An Old Story of My Farming Days Volume I Part 2

Meanwhile they had reached Pumpelhagen, and Brasig took Hawermann quite under his protection as they crossed the court-yard, and addressing the old butler, asked if his master was at home and able to see them.--He would announce the gentlemen, was the servant's reply, and say that Mr.

Farm-bailiff Brasig was there.--"Yes," said Brasig.--"You see, Charles, that he knows me, and the _Counsellor_ knows me also--and--did you notice?--announce! That's what the n.o.bility always have done when any one calls on them, My lord the Count has three servants to announce his visitors; that is to say, one servant announces to another who it is that has called, and the valet tells his lordship. Sometimes queer mistakes are made, as with the huntsman the other day. The first footman announced to the second: 'The chief huntsman,' and the second added the word 'master,' and the third announced the arrival of a 'grandmaster of the huntsmen.' So the Count came forward very cordially to receive the strange gentleman who had come to see him, and--he found no one but old Tibaul the rat-catcher."

The butler now returned and showed the two friends into a good-sized room, tastefully, but not luxuriously furnished, and in the centre of the room was a large table covered with papers and accounts. A tall thin man was standing beside the table when they entered; he was a thoughtful-looking, gentle-mannered man, and the same simplicity was observable in his dress as in the furniture of his room. He appeared to be about fifty-two or three, and his hair was of an iron grey colour; he was perhaps shortsighted, for, as he went forward to receive his visitors, he picked up an eye-gla.s.s that was lying on the table, but without using it: "Ah, Mr. Brasig," he said quietly, "what can I do for you?"--Uncle Brasig now involved himself in such a labyrinth of words in his desire to speak grandly as befitted his company, that he would never have extricated himself if the squire had not come to the rescue.

Looking more attentively at Hawermann, he said: "You want....? but," he interrupted himself, "I ought to know you.--Wait a moment. Were you not serving your apprenticeship twelve years ago on my brother's estate?"--"Yes, Sir, and my name is Hawermann."--"Of course it is. And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here?"--"I heard that you were looking out for a farm-bailiff, and as I was in want of just such a place"--"But I thought you had a farm in Pomerania?" interrupted the squire.--Now was the time for Brasig to speak if he was going to say anything of importance, so he exclaimed: "It's quite true, Mr.

Counsellor von Rambow that he had one, _had_ it, but has it no longer, and it's no use crying over spilt milk. Like many other farmers he met with inverses, and the hardness and wickedness of his landlord ruined him.--What do you think of that, Sir?"

At this moment there was a loud shout of laughter behind Brasig's back, and when he turned round to see who it was he found himself face to face with a boy of ten or twelve years old. Mr. von Rambow also smiled, but fortunately it never occurred to Brasig that their amus.e.m.e.nt could mean anything but satisfaction with a well delivered speech, so he went on seriously: "And then he came a regular cropper."--"I'm very sorry to hear it," said Mr. von Rambow. "Yes," he continued with a sigh, "these are very hard times for farmers, I only hope they'll change soon. But now to business--Alick, just run upstairs and see if breakfast is ready. It is quite true that I am looking out for a new bailiff, as I have been obliged to part with the last man, because of--well, his carelessness in keeping accounts--but," said he, as his son opened the door and announced that breakfast was ready, "you hav'n't had breakfast yet, we can finish our talk while we eat it." He went to the door, and standing there signed to his guests to precede him.--"Charles,"

whispered Brasig, "didn't I tell you? Quite like one of ourselves?" But when Hawermann quietly obeyed the squire's sign and went out first, he raised his eyebrows up to his hair, and stretched out his hand as though to pull his friend back by his coat-tails. Then sticking out one of his short legs and making a low bow, he said, "Pardon me--I couldn't think of it--The _Counsellor_ always has the _paw_."--His way of bowing was no mere form, for as he had a long body and short legs it was both deep and reverential.

Mr. von Rambow went on first to escape his guest's civilities, and Brasig brought up the rear. The whole business was talked over in all its bearings during breakfast; Hawermann got the place of bailiff with a good salary to be raised in five or six years, and only one condition was made, and that was that he should enter on his duties at once. The new bailiff promised to do so, and the following day was fixed for taking stock of everything in and about the farm, so that both he and his employer might know how matters stood before the squire had to leave Pumpelhagen. Then Brasig told the "sad life-story" of the old thorough-bred, which had come down to being odd horse about the farm, and which he "had had the honour of knowing from its birth," and told how it "had spavin, grease and a variety of other ailments, and so had been reduced to dragging a cart for its sins."--After that he and Hawermann took leave of Mr. von Rambow.

"Brasig," said Hawermann, "a great load has been taken off my heart.

Thank G.o.d, I shall soon be at work again, and that will help me to bear my sorrow.--Now for Gurlitz--Ah, if we are only as fortunate there."--"Yes, Charles, you may well say you are fortunate, for you are certainly wanting in the knowledge of life and fine tact that are necessary for any one to possess who has to deal with the n.o.bility. How _could_ you, how _could_ you go out of the room before the _Counsellor_?"--"I only did as he desired me, Brasig, and I was his guest, not his servant then. I wouldn't do so now, and believe me, he'll never ask me to do it again."--"Well, Charles, let me manage the whole business for you at the parsonage. I'll do it with the greatest _finesse_."--"Certainly Brasig, it will be very kind of you to do it for me; if it were not for my dear little girl, I should never have the courage to ask such a favour. If you will take the task off my shoulders, I shall look upon it as the act of a true friend." When they pa.s.sed Gurlitz church they heard from the singing that service was still going on, so they determined to wait in the parsonage till it was over, but on entering the sitting-room, a round active little woman of about forty years old came forward to receive them. Everything about her was round, arms and fingers, head, cheeks and lips; and her round eyes twinkled so merrily in her round smiling face that one would at once jump to the conclusion that she had never known sorrow, and her every action was so cheery and full of life that one could easily see that she had a warm heart in her breast. "How d'ye do, Mr. Brasig, sit down, sit down. My pastor is still in church, but he would scold me if I allowed you to go away.--Sit down, Sir--who are you?--I should have liked to have gone to church to-day, but only think, the clergyman's seat broke down last Sunday; lots of people go to it, you see, and one can't say 'no,' and old Prusshawer, the carpenter, who was to have mended it this week, is down with a fever."--Her words poured out smoothly like polished billiard-b.a.l.l.s rolled by a happy child over the green cloth.

Brasig now introduced Hawermann as Mrs. Nussler's brother. "And so you are her brother Charles. _Do_ sit down, my pastor will be delighted to see you.--Whenever Mrs. Nussler comes here she tells us something about you, and always in your praise--Mr. Brasig can vouch for that. Good gracious, Brasig, what have _you_ got to do with my hymn-book? Just put it down, will you. _You_ never read such things, you are nothing but an old heathen. These are hymns for the dying, and what are hymns for the dying to you? _You_ are going to live for ever. You're not a whit better than the wandering Jew!--One has to think of death sometimes, and as our seat is broken, and the old carpenter has a fever, I have been reading some meditations for the dying."--While saying this she quickly picked up her books and put them away, carefully going through the unnecessary ceremony of dusting a spotless shelf before laying them down on it.--Suddenly she went to the door leading to the kitchen, and stood there listening; then exclaiming: "I was sure I heard it. The soup's boiling over," hastened from the room.--"Well, Charles--wasn't I right? Isn't she a cheery, wholesome--natured woman?--I'll go and arrange it all for you," and he followed Mrs. Behrens to the kitchen.

Hawermann looked, round the room, and admired the cleanly, comfortable, home-like, and peaceful look of everything around him. Over the sofa was a picture of our Saviour, and encircling it, above and below, were portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Behrens' relations, some coloured, some black, some large, and some small. In the picture of our Lord, His hands were raised in blessing, so Mrs. Behrens had hung the portraits of her relatives beneath it that they might have the best of the blessing, for she always regarded herself as the "nearest." She had hung her own portrait, taken when she was a girl, and that of her husband in the least prominent place over against the window, but G.o.d's sun, which shone through the white window-curtains, and gilded the other pictures, lighted up these two first of all. There was a small book-case containing volumes of sacred and profane literature all mixed up together, but they looked very well indeed, for they were arranged more in accordance with the similarity of their bindings, than with that of their contents. Let no one imagine that Mrs. Behrens did not care for reading really good standard works, because she spoke the Provincial German of her neighbourhood. Whoever took the trouble to open one of the books, which had a mark in it, would see that she was quite able to appreciate good writing, and her cookery-book showed that she studied her own subjects as thoroughly as her husband did his, for the book was quite full of the notes and emendations she had written at the sides of the pages in the same way as Mr. Behrens made notes in his books. As for her husband's favourite dishes she "knew them," she said, "by heart, and had not to put in a mark to show where they were to be found."

And it was in this quiet home that Hawermann's little daughter was to spend her childhood, if G.o.d let him have his wish. The raised hands in the Saviour's picture would seem to bless his little girl, and the sunlight would shine upon her through these windows, and in those books she would read what great and good men had written, and by their help would gradually waken from childish dreams into the life and thoughts of womanhood.--

As he was sitting there full of alternating hopes and fears, Mrs.

Behrens came back, her eyes red with weeping: "Don't say another word, Mr. Hawermann, don't say another word. Brasig has told me all, and though Brasig is a heathen, he is a good man, and a true friend to you and yours. And my pastor thinks the same as I do, I know that, for we have always been of one mind about everything. My goodness, what hard-hearted creatures the old Nusslers are," she added, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor.--"The old woman," said Brasig, "is a perfect harpy."--"You're right, Brasig, that's just what she is. My pastor must try to touch the conscience of the two old people; I don't mean about the little girl, she will come here and live with us, or I know nothing of my pastor."--

Whilst Hawermann was expressing his deep grat.i.tude to Mrs. Behrens her husband came in sight. She always talked of him as "_her_" pastor, because he belonged to her soul and body, and "_pastor_" because of his personal and official dignity. He had nothing on his head, for those high soft caps that our good protestant clergy now wear in common with the Russian popes were not the fashion at that time, in the country at least, and instead of wide bands, resembling the white porcelain plate on which the daughter of Herodias received the head of John the Baptist from her stepfather, he wore little narrow bands, which his dear wife Regina had sewed, starched and ironed for him in all Christian humility, and these little bits of lawn she rightly held to be the true insignia of his office, and not the gown, which was fastened to his collar with a small square piece of board. "For, my dear Mrs. Nussler,"

she said, "the clerk has a gown exactly the same as that, but he dar'n't wear bands, and when I see my pastor in the pulpit with these signs of his office on, and watch them rising and falling as he speaks, I sometimes think that they look like angels' wings upon which one might go straight away up to heaven, except that the angels wear their wings behind, and my pastor's are in front."

The parson was not an angel by any means, and was the last man in the world to think himself one, but still his conduct was so upright, and his face so expressive of love and good-will, that anyone could see in a moment that he was a good man, and that his was a serious, thoughtful mode of life, and yet--when his wife had taken off his gown and bands--there was a bright sparkle in his eye that showed he did not at all disdain innocent mirth. He was a man who could give good counsel in worldly matters as well as in spiritual, and he was always ready to stretch out a helping hand to those in need of it.

He recognised Hawermann the moment he saw him, and welcomed him heartily: "How d'ye do, dear old friend, what an age it is since I saw you last. How are you getting on?--Good morning, Mr. Brasig."--Just as Brasig was about to explain the reason of his and Hawermann's visit, Mrs. Behrens, who had begun to take off her husband's clerical garments, called out: "Don't speak, Mr. Hawermann,--Brasig be quiet, leave it all to me.--I'll tell you all about it," she continued, turning to her husband, "for the story is a sad one--yes, Mr.

Hawermann, terribly sad--and so it will be better for me to speak.

Come," and she carried her pastor off to his study, saying in apology for doing so as she left the room: "I am the nearest to him, you know."

When Mr. Behrens returned to the parlour with his wife, he went straight up to Hawermann, and taking his hand, said: "Yes, dear Hawermann, yes, we'll do it. We'll do all that lies in our power with very great pleasure. We have had no experience in the management of children, but we will learn.--Won't we, Regina?" He spoke lightly, for he saw how deeply Hawermann felt his kindness, and therefore wished to set him at ease.--"Reverend Sir," he exclaimed at last, "you did much for me in the old days, but this ....."--Little Mrs. Behrens seized her duster, her unfailing recourse in great joy or sorrow, and rubbed now this, and now that article of furniture vigorously, indeed there is no saying whether she might not have dried Hawermann's tears with it, had he not turned away.--She then went to the door and called to Frederika: "Here, Rika, just run down to the weaver's wife, and ask her to send me her cradle, for," she added, addressing Brasig, "she doesn't require it."--And Brasig answered gravely: "But Mrs. Behrens, the child isn't quite a baby."--So the clergyman's wife went to the door again, and called to the servant: "Rika, Rika, not the cradle. Ask her to lend me a crib instead, and then go to the parish-clerk's daughter, and see if she can come this afternoon--Good gracious! I forgot it was Sunday!--But if thine a.s.s falls into a pit, and so on--yes, ask her if she will come and help me to stuff a couple of little matra.s.ses.--It isn't a bit heathenish of me to do this, Brasig, for it's a work of necessity, as much so as when you have to save the Count's wheat on a Sunday afternoon.--And, my dear Mr. Hawermann, the little girl must come to us this very day, for Frank," turning to her husband, "the old Nusslers will grudge the child her food, and Brasig, bread that is grudged ....." she stopped for breath, and Brasig put in: "Yes, Mrs.

Behrens, bread that is grudged maketh fat, but the devil take that kind of fatness!"--"You old heathen! How _dare_ you swear so in a Christian parsonage," cried Mrs. Behrens. "But the short and the long of it is that the child must come here to-day."--"Yes, Mrs. Behrens," said Hawermann, "I'll bring her to you this afternoon. My poor sister will be sorry; but it's better for her and her household peace that it should be so, and for my little girl ....." He then thanked the clergyman and his wife gratefully and heartily, and when he had said good-bye, and he and Brasig were out of doors, he drew a long breath of relief, and said: "Everything looked dark to me this morning, but now the sun has begun to shine again, and though I have a disagreeable bit of business before me, it is a happy day,"--"What is it that you have to do?" asked Brasig.--"I must go to Rahnstadt to see old Moses. He has held a bill of mine for seventy-five pounds for the last eighteen months. He took no part in my bankruptcy, and I want to arrange matters with him."--"Yes, Charles, you ought to make everything straight with him as soon as you can, for old Moses is by no means the worst of his kind.--Now then, let's lay out our plan of operations for to-day. We must return to Rexow at once, dine there, and after dinner young Joseph must get the carriage ready for you to take your little girl to Gurlitz; from Gurlitz you should drive on to Rahnstadt, and then in the evening come over to Warnitz and spend the night with me, and early next morning you can be at Pumpelhagen with the _Counsellor_, who expects to see you in good time."--"That will do very well," said Hawermann.

After dinner Brasig asked young Joseph, if he would allow the carriage to be got ready.--"Of course," cried Mrs. Nussler.--"Yes, of course," said young Joseph, who immediately went out and ordered it himself.--"Charles," said his sister, "my dear brother, how willingly, how _very_ willingly .... But you know why I can't. Brasig will have told you.--Oh me! to have peace in the house. Don't imagine for one moment that Joseph and I are not of one mind, that he wouldn't do as much as I; but you see he doesn't understand how to manage it, and his words don't come easily to him. I'll always keep an eye on your child as if she were my own, although that won't be necessary at the parsonage."

The carriage drove up to the door.--"Why, hang it, young Joseph,"

cried Brasig, "you've got out your state eq'ipage, the old yellow coach!"--"Yes, Sir," said Christian, who was seated on the box, "and I only hope we'll get safe home with the old thing, for it's rather shaky, and the wheels are so loose that they rattle as much as if one was riddling gravel through a sieve."--"Christian," said Brasig, "you must first of all drive through the village pond, and then through the brook at Gurlitz, and lastly, into the pig's pond at Rahnstadt, that the wheels may draw properly."--"And then I'll be a real sailor," said Christian.

When Hawermann had taken leave of his friends, and had put his little girl in the carriage, young Joseph hastily forced his way through the group standing about the door; his wife exclaimed: "What's the matter?"--"There," he said, thrusting a pound of twist into little Louisa's hand--that was the only kind of tobacco he ever smoked--but on looking closer, Hawermann saw that it was a great lump of sausage which young Joseph had wrapped in tobacco-paper, having nothing else at hand in which to put it.

Christian drove through the pond and brook as he had been desired. The child was left at Gurlitz, and there is no need to tell how she was kissed and petted and made to feel at home with the kind people who had taken charge of her.--Hawermann drove on to Rahnstadt to see Moses.

Moses was a man of upwards of fifty. He had large expressive eyes, and thick black eye-brows, but his hair was very white. His drooping eye-lids and long dark lashes gave him a look of gentleness; he was of the average height, and his figure was comfortably rounded; his left shoulder was a little higher than his right, but that was caused by his way of standing. Whenever he stood up he used to put his left hand in his coat-pocket, and catch firm hold of the top of his trousers lest they should slip down, for he only wore them braced up at the right side. When his wife begged him to wear a strap at the left side also, he said: "Why should I? When I was young and poor and had no money I had only one strap to fasten my trousers, and yet I did my work and married my Flora, and now that I am old and rich and have my Flora why should I wear a second strap?" Then he patted Flora on the shoulder gently, thrust his hand deeper into his pocket, and went back to his work.

When Hawermann entered, he jumped up from his chair, and exclaimed: "There now, it _is_ Hawermann!--Didn't I always tell you," he went on, turning to his son, "that Hawermann was a good man and an honest man?"--"Yes, Moses," said Hawermann, "I'm honest, but ...."--"Get up, David, let Mr. Hawermann sit down here beside me. Mr. Hawermann has something to say to me, and I have something to say to him.--Now, David, you told me I ought to go to law.--And what did I say?--That I wouldn't go to law, for Mr. Hawermann was an honest man. I only went to law _once_, and that was when I had done business with a candidate for the ministry. When I sent the fellow a letter asking him for my money, he wrote and told me to read a verse in the Christian hymn-book.--What was it again, David?"--"It was an _infamous_ verse," replied David:

"'Mein Gewussen beusst mich nicht, Moses kann mich nicht verklagen, Der mich frai und ledig spricht Wurd aach maine Schulden tragen.

"'Conscience doth not sting me Moses cannot touch me, He, who has set me free Bears all my debts for me.'"

"Yes," cried Moses, "that was it. And when I showed the letter in court every one laughed, and when I showed my bill, they shrugged their shoulders, and laughed again.--Aha, I said, you mean the paper is good, but the fellow is worth nothing.--They answered that I was right, that I might have him put in prison, but must pay for his keep while there--so that in gaining my cause I'd not only have to pay all the costs of the suit, but I'd also have to provide for the fellow who had swindled me as long as his term of imprisonment lasted.--If that's the way of it, I said, let him go free.--Mr. Hawermann, you will treat me better than the Prussian law-courts."--"That's all very well, Moses,"

said Hawermann, "but I can't pay you, at least not yet."--"But," said Moses, looking at him enquiringly, "you've got something left?"--"Not a farthing," answered Hawermann sadly.--"Good G.o.d! Not a farthing!"

cried Moses starting to his feet; then addressing his son: "David, what are you about? What are you staring at? What did you hear? Go and fetch the book."--Then he began to walk up and down the room impatiently.--"Moses," entreated Hawermann, "only give me time, and you shall have every penny that I owe you, both princ.i.p.al and interest."--Moses stood still and listened attentively to what he said.

"Hawermann," he cried at last, breaking into the patois of the district, for the Jews of the old time were just like the Christians, when they felt deeply they always used the dialect of the province in which they lived, "you're an honest man."--And when David returned with the book, his father said: "Why have you brought the book, David, take it away again." Then to Hawermann: "Well, well, I began with nothing, and you began with nothing. I have worked hard, you have also worked hard; I have been lucky, you have been unlucky; I understand my business, and you understand yours. What isn't to-day may be to-morrow, and to-morrow you may get a place, and if you do you will save up your wages and pay me, for you are an honest man."--"I've got a place already," said Hawermann much relieved, "and it's a good place too."--"Where?" asked Moses.--"With Mr. von Rambow of Pumpelhagen."--"I congratulate you, Hawermann. He is an excellent man. Though he finds the times hard, he's an excellent man, and though he doesn't do business with me, he's an excellent man.--Flora," he shouted, putting his head out at the door, "Mr. Hawermann is here, bring us two cups of coffee."--And when Hawermann wished to decline the coffee, he said: "You _must_ have it. When I was a lad and used to travel about the country with a pack on my back, your mother often gave me a cup of hot coffee in the cold weather, and afterwards when you were farm-bailiff I never went to you in vain. We are both men. Drink it, Mr. Hawermann, drink it up."--

And so this business was settled too, and that night when Hawermann went to bed in Brasig's house, his heart was much lighter and was full of courage, and as he lay awake thinking over the events of the past day, he could not help wondering whether his dear wife had been praying for him in her heavenly home, and whether she would be a guardian angel, ever at his side during the remainder of his life on earth.

Next morning he went up to Pumpelhagen, and when Mr. von Rambow and his little son left two days later, he had quite settled down to his new duties, and had got into the full swing of his work. There he remained for many years in peace and contentment, for in course of time he lived down his grief, and found his happiness in that of others.

CHAPTER IV.

Wheat was again growing in the field by the mill, as when Hawermann came to Pumpelhagen eleven years before. Hawermann was on his way back from church, for it was Sunday, and he had that morning listened to Mr.

Behrens' sermon and visited his little daughter. He was on foot, for the church was but a short distance from home, and the weather was as beautiful as midsummer could make it. As he went through the wheat-field his heart was full of joy at the thought of the visible blessing G.o.d had bestowed on that which had been sown in hope, and in ignorance of what the future might bring forth. He himself profited nothing by the blessing of the rich harvest, it all belonged to his master, but he had the pleasure of seeing it, and the sight made his heart overflow with joy and thankfulness. He whistled a merry air and then smiled at himself when he found what he was doing, for he very seldom felt inclined to show any outward signs of rejoicing. "Well," he said to himself, "I've gone my rounds here for eleven years now, and the worst is over. Let me go round once more, and other eyes shall see it."--He turned into the path leading through the garden, which lay on high ground to one side of a small plantation of oaks and beeches. The foot-path was well swept and weeded, for the Squire and his family were expected that afternoon. When Hawermann got to the edge of the wood, he turned round and looked back at the wheat-field, saying to himself with a smile: "Yes, it's a much heavier crop now than it was eleven years ago; but I must be just; the weather has been far better for farming this year than it was then. I wonder what the old gentleman will say to it.--There's still a good long time to pa.s.s before the harvest though, but we've got the rape as good as safe, that's one thing. I only hope and trust that it isn't sold already," and he sighed. Then thinking over the events of the past eleven years: "The old gentleman isn't a bit richer than he was when I came. Indeed, how could he, with five daughters and two sons-in-law to drain his purse, to say nothing of my lady, who seems to think that because money is round, it may be set rolling with impunity. And then the son, what a lot of money it takes to keep him in a Prussian cavalry regiment!--Yes, the times are better, far better than when I had my farm; but when a man once gets into difficulties it's hard work getting straight again, and he has grown so much older looking in the last year or two."--Hawermann was in no particular hurry to get home, as dinner was put off until Mr. von Rambow came, not that the Squire had given orders to that effect, but it was an understood thing: "Yes," he thought, as he seated himself in the shade, "he will be glad to see that the wheat is good, for it will help him on, and he is in need of money. Fortunately the times are better."

The times were really better, and for farmers the times may be likened to a long, long cord stretching over England and America and the whole earth, and uniting the different countries to each other. When this cord gets slack and entangled, things go ill with the farmers and the whole land, but when it is firm and steady again there is great rejoicing in every heart. The cord was drawn much tighter now in our little corner of the world, and young Joseph had turned his old clay-pipe, his leaden snuff-box, the blue painted cupboard, and the polished sofa out of the house, and the old yellow carriage was no longer in the coachhouse; instead of these he had now a silver-mounted meerschaum, and a "m'og'ny secletair," and a magnificent ottoman, and there was a new carriage in the coach-house, which Brasig always called a "phantom," and he wasn't far wrong, for it was like a dream to see such a carriage there. And the same cord pa.s.sing from the Count to Brasig gave the latter, after his five and twenty years service, written permission to marry as soon as he liked, and the promise, also written, of a comfortable pension for his old age. When the cord was slack it had twisted itself all round little Mrs. Behrens, in like manner as boys tie up a c.o.c.k-chafer, and when it was tightened she went to her pastor, and continually buzzed in his ear that he ought to get double the rent for his glebe lands now, to what he had done before.

And when Moses, at the end of the preceding year, added up his sum total, and wrote under the long column of figures, a little one, and a five and two large noughts: "Take away the book, David," he said, "the balance is quite right."

But this cord, however straight and tight it may be drawn, is influenced by human action, though G.o.d takes care that the slackening and tightening are done properly, so that mankind is not either destroyed or allowed to tumble aimlessly about like peas in a bag that is violently shaken, but the _individual_ has as little power over the cord as a c.o.c.k-chafer has on the thread to which it is tied when children play with it; like it, he can only buzz about within the s.p.a.ce allowed him. There is yet another cord which rules the world, and it comes down from heaven, and G.o.d himself holds the end of it; this cord was pulled a little tighter, and Zachariah Brasig had gout, and it was pulled a little tighter still, and the two old Nusslers lay upon their last bed; a little bit was broken off the end of it, an they were laid in the grave.

Zachariah Brasig was very cross when he found he had gout, and in his ignorance declared that it was the new fashion of wearing brightly polished boots, and the cold damp spring they had been having which had given him gout, whereas he ought to have set it down to good eating and to his daily little gla.s.s k.u.mmel. He was as troublesome as a gad-fly, and whenever Hawermann went to see him when the pain was bad, he used to find him studying the papers the Count had given him relating to marriage and a pension, and then he was always as cross as two sticks.

"Don't you see," he would say, "what a horrible position the Count's paper puts me in. If I marry, my lord, the Count, will say that I am too young for the pension and if I ask for the pension, I acknowledge by so doing that I am too old to marry. Oh yes, the Count's not much better than a Jesuit. He speaks me fair, and gets the better of me. He writes down all sorts of scoundrelly padagraphs on a bit of paper which prevent a man, who for the last eight-and-twenty years has worn himself out in his service, enjoying his pension without blame; a man who was engaged to three women twenty years ago, and who, now that he is fifty cannot marry even _one_ woman.--Oh, I laugh at my lord's padagraphs!"

One man's meat is another man's poison! Brasig was angry because the cord had been pulled, but in young Joseph's home it had brought about a pleasant change. In the old days, Mrs. Nussler had tried in vain to bring peace into the house, now it reigned there, and ruled the actions of the whole family. Mrs. Nussler was careful to keep it there now that it had come; and the twins showed its gentle influence in their ways and thoughts, and young Joseph also felt the change and tried to do his duty as head of the family. It is true that he spoke as little as ever, and still disliked smoking any tobacco except twist, and it is true that he had not even yet grown out of tutelage, for after his parents'

death Hawermann and Brasig had undertaken the guardianship of all out-door affairs, had arranged about the work, had seen that the farm was properly stocked, and had got everything in order. As the old people had forgotten to take away with them the money they had hidden under pillows, in old stockings, and in odd corners, it was easy to make everything go on smoothly and well, and when at last the whole place was in good order, young Joseph said: "What am I to do now?" and left everything to go its own way. But the comfort and peace in which he now lived had made him much more cheerful, and his kindness of heart, which had never been allowed free play by his parents, was patent to all, and if it sometimes made him do foolish things, it mattered no more than did the schoolmaster's appearing at a funeral in a red waistcoat, for, as he said in excuse: "What does it signify, Reverend Sir, when one's heart is black?"

And what changes had time made at the Parsonage? The cord had been very little pulled there. When Mr. Behrens felt a light touch on his arm when he was busy writing his sermon, and looked round to see what it was, it was only his little wife standing beside him, duster in hand, and while she gave his chair an extra rub, she asked him whether he would like the perch to be fried or boiled, and if he had just got in his sermon to S. Peter's draught of fishes, or to the great fish-dinner mentioned in the Gospel, so many tiresome unchristian thoughts of fried fish served with horseradish and b.u.t.ter _would_ disturb him, that he had hard work to keep his sermon and clerical dignity uninjured.--Once, a long time ago, I got a beautiful lily-root from my friend Julke, the great gardener in Erfurt. Its leaves began to show in March, and the first thing I did every morning, was to go and see how much the leaves had grown during the night, and I watched it carefully to see when the flower-bud began to form. Long before there was any sign of the flower, when only green leaves were to be seen, I used to carry it from the cold window to the warm stove, and again from the dusty stove to the bright sunny window. And as with the plant, so with human life, there is to me great delight in watching and tending it as it grows.--The parson had also received a lily-root from the great Gardener, the Lord G.o.d of Heaven, and he and his little wife had loved it, and tended it, and now the flower was there--a human flower, which grew in the warm sun-light of loving hearts, and Mrs. Behrens went to look at her the first thing in the morning, buzzed round her at mid-day, rejoiced in her healthy appet.i.te, and put another spoonful on her plate, for she said: food is necessary to life. In the evening under the lime-tree before the door, she drew the same shawl round herself and the little girl, that she might know the child was warm, and when it was time to go to bed she gave her a good-night kiss: "G.o.d bless you my darling, I'll call you to-morrow early, at five o'clock."

And the parson's first act was to go to her; he watched the tender green leaves opening, propped his lily carefully, and taught her how to grow straight and true, and when she had gone to bed, he said with the implicit faith of a little child: "Regina, our lily will soon blossom now."

So it came about without the dear old clergyman or his wife noticing it, and without the child noticing it, that she had grown to be the most important personage in the family. When she went dancing about the house in her simple frock, her little silk handkerchief round her neck, her cheeks rosy with health, and her hair hanging down her back unconfined by ribbon or comb, the whole household rejoiced in her happiness. When she sat quietly beside her foster-father learning her lessons, and looking up at him with her great eyes while he taught her something new and interesting, and then at last closed her books with a deep sigh, as though she were sorry that lessons were over for the day, and yet glad, for she had been hard at work for some time, and could not have properly understood anything more, Mrs. Behrens would leave her clippers at the door, and go about dusting the furniture in her stockings. She was afraid of disturbing the lessons: "For," she said, "teaching children is quite different from writing sermons, and if it's a deadly sin to speak to old people when they're busy, a child's mind--good gracious, the waving of a tulip-stalk would be enough to distract its attention!"

Hawermann's little daughter was always pretty, but she never looked so pretty as when running to meet her father, she took him by the hand and led him to the great lime-tree under which the good clergyman and his wife were sitting, and if Hawermann sometimes looked sad at the thought of how little he could do for his own child, there was a whole heaven of joy in her eyes because he was there, and she seemed to feel she could best repay the love and kindness her foster-parents showed her, through her love and grat.i.tude to her father. She had just entered her thirteenth year, and as yet hardly understood the feelings and impulses of her own heart. She had never asked herself why her father was dear to her. With Mr. and Mrs. Behrens it was different. She had daily signs of their affection, and daily opportunities of doing little loving services for them in return. While with him--she only knew he was her father, and that he often said things to her that must have come from his heart, and often looked at her with a quiet sadness that could not fail to go to hers. If she had made out a debtor and creditor account, the clergyman and his wife deserved more at her hands, but still----!

The Lord our G.o.d has so joined people together by the ties of nature that they cannot be divided.----

This day had been a happy one for both Hawermann and his child, and now he was sitting in the shady arbour overlooking the fields he had tilled and the neighbouring country. Spring was gone, and the summer sun was shining warmly and brightly through white fleecy clouds, a soft breeze slightly cooled the air, and the green ears of corn were waving in the sunshine as though the earth were fluttering her green silken banner in honour of her sovereign lady the sun. Her regimental music sung by thousands of birds was hushed now that the spring was gone, and only the cuckoo and corn-crake were to be heard; and instead of the songs that but a few weeks ago had sounded in every thicket, the wind came up over the fields laden with sweet odours, for the hay-harvest had begun.

How pleasant it is to see a long stretch of country lying before one, divided into stripes of green and yellow, here and there interspersed with wooded hills; to see old earth decked out in the brilliant garments which the seasons have woven for her. But still life in such a place is not without its anxieties, and people are fearful lest by any misfortune they should not reap as abundant a harvest as they ought, from their little bits of land, and even these long lines of colour, and the hills and trees, seem in their eyes poor and barren.--I am quite aware that it is not so in reality, but they think so at the time.--With us it is quite different, our fields stretch out in one kind of corn as far as the woods, the rape-fields resembling a great sea in the golden sunlight. Large meadows and paddocks are to be seen full of cattle, and immense hay-fields in which long rows of mowers are at work in their white shirt-sleeves. Everything is for the best and works for a good end, and wherever the eye falls there is peace and fruitfulness.--I know quite well that it is not the case, but one thinks so at the time.--It all depends upon the way we look at a thing.

One man sees nothing but riches and peace, while another slips away into the shade and lets the humming of the bees, and the soft fluttering of the b.u.t.terflies around him sink into his heart.--Hawermann was filled with quiet thankfulness as gazing on this scene he went over again, in thought, the events of the past eleven years. Everything had gone well with him during that time, he had paid both Brasig and Moses what he owed them, and he was on good terms with his employer. Indeed Mr. von Rambow had become almost confidential with him, for although he was not accustomed to talk over his private affairs with anyone, he had always found Hawermann so respectful, trustworthy and zealous in his service, that he had gradually got into the habit of consulting him about things that had more to do with himself individually than with the management of the estate. As yet however he had never spoken to him about his family worries, but now he was going to do so.

When Hawermann had been sitting in the arbour for a short time, he heard a couple of carriages drive up to the door. "Here they are already," he exclaimed, springing to his feet, and going towards the house to receive the squire and his family.

Mr. von Rambow, with his wife, his three daughters and his son, had come to spend six weeks or so at Pumpelhagen to enjoy a little country-air. "Well, Mr. Hawermann," he said, "I fear that we have come upon you sooner than you expected, but I got my business in Rostock finished much more quickly than I had thought possible.--How is all going on?--Is everything ready for the ladies?"--"Quite ready," said Hawermann, "but I'm afraid that you'll have to wait a little before dinner can be served."--"All the better," he answered. "The ladies will have time to dress, and you can show me the wheat-field.--Alick"