"Brasig, I beg of you; Kurz have the croup?" and Habermann laughed in spite of his agitation, "what are you talking about?"

"Karl, you needn't laugh at me! See, his saddle-horse has the inflorentia,--the horse-doctor said so, and he ordered that the old mare should be separated from the other horses, on account of the infection, and there was Kurz running about the sick horse in his cotton-wadded dressing-gown, feeling her here, and feeling her there, and then he ran back to the sound ones, to see if they had caught it already, and so he has infected the sound ones, for the infectious matter would get into the cotton wool of the dressing-gown,--cotton wool is the best thing in the world to carry infection,--and, you shall see, he has caught it himself, and to-morrow he will have the croup.

The glanders is catching, why shouldn't the inflorentia be?"

Habermann pa.s.sed a very restless night; but although he had not closed an eye, he was full of energy next morning; a beam of hope had fallen into the darkness, and gilded his prospects; but he could not stay in the house, the four walls oppressed him, he must have room for his restlessness, and long before Brasig went to the Rathhaus to keep his appointment with the burgomeister, Habermann was wandering along the quiet footpaths through the green spring fields. And what a lovely spring it was! It was just as if heaven were saying to earth, "Hope confidently!" and earth again to man, "Hope confidently!" and to the old inspector also, she cried, with her green springing leaves and bird-voices, "Hope confidently!"

Heaven did not keep her promise to earth, the next year was a year of want; earth did not keep her promise to man, the next year was a year of misery; would she keep her promise to the old man? He knew not, but he trusted the message. He walked on, and on, he came to Gurlitz, he went along the same pathway where he had walked with Franz, that Palm-Sunday morning, when his daughter was to be confirmed. He knew that it was on this day that love had first stirred in the young man's heart,--Franz had written him so, he often wrote to him,--and a great bitterness arose in him that the happiness, which had grown so silently and purely in two innocent hearts, should be disturbed and destroyed by the foolishness and injustice of another person, and be turned off, abruptly, into another path which led to Rexow, that he need not go through the Pumpelhagen garden.

A girl came towards him with a child on her arm, and as she came nearer she stood still, exclaiming:

"Herr Inspector! Herr Inspector! How long it is since I have seen you!"

"Good day, Fika," said Habermann, and looked at the child, "how goes it with you?"

"Ah, Herr, very badly; Krischan Dasel mixed himself up in that business against the Herr, that we might be able to get married, and the Herr has sent him away, and I should have gone too, but the gracious Frau would not permit it. Well, if you want to get down, run then!" she said to the child, who was struggling in her arms.

"I always have to take her out about this time," she added, "for the gracious Frau is busy about the housekeeping, and the little one frets after her."

Habermann looked at the child. She plucked flowers at the roadside, and coming up to him with "Da! man!" she put a marigold blossom into his hand, and through Habermann's heart shot the recollection of such a flower, which another child--his own child--had put into his hand years ago, and he lifted the child in his arms, and kissed her, and the child stroked this white hair: "Ei! ei!" and he let her down, and turned to go, saying, "Fika Degel, take her home, it will rain soon."

And as he went his way, the spring rain fell to the earth in gentle drops, and his heart shone beneath it, like the fresh grain. What had become of his hatred?

When Habermann reached Rexow, his sister sprang to meet him, as quickly as her stoutness would allow:

"Karl! G.o.d bless you! Karl! Have you come at last! And how bright you look! And so handsome! Dear brother, has anything happened? Has something good happened to you?"

"Yes, child, yes; I will tell you by and by. Where is Jochen?"

"Jochen? Dear heart, you may well ask. Where he is, no mortal knows; he comes and goes like a bird on the fence. Since the time when it was settled that Rudolph and Mining are to be married next week, on Friday,--you are coming to the wedding?--he has no rest, day nor night, and busies himself about the farming, and now that the spring seed is all planted and he has nothing in the world to do, he runs about the fields, and when he comes home, he makes us all miserable. It is just as if he would make up, in the eight days between now and the wedding, what he has neglected for five and twenty years."

"Oh, let him work! It will do him no harm."

"So I say, but Rudolph is vexed because he follows him round so."

"Well, that won't last long. Is everything quiet here?"

"Oh, yes, and if Jochen had not wanted to make that speech about the geese, we should have known nothing about the troubles, but at Gurlitz and Pumpelhagen it looks badly."

"At Pumpelhagen, too?"

"Oh, yes, yes! They say nothing about it; he doesn't speak, and she doesn't speak, but the whole region knows that it may break out, any day. He has so many debts, now the day-laborers demand their wages, and he has been letting them run up, and then they want you again for inspector."

"Oh, that last is all nonsense!"

"So I said. No, I told the gracious Frau, my brother Karl will never come to this place again."

"What?" asked Habermann, hastily, "have you been to see her?"

"Yes, indeed, Karl. Didn't Brasig tell you we were going?"

"He said you were going, but I did not know that you had been there."

"Yes, Karl, it happened this way; Triddelsitz came here with his new-fashioned pistols, and said they would greet the day-laborers with them, and I said to Jochen we must go to those people. Well, they had affronted us, to be sure, and there was no need of our going; but, Karl, the times! If one will not stretch out his hand to help a neighbor in such times as these, I would, not give much for him! Well, we rode over there, but what Jochen said to the young Herr, of course no mortal knows. 'Jochen,' said I, 'what did he say to you?' 'Nothing at all,' said he. 'What did you talk about?' I asked. 'Eh, what should we talk about?' said he. 'What did he say to you at last?' said I. 'He said adieu,' said he, 'but, mother, I shall not go there again.'"

"Well, how did she receive you?" asked Habermann.

"Eh, Karl, I believe if she had allowed herself she would have fallen upon my neck and wept. She took me into her room, and looked so friendly and natural, and when I told her that being a neighbor and a friend, I had come to see if I could be useful to her in any way, she looked at me kindly and quietly, and said, 'Tell me, how is your brother?' and when I had told her you were pretty well,--thank G.o.d!--she asked after Louise, and when I had told her good news of her, she became quite cheerful, and began to tell me about her housekeeping; but it was not as when a couple of housewives, like me, sit down together to have a little sensible talk over their housekeeping; it was a little too quick for me; but one could see very well she understood it thoroughly. Dear heart, she may have need of it yet! See, Karl, I plucked up courage, and stood up and took her hand in both mine, and said she must not repulse me,--no one should throw away dirty water until he was sure of clean; she might be in trouble,--of course she had friends, but they might not be near at hand,--and then she must come to me, for, as her neighbor, I was the nearest to her, as the Frau Pastorin says, and whatever I could do should be done. Karl, the tears stood in her eyes, and she turned away, and pressed them back, and when she turned round to me again, her face was full of friendliness and sweetness, and she took me by the hand, and said I should have my reward, and she took me into another room, and lifted her little child in her arms, and reached her towards me, and the little thing must give me a kiss. What a dear sweet girl it is!"

"Yes, yes!" said Habermann, "I have seen her this morning. But did she make no complaint?"

"Not a word, Karl. She said nothing of him, and nothing of their troubles, and when we came away, we were as wise as before, at least I was; for Jochen told me nothing, if he had really heard anything from the young Herr."

"Well, sister, it is all the same. Every body knows that the young Herr is in great pecuniary embarra.s.sment; Pomuchelskopp gave him notice for his money, and did not get it at St. Anthony's day, and has now sued him; Moses has given him notice for St. John's day, and will not get his money either, for in such times, and under such circ.u.mstances, he can raise nothing, and then his estate must be sold, and it will go very cheap, and Pomuchelskopp will buy it. In better times, and under the right sort of management, the estate would bring a good price. You will help the gracious Frau and so will I, I will gladly give up my little capital, if the young Herr will consent to a sensible management; but that would not go far. You must do something also; and I will talk seriously to Moses, and it will be a sin and a shame if we honest people cannot get the better of that old rascal, who muddied the water in the first place, that he might catch his carp the easier!"

"Yes, Karl, if he would manage sensibly, and have you for inspector again, then--"

"No, child," interposed Habermann, decidedly, "I shall never go there again. But there are plenty of skilful farmers in the country,--thank G.o.d!--and he must get such an one, and leave the management to him, we will make that a condition."

"Yes, Karl, that is all very well; but now we have the outfit for Mining,--Kurz might have done more about it, and for his only son, but he is always filling one's ears with complaints, and, Karl, it might make us trouble with Rudolph; and we must take care that we have something to live upon, in our old age, and then our money is all tied up in mortgages."

"Moses can arrange all that. You see, sister, you have promised the Frau you would help her, and I know you meant what you said; now is the time for you to help!"

"Yes, Karl, but Jochen! what will Jochen say?"

"Eh, Jochen! Jochen has done whatever you wanted for this five and twenty years, he will do so still."

"Karl, you are right; he must do so. I have always managed for his good, and would he set himself against me now? But he is always making trouble; it is very hard to control him," and Frau Nussler sprang up from her chair, and struck her fist against the table, as if that were Jochen.

"My dear child," said Habermann, "you have brought about a great deal of good, in these long years; you will bring this about too. May G.o.d help you! and now, adieu!" and he gave his sister a kiss, and departed.

What a pleasant walk he had! His restlessness of yesterday and that morning were quite gone, such a sure hope had sprung up in him, and all that he saw, the blue sky and the green earth, harmonized with his mood, harmonized with the peace which had entered his heart. And as he arrived at home, and his daughter scolded him, and the Frau Pastorin wondered why he had not come home to dinner, which they had kept waiting for him, he looked so bright and cheerful, that Brasig gazed at him in astonishment, and said to himself, "Karl must have found out some new indicium," for he had learned several new Latin phrases that morning. And he sat there, and made the most frightful faces at Habermann, until the old man finally understood them as signs that he should go out, and went with him up-stairs to his room.

"Brasig," cried Habermann, in some excitement, "do you know anything about the business? Has anything come out?"

"Karl," said Brasig, walking up and down with his long pipe, and tugging at a high shirt-collar, which sat very uncomfortably, as he did not usually wear one, "Karl, don't you see anything unusual about me?"

"Yes, Brasig," said Habermann, "your shirt-collar, and it seems to scratch you dreadfully."

"That is nothing. Higher up!"

"Eh, then I don't know."

"Karl," said Brasig, standing before him, "so as you see me here, I am appointed a.s.sessor at the criminal court, and get, by the hour's sitting, eight shillings, Prussian currency."

"Oh, leave that alone! But tell me, is there any prospect that anything can come of the matter?"

Brasig looked his friend right in the eye, shook his head a little, and said; "Karl, I dare not tell you anything, and I will not, the Herr Burgomeister has expressly forbidden me to say anything here in town, and especially to you, for the Herr Burgomeister says it will only be a useless torment for you, and we must have more indiciums, for he can do nothing without indiciums, and these confounded things can only be obtained by the greatest secrecy, says the Herr Burgomeister, and, if the whole city knows it, it would only give opportunity for all sorts of confusions among the rascals. But so much I can tell you, they have lied already, and they will keep on lying, till they fix themselves in a trap."