the Rector wants us to take him here, for a while, till he studies some last things into his head, and we wanted to ask you what we should do about it."

"Why not? The Pietists are quiet people, their only peculiarity is their love of instructing; and you, Frau Nussler, are likely to give them opportunity for it, and young Jochen, too,--G.o.d be praised!--since he will not allow himself to be instructed by Bauschan and me."

"Yes, that is well enough, Brasig, but there is something else; there is Kurz's Rudolph, he has studied for the ministry, too, and he also is Jochen's nephew; he heard that the other wanted to come here, and he wrote yesterday, saying he had wasted his time dreadfully at Rostock, and he would come here to Rexow, and review what was necessary. Just think of it! there in Rostock he has all the learned professors, and here at Rexow only Jochen and me."

"Oh, I know him," cried Brasig, "he is an exceedingly fine fellow! When he was first beginning to study, he caught me half a dozen perch out of the Black Pool; the very smallest weighed a good pound and a half."

"Eh! How you remember everything! And he was the one who got Mining, when she had climbed up on the ladder to the old stork's nest, and stood there clapping her hands for joy, and we down below frightened out of our wits, and he brought her down, safe and sound. Yes, he is bright enough about such matters, but not so good at his books, and Rector Baldrian says, there at Rostock he is always getting into fights. Just think, they fought with bare swords, and he was in the midst of it all, and it was all on account of a rich merchant's pretty daughter."

"May you keep the nose on your face!" cried Brasig. "In a real, regular fight, and about a pretty merchant's daughter! Well, young Jochen, all the troubles come from the women!"

"Yes, Brasig, you may well say so; but what shall we do about it?"

"Why, where is there any difficulty? If you don't want the two young ecclesiastics, write and say so, and if you do want them to come, write and say so; you have room enough, and plenty to eat and drink, only look out for the expenses for the books, for those make fearful holes in the pocket. And if you wish to take only one, take the fighter, for I, for my part, would much rather fight with the one, than be instructed by the other."

"Yes, Brasig, that is all very well," said Frau Nussler, "but we have already written to Gottlieb Baldrian, and now we cannot refuse to take Rudolph, without affronting the Kurzes."

"No? Well, then, take both."

"Yes, Brasig, it is easy to say so; but our two little girls--they have just been confirmed--there, Jochen, you tell him!"

And Jochen really began to speak: "It is all as true as leather,--you see, Brasig. Mining is just like--you know all about it--educated just like a governess, and my old mother used to say, a governess and a candidate in the same house--that would never do."

"Ho, ho! Young Jochen! Now I understand you. You are afraid of love-affairs. But that little rogue and love-affairs!"

"Well, Brasig," said Frau Nussler, hastily, "it is not so improbable!

I, as a mother, should know that. Why, I was not so old as they are, when----" Frau Nussler stopped suddenly, for Brasig had pulled a terribly long face, and was looking very keenly in her eyes.

Fortunately, Young Jochen took up the conversation, and said; "Brasig,--mother, fill Brasig's gla.s.s,--Brasig, you can understand something about it, and now, what ought we, as parents, to do?"

"Let them alone, young Jochen! Why has the Lord put young people into the world, and what else have they to do but make love to each other?

But that little rogue!"

"You are jesting, Brasig," interrupted Frau Nussler. "You ought not to talk so about such a serious matter, for out of a smooth egg many times crawls a basilisk."