An Old Story of My Farming Days Volume Ii Part 7

She sprang up and rushed out of the room, but had to stop a moment with her hand pressed to her side to still the beating of her heart, which was torn by the conflicting emotions of hope and fear. Would G.o.dfrey bring her good news or had he failed in his attempt? She ran out into the porch. "Don't come near me!" cried G.o.dfrey, but his warning came too late, for Lina, although she was the eldest of the family, was still very thoughtless, and she had thrown herself into his arms as soon as she saw him. But suddenly she felt her hands and arms quite damp and cold, it almost felt as if she were embracing a frog, and letting him go, she exclaimed: "Good gracious! what's the matter?"--"The carriage was upset," said G.o.dfrey; "the carriage was upset by the Providence of G.o.d; I mean that Christian upset the carriage, and G.o.d has providentially s.h.i.+elded us from all harm."--"What objects you look, to be sure!" said Brasig, who just then came into the porch with a candle in his hand, and saw Joseph behind G.o.dfrey.--"Yes, Brasig," said Joseph, "it's just as it is. We've had an accident."--"How did you manage it," asked Brasig. "I don't see how any reasonable mortal can get himself upset on his own roads; a man of your age too! You must have gone to sleep, Joseph."--"Merciful Heaven!"

cried Mrs. Nussler, "what a sight you've made of yourself, Joseph!" and she turned him round before the candle, as if he were a roast she was turning on a spit--"Mercy! Joseph, look at your nose!"--"His Reverence is in a nice mess too," said Brasig, examining G.o.dfrey from head to foot. "Hollo," he cried, "just look at Lina! Why, Lina, were you in the upset too? Mrs. Nussler, do you see that she has got half the road from here to Gurlitz sticking to her clothes."

Lina blushed deeply, and Mina at once began to rub her down, while Mrs. Nussler did the same kind office to her husband: "My goodness, Joseph, what a state you're in, to be sure. And your beautiful new cloak!"--Joseph had bought the cloak twenty years before, when he was engaged to be married.--"This'ill never do," he said, "I must change my clothes, and then to-morrow they can all be put in the oven, and thoroughly dried."--They all agreed that it was the only thing to be done, and soon afterwards uncle and nephew were able to join the rest of the family in the parlour. Mrs. Nussler now caught sight of her Joseph's nose in the bright light, and exclaimed: "Joseph, look at your nose!"--"You said so before," said Joseph.--"Well," said Brasig, "I should be telling a downright lie if I were to say that I had ever thought your nose a particularly handsome one; but keep this nose! and what a nose it is!"--"For shame, Brasig. Why do you wish him to keep this nose. Preserve us all! it's growing thicker every moment! What's to be done?"--"Mrs. Nussler," said Brasig, "he must go to the water-cure."--"What!" cried Mrs. Nussler, "my Joseph go to a water-cure because he has given his nose a little bit of a knock."--"Please, understand me," said Brasig, "I don't mean him to try the water-cure on his whole body, on his legs and arms; no, I only mean him to put a cold plaget on his nose. Or, Joseph, what do you say to bleeding your nose a little. It would cool it down nicely if you did."--Joseph could not agree to the last proposal, so they determined to try the effect of cold water. At last he settled down in his chair with stately composure, a wet linen rag on his nose, and his pipe in his mouth.

"But now," said Brasig, "none of us have heard what arrangements you made with Samuel Pomuchelskopp."--"Yes," said Lina, "what did you do G.o.dfrey?"--G.o.dfrey then described their interview with the squire of Gurlitz, and when he had done, Joseph said: "It's all right. I signed a paper."--"And what paper did you sign?" asked Brasig angrily.--"A promise not to take a lease of the glebe."--"That was a very foolish thing to do. Oh the Jesuit! He wants the land himself. Nightingale, I hear you, you want to get it all your own way! That's your aim and object! But--but"--here Brasig sprang to his feet and began to pace the room with long strides--"I'll catch you in your own net. Don't count your chickens before they're hatched! Samuel Pomuchelskopp, we've not done with each other yet. What did the celebrated poet say of David and Goliath? I look upon myself as David, and upon him as Goliath. 'He took the sling in his hand and struck him on the forehead, and so did for him.' And how beautifully the celebrated poet ends the story by saying: 'Thus it is with all boasters, when they think they stand, they are sure to have a fall.'--And so it shall be with you, Samuel. I've been in a pa.s.sion, Mrs. Nussler, so I can't eat any supper, and will say 'good-night' now as I've a good many things to think about."--He took his candle and went to his room, and the others followed his example soon after supper was finished. Lina lay awake for a long time in anxious thought, listening to the wind in the trees by her window, and to uncle Brasig walking about in his room, which was below hers.

CHAPTER XIV.

The year 1845 had come, and the earth had completed another of its old crooked courses. Day and night, joy and sorrow had changed places again and again, just as they used to do in the old time, just as they have done since the Lord G.o.d created day and night, placed man in the Garden of Eden, and then drove him out again. How many days and nights, and how much joy and sorrow have come into the world since then! The day s.h.i.+nes for every man, and the night closes over every man; there is no respect of persons. But is it the same with joy and sorrow? Are they meted out to every one with equal justice? I think so. G.o.d stretches His hand over each individual, and happiness and grief, consolation and care are equally spread over the world, and each has his share in them; but man does not see clearly, he often changes what is meant for his happiness into sorrow, and thrusts the cup of consolation away from him as if it contained gall, and then laughs away his care.

The men and women whose history I am relating in this book were no better than the rest of their kind, and acted in the same way as their neighbours would have done. Two things that G.o.d has sent into the world especially form our joy and sorrow; in the first there is no gall mixed, and our feelings about the other cannot be laughed away; these are Birth and Death, the Beginning and the End. And in the little world of which I am writing there was also Beginning and End, Birth and Death. A beautiful young wife was sitting in the manor-house at Pumpelhagen with to little daughter on her knee, and the child had reopened the doors of the mother's heart, so that she was able to feel the suns.h.i.+ne of G.o.d's goodness. The dark shadowy figures which had surrounded Frida ha vanished in the clear light of day, and she was happy, very happy.--Close by Gurlitz parsonage was a grave often visited by two women clothed in deep mourning, who, when spring came on, planted flowers upon it, and who later in the season, when the old lime-tree came into leaf, sat side by side on the bench beneath it, as in the old days when Mrs. Behrens and her little Louisa had been wrapped in the folds of the same shawl. But now it was Louisa who sheltered her foster-mother, and wrapped her own shawl round her. Thus the two women sat silently blessing the memory of him who was gone from them; they were often joined by Hawermann, and then the three mourners would sit together till the shades of evening fell; none of them thrust aside the cup of consolation which had been given them, and so when they separated they felt comforted and refreshed.

The first violence of grief was over at the parsonage, but its traces were still to be seen in the look of chastened sorrow, the Angel of Death had imprinted on the faces of those who remained, after he had taken their husband and father from them. The Angel had kissed Louisa's forehead as he went and had left her graver, higher thoughts than she had ever had before; he had clasped little Mrs. Behrens in his arms, and after that embrace her old lively impetuosity had died away leaving in its place a calm gentle determination to dedicate her future life to the carrying out of her pastor's wishes. She only lived in her memory of him, everything must remain as he had been used to see it. His arm-chair was placed before his study-table on which his last sermon was lying with the pen beside it, and his old Bible was kept open at the place where his hand had ruffled the leaves when he was dying. The first thing she did every morning was to go to his study with her duster and put everything in good order for the day, and when this was done she would often look round at the door as though she expected him to come in and say: "Thank you, dear Regina," as in the old time. At dinner Louisa always prepared for three people, and the pastor's chair was kept in its old place because her foster-mother liked it to be so, and it seemed to her as if he must needs come in as usual with some cheerful greeting. She took care not to indulge in the luxury of woe, but always tried to make the meal pa.s.s as pleasantly as it used to do, and never despised any consoling thought that came to her. This state of things could not go on for ever. Some new clergyman must have the living sooner or later, and then Mrs. Behrens would be obliged to leave the house and even the village, for there was no house for her to go to. She must go away from her husband's grave, for Pomuchelskopp, who alone had power to let her stay, had determined that she should go. She watched the fruit-trees her husband had planted blossom for the last time. She sat under the flowering palm-willow where she had so often sat by his side for the last time. She had seen the spring come and wind his leafy garlands round her old home for the last time. Now summer was showering his golden glory over the world. She said to Louisa one day with a sad smile: "When the swallows take their flight in autumn, Louisa, we shall have to go too." As she spoke she felt the full bitterness of death had come to her.

Hawermann was her most untiring friend and she allowed herself to be guided by him in all things. With the best will in the world to spare her, he could not save her from having to leave the parish; but at least he could make the parting as easy as possible for her. Kurz the shopkeeper had a house adjoining the one in which he himself lived, which he wanted to let with its back garden, and this house Hawermann arranged as much as he could in the style of the parsonage. He took Louisa into his confidence and got her to measure the size of the parsonage rooms, after which, Schulz the cabinet maker was ordered to furnish the rooms in the new house according to Louisa's measurements and description; but he utterly refused to do so, "for," he said, "I can't do it. Women always measure by their belts or ap.r.o.n strings and I can't do anything from that sort of measurement. All the same, plans are plans, and I don't like drawn plans; I get on much better when I carry my plans in my head."--Kurz was of opinion that the more the new house differed from the old one, the better it would be, but Hawermann was not to be dissuaded, and Schulz seeing how determined he was, said: "If you will have it so, I'll go out to the parsonage and make all the measurements myself."--So one morning early while Mrs. Behrens was asleep, Schulz appeared and made all the necessary measurements. When he was doing so he might have been heard muttering: "Seven--seven--five and twenty--five and twenty--Kurz--Hawermann--Kurz--Hawermann--bother--a mistake here would have put it all wrong--too great a s.p.a.ce--a beam across--Ah, yes--all right--yes, yes, done, done!" After that was done he went out, and getting into his tax-cart drove his lazy brown pony home, and as he jogged along the road he matured his plan. The furnis.h.i.+ng was now begun, and Hawermann was very well pleased with the result of Schulz's plan upon the whole, although he would have liked a few little things to have been different, however the cabinetmaker was so pleased with the look of the house that he would change nothing, and Hawermann was obliged to be satisfied with things as they were. Kurz helped as much as he could, by giving a ready consent to all their wishes.

As I said before, there was great joy at Pumpelhagen. Frida's clear eyes were turned lovingly on her little daughter, and motherly love had woven an invisible veil with which to cover their clear-sightedness, and hide the impending gloom from her for the time being. It had never been the case before in her active life, but now she indulged in one dream after another of the future happiness of her husband and child, especially when she held the baby out for its father to look at.

Alick's heart was also full of joy. He came out and in continually to look at his wife and child, but still there was one drop of bitterness in his cup: he had hoped for a son to carry on his old and n.o.ble race, and he was disappointed. It is a sad thing for an innocent little girl to come into the world when she is not wanted, and to have to suffer because of the disappointed hopes of other people. Alick would have been angry if any one had said that to him, for he had really rejoiced in spite of his disappointment. He had at once announced the "good news" to all his acquaintances, not excepting the horse-dealers he employed, and Pomuchelskopp; he had only forgotten to announce the event to three people: to his cousin Frank--"the young fool"--to Mrs.

Behrens--"the match-maker"--and to Mrs. Nussler--"the under-bred old woman." When he laid the envelopes containing the announcements on his wife's bed and she expressed her surprise that he had omitted these three people, he answered coldly, that he did not care to have anything to do with such persons, and that if she wished to send them announcements she must do it herself. She did so.

A few days later Louisa called to congratulate Mrs. von Rambow in Mrs.

Behrens' name. While she was there, Alick came into the room, but as soon as he saw her, he bowed and went away again, saying: "Ah, Miss Hawermann. Pray excuse me."--A couple of days after that Mrs. Nussler drove up to the door in the "phantom," and Alick seeing her arrival went off into the fields. When he came back he heard from Daniel that Mrs. Nussler was still with Mrs. von Rambow, and exclaimed angrily: "I can't understand what pleasure my wife can find in the society of such uneducated people!" This was a very uncalled for remark on Alick's part; for only a few weeks earlier he had spent an evening in the society of some horse-breeders of the same quality as his friend, Mr.

von Brulow, who was p.r.o.nounced by some of the people present to be a man of vast knowledge. A young doctor, who happened to be one of the party, had then remarked that he did not think the knowledge Mr. von Brulow had displayed was so very great after all, upon which Alick had risen and glancing over his shoulder at the overbold young man, had said, that any one who had met with Mr. von Brulow's success in rearing foals and keeping up a good stock of thoroughbreds must a.s.suredly be looked upon as a man of vast knowledge and experience. And now forsooth he regarded good Mrs. Nussler as an ignorant old woman, although she was giving his wife the benefit of her experience, together with sensible and practical advice as to the best way of rearing his little child. Pomuchelskopp came in his turn, dressed in his blue coat and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, seated in his carriage with the coat-of-arms on the panels and drawn by four horses. That pleased Alick better. His ways were so much more high-bred! The young squire received Pomuchelskopp heartily, and made him stay to supper; after which he showed his visitor his thoroughbred mare and foal, with both of which Pomuchelskopp seemed to be much pleased. At last laying his hand on the young man's arm, Pomuchelskopp said: "This is very good, Mr. von Rambow, very good indeed for a beginning; but if you really intend to make money by horse-breeding you must set up a paddock, for as you know fresh air is a necessity when you want to bring up young creatures of any kind. Freedom, freedom, Mr. von Rambow. That's one of the most indispensable requisites to ensure success. And you could manage it so easily here. You might make the land behind the park into four paddocks, one for each of your four mares. Look, I mean the land over there stretching up to the top of the hill; you'd only have to sow it with gra.s.s and clover seed instead of with corn, and then you see how conveniently the brook flows through the field. You couldn't have a better place. Naturally," he went on after a pause during which Alick had been thinking silently, "your bailiff wouldn't approve of that plan."--"My bailiff has to obey orders," said Alick hastily.--"Of course," answered Pomuchelskopp soothingly, "and besides that he doesn't understand horses."--"The s.p.a.ce you propose wouldn't be large enough for corn if I left out the best bit of ground," said Alick.--"Ah," replied Pomuchelskopp, glancing over his shoulder, "but you'll have to alter the fences at any rate, for you have always had the glebe hitherto, and now you're going to give it up. Taking in a little more or less can make no difference."--"True," said Alick shortly, for the promise he had given in his time of need was weighing heavily upon him, and he had as great a dislike as any other man to give up an advantageous possession in which he had taken pride. But Pomuchelskopp was so true and honest in his desire for his welfare, and gave him such good advice, that--as he thought--he could not want for much when he had such a friend at his side; and when they parted, Alick shook his neighbour heartily by the hand and then retired to his room, his head full of the new paddocks.

Hawermann came across the yard, and Alick seeing him, put his head out at the window, and called: "Mr. Hawermann." When the old man had come up to the window, he said: "How far have you got on with sowing the barley behind the park?"--"I think that we shall be finished by the day after to-morrow; we're going to begin the bit beyond the brook to-morrow."--"Good. It goes to the top of the hill--I will tell you the particulars afterwards--be sure you sow Timothy, rye-gra.s.s and white clover with the barley. Send Triddelfitz to Rahnstadt to-morrow for the seed; he had better get it from David."--"But no one ever lays down gra.s.s immediately after barley."--"Did you not hear me _tell_ you to sow gra.s.s in that field? I intend to make paddocks there for the mares and foals."--"Paddocks? Paddocks?" questioned the old man, as if he could not believe what he had heard.--"Yes, paddocks," said Alick, preparing to shut the window.--"Mr. von Rambow," entreated Hawermann, laying his hand on the window sill, "that bit of ground is the best in the whole field, and if you separate it from the rest the field will be too small. That was the reason the late squire took a lease of Gurlitz glebe." The bailiff said exactly what Alick had himself said a short time before, and Alick knew that he was right; but what master likes to confess that a dependent is right!--"I don't intend to renew my lease of the glebe," said the squire.--The old man's hands sank to his side: "Give up the glebe," he murmured. "Sir, that land has brought us .... I have it all written down and ...."--"I don't care. I'll tell you, I don't intend to keep it."--"Mr. von Rambow, it is impossible ....."--"Didn't you hear me say that _I don't intend to take a new lease of the glebe_."--"Oh, Sir, let me entreat you to consider ....."--"What do you mean?" cried Alick, slamming down the window and muttering as he turned away: "A troublesome old fool! A self-important old humbug!" He then threw himself into a chair and thought about the paddocks he was going to set up; but the brilliant pictures of success his imagination had painted but a short time before, would not return at his call, and at last he put aside the thought for the moment with a vague sense of ill-usage.

And the old man? He went back to the field feeling pained and sad at heart. He found it very difficult, in spite of all his love and grat.i.tude for the kindness of the old squire, to bear the unkindness of his benefactor's only son. And what was the use of it all? What good did his remaining at Pumpelhagen do? How could he help the young squire? In nothing. Step by step, Mr. von Rambow was approaching the edge of the precipice, and when he put out his hand to save him, he was thrust back; and though his heart was full of love and good-will to his young master and his whole house, he was treated like an unfaithful servant, who cared for nothing but his wages.--"Triddelfitz," he said when he got to the barley field, "the squire wants this part of the field near the brook and up to the top of the hill sowed down with gra.s.s. He will explain what he wishes to be done more particularly when he comes out. You'd better sow the barley rather thinner here."--"What's he going to do with it?" asked Fred.--"He'll tell you himself if he thinks fit. There he is coming out of the garden," added the bailiff as he turned to go away.

"Triddelfitz," said Mr. von Rambow when he came up, "I want to have this piece of ground up to the top of the hill sowed with gra.s.s, and so you must get the seed for it from David to-morrow. I intend to turn this part of the field into paddocks."--"Capital!" cried Fred. "I wondered whether we shouldn't have to set up something of the kind before long."--"Yes, it's quite necessary."--"Of course it is. Quite necessary," said Fred in a tone of the utmost conviction. Let no one think that he was merely swimming with the stream; he meant every word that he said thoroughly, and if he had had the slightest notion of the expense and misery these paddocks were to cause, he would never have said a word in their favour, but--as I said before--he was honestly of the same opinion as his master in all matters of this description.--"Have you a measuring pole here?" asked Alick.--"A measuring pole? No," said Fred with a slightly contemptuous and at the same time modest and conscious laugh. "I have invented a new instrument for measuring. If you'll allow me, I'll get it and show it to you," and then he hastened to the nearest ditch, out of which he pulled an enormous wooden hoop that originally had been round a barrel. A piece of rope was woven and twisted about the hoop, and into the centre of this rope, he thrust the end of his walking stick, as if through the nave of a wheel, thus making the hoop roll round. "The circ.u.mference of the hoop is exactly the same as the length of one of those measuring poles," he explained, "and whenever the hoop has turned completely round this hammer strikes that board, so you see we have only to count the number of times it goes round to be able to measure the land exactly."--"Let me see! Let me see!" cried Alick with all his old love of invention awake within him. "Was it entirely your own thought?"--"Yes, it's quite my own invention," replied Fred; but he ought to have said that he owed the discovery to his own laziness, for he did not like making his long body stoop.--"Well, measure that bit of land for me," said Alick. And then he went home, and as he went he said to himself: Triddelfitz will make me a capital farm-bailiff. He's wide-awake, and it's much easier to work with him than with Hawermann.

After a short time the old bailiff came back, and said angrily to Fred: "What are you about, Triddelfitz? You're sowing the barley much too thick."--"I don't see how that can be the case," said Fred, "I held the machine as you told me, and I measured the land myself."--"Impossible!"

cried Hawermann. "My eyes can't deceive me so completely. Where's the measuring pole?"--"I hav'n't a measuring pole," said Fred, "and I don't require one," he added defiantly, for the squire's recognition of this discovery was too pleasant to be forgotten. "I measure everything with my instrument," he said, pointing to his invention which was lying at his feet--"What?" cried Hawermann, "What on earth is that?"--"An invention of mine," answered Fred, with as much pride as if he had invented the first steam engine.--"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Hawermann. "Take your hoop and measure me off ten poles length along there."--Fred lifted up his invention, and set it rolling; Hawermann walked by his side pacing the ground: "How much is that?" he asked.--"Ten poles," answered Fred.--"I only make it nine, and two feet," said the bailiff.--"That's impossible," answered Fred, "you must have miscounted, for my hoop goes quite right."--"Five of my steps make a Mecklenburg pole," said the bailiff, "but you see that you're mismanaging the whole piece of ground because you're too stupid to set to work properly. How could you expect a machine like that to answer on a hill-side, when it would require very smooth and even ground before it could possibly do at all? It's nothing but laziness--laziness! Go and get a proper measuring pole at once!" Then opening his pocket-knife he cut Fred's invention into small pieces, and after that he re-arranged the sowing-machine.

Fred stood still gazing blankly at his invention which was being chopped to bits before his eyes. It is a dreadful blow to anyone who thinks he has made a discovery that will benefit the world, when he suddenly finds that he has failed to realize his idea. Fred had meant so well--to himself first of all--and then to his colleagues, and to all land-measurers throughout the province of Mecklenburg; he had wanted to save them the trouble of stooping, and now his invention was lying at his feet an utter wreck. "I'll get the measuring pole," he said to himself, "it's no good trying now. I'd rather a thousand times work with the squire than with old Hawermann." During his walk home to get the pole, he felt very bitter against the bailiff, and quite forgot that he had ever wished to give him the best rooms in his house, and to keep a pair of carriage horses and a hack for his use. On his arrival at the farm he had a few minutes talk with Mary Moller, with whom he was on as friendly terms as ever. She told him of the squire's interview with Hawermann at the window, and he was much comforted when he heard of it. As he went back to the field with the measuring pole over his shoulder, and a nice little bit of sausage in his hand, he said to himself: "Poor old fellow, I'm not a bit angry with him now.

He's old, and can't take in new ideas."

CHAPTER XV.

So the seed-time pa.s.sed away, and summer came in its turn. Mrs. von Rambow no longer went about the farm as much as before, and the old bailiff had to do without the comfort of her kindly smile and friendly words of greeting, which used to give him encouragement to persevere.

She had other and pleasanter occupations now, which fully engrossed her attention. She was so much taken up with hopes, wishes, and plans for the little child she rocked in her arms, that she rather neglected outside duties. Alick had also changed a good deal since the birth of the baby. He took a vaguely gloomy view of his responsibility as the father of a family, and instead of going about his estate as formerly, and seeing how matters were going on, in the same manner as a field-marshal looks after what is under his charge, he now inspected each farming-detail as carefully as a corporal does those regimental matters which lie in his department. He put his finger into every pie, not excepting the feeding-troughs in the cattle-sheds. He might always have done that if he had liked, and it is delightful to see a squire interesting himself in such things, but he had better not have meddled with the existing regulations, for he did not understand how to improve them. He would give foolishly ignorant orders, alter all the arrangements the bailiff had made, and then when he had got everything at sixes and sevens, he would go home and say grumblingly: "That old man is of no use whatever. He's far too old. I can't stand it much longer."--Christian Segel said one day to Derrick Snasel: "What's to be done now, I wonder; the squire tells me to do one thing, and the bailiff tells me to do another."--"Well, lad," said Derrick, "if the squire says ...."--"But it's such a stupid thing to do."--"You needn't be in too great a hurry, and if the squire desires you to do it, it can't be helped."

Harvest had begun, and the grain was falling under the mower's scythes.

The rye was all cut, and the sheaves had been standing in the fields for three days.--"Mr. Hawermann," cried Alick out at the window, and as soon as the bailiff had come up he went on: "I want you to lead in the rye to-morrow."--"It's too soon, Sir. The weather has been so damp and heavy both yesterday and to-day, that the corn hasn't dried properly; besides that it's still quite soft, and some of the ears are rather green yet."--"It'll do all right. Where shall you begin to lead in?"--"If we are to do it, we should begin below the village, and have two sets of carts going, one to take the rye to the great barn, and the other to the barn where we usually store the barley."--"What?

Below the village? Two sets of carts? Why?"--"Because the nearer the village we begin the more we shall be able to save in the day, and it looks rather like rain. The reason I proposed having two sets of carts was to prevent the people and the waggons getting into each other's way."--"H'm!" said Alick, "I shall take what you have said into consideration," and then he shut the window. After due consideration he made up his mind that he would get in the rye alone, with Fred Triddelfitz's help. Hawermann should have nothing whatever to do with it, and in order to show him that he was of no use, the rye should be taken from the field to the barn with _one_ set of carts. Alick did not quite understand what one set or two sets of carts meant, but that was of no consequence, as of course it was only one of the old bailiff's antiquated notions with which he would have nothing to do.

At five o'clock next morning he was up and about. Finding the bailiff in the yard, he went up to him, and said with a friendly smile: "I've been thinking it over, Mr. Hawermann, and--don't be angry with me--would so much like to manage this all by myself with young Triddelfitz to help me"--The old man stood before him in speechless amazement. At last he said slowly and sadly: "And I am only to look on then, Sir. You'd rather have the a.s.sistance of a foolish young apprentice than have mine." Then grasping his walking-stick more firmly, he gazed at Mr. von Rambow with sparkling eyes that looked quite youthful in the old face. He continued: "You were a little boy, Sir, when I entered your good father's service, and devoted myself to him. He thanked me on his death-bed, thanked me. But you--you have made my life hard to me, and now you want to insult me."--He walked away, and Alick followed him, saying: "Indeed, Mr. Hawermann, I never meant to do that, I a.s.sure you. I only wished to try ....."--But he had meant it so; he knew very well that he had meant it so; he wanted to rid himself of the old man, for he knew too much of his affairs, and often made him feel ashamed.

The bailiff went to his room, shut his door, and sat down to think, but it was long before he could make up his mind to any course of action.

Meanwhile there was much shouting and talking going on in the yard.

"Triddelfitz."--"Mr. von Rambow."--"Where are you going, Joseph?"--"I don't know, I've had no orders."--"What are you going to do with that harrow, Fred Pasel?"--"How can I tell, I'm going to harrow the ploughed land."--"What a fool you are," cried Fred Triddelfitz, "we're going to lead in the rye."--"I'm sure I don't care, what isn't to be, isn't to be," pulling the harrow out of the cart, "I shall do whatever the bailiff tells me."--"Flegel," shouted the squire.--"Fred Flegel,"

repeated Triddelfitz.--"What do you want," shouted a gruff voice from the hay-loft.--"Where are the boards to heighten the waggons?" asked Fred Triddelfitz.--"There, just as they were," was the answer, "no one told me, they'd be required to-day."--"What's to be done now?" asked the labourer Nasel.--"G.o.d alone knows," answered Pegel, "we've received no orders."--"Flegel," cried Fred, "we're going to lead in the rye, and the waggon-wheels must be greased."--"You may do it for all I care,"

shouted Flegel from the loft. "Here's the tub if you want it"--"Where's Hawermann, Mr. von Rambow, mayn't I call him?"--"No," answered Alick lowly as he turned away.--"Well then," said Fred, who was growing rather anxious, "we won't get any of the rye in this morning."--"That doesn't matter. We can begin this afternoon."--"But what are the labourers to do till then?" "Confound the labourers," said Alick petulantly and turning to go, "it's always the labourers. They can make themselves useful here in the yard until they are wanted. Stop a moment," he added looking back, "they can help to grease the waggon-wheels."

Meantime the old bailiff was sitting at his desk, thinking how best he could write something that it nearly broke his heart to have to write.

He was about to sever the tie that bound him to the place where the late squire had been so good to him. He heard some of the foolish talk that was going on in the yard, and started to the window to put things right, but no sooner had he got there than he drew back again, remembering that he had nothing more to do with it. He crumpled up the letter he had begun, and tried to write another, which gave him as little satisfaction as the first. He put all his writing things together and shut his desk. What was he to do now? What was there for him to do? Nothing! He was supposed to be beyond work. He threw himself into the corner of the sofa, and thought and thought.

Everything was ready for leading in the rye by the afternoon, thanks to the exertions of the old carpenter, and of two or three of the steadiest of the old labourers. So the work began. Alick got on horseback, and took command of the whole affair, and Fred, not to be outdone by his master, must needs ride also. As his deaf mare was lame he mounted a spirited old thoroughbred, and acted as adjutant. They set off. Six pairs of horses were taken out, and a pair of these was harnessed into each of the six harvest-waggons, which were then driven out of the yard in a row. Order was of more importance than anything else. On one side were the forkers, and the men who standing in the waggons arranged the sheaves on them, then others went to the barns to be ready to receive the loaded waggons, and the field-workers got into the waggons, and set off for the corn-field preceded by Alick and Fred on horseback. Such an arrangement was never known before at Pumpelhagen as on that lovely afternoon; but order must be maintained. The old carpenter, Frederic Flegel, stood at the barn-door and watched the harvesters set out: "Wonders will never cease," he muttered, scratching his head, "however it's no business of mine," and as he went back to his work, he said: "What has become of our old bailiff?"

Hawermann was still sitting quietly in his room thinking. His first anger had pa.s.sed away, and he was able to write calmly, so he rose and wrote a few lines giving up his situation at Christmas, and asking for leave of absence during harvest, for he knew that he could be of no use there. Having done this he took his hat and stick, and went out; he felt that he must have fresh air; he was stifling in the house. He seated himself on a stone wall under the shade of an elder-bush, and gazed down the Warnitz road to see if the waggons were coming; but there were no waggons to be seen; the only moving object he could descry was Brasig, who was coming towards them along the Warnitz road.--"As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, I can't understand you, Charles! Why are you leading in the rye so soon? It's as green as gra.s.s! And what do you mean by letting six waggons follow one another in a row? And why are the loaded waggons stopping on the road?"--"I don't know, Brasig. You must ask the squire and Triddelfitz."--"What?"--"I've nothing more to say, Brasig"--"How? Why?

What do you mean?" asked Brasig, raising his eyebrows as high as he could in his astonishment.--"I've nothing more to say," repeated the old man with quiet sadness, "I am put on one side; the squire thinks me too old to be of any use."--"Charles," said Brasig, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder, "what's the matter? Tell me."--And so Hawermann told him all that had happened. When Brasig knew the whole story he turned round, and clenched his teeth savagely, looking as if he wished the beautiful world, at which he was glaring so angrily, were a hazel-nut that he might grind it between his teeth. Then he growled pa.s.sionately as he looked down the Warnitz road: "The Jesuits! The beastly Jesuits!" and turning again to Hawermann, he said: "Triddelfitz is another serpent you have warmed in your bosom, Charles."--"How do you make that out, Brasig? He must do as he is told."--"Here he comes at a gallop, and all the six waggons after him! Will they ever keep up, I wonder--just look how top-heavy they are! It's a comedy, an agricultural comedy! Mark my words! There'll be an upset at the old bridge!" cried uncle Brasig, dancing as vehemently on his poor gouty legs, as if he wished to make them pay the penalty of all the mischief that had been done that day. I am sorry to have to confess it, but it is nevertheless true that Brasig was full of delight at the thought that the returning harvesters were almost certain to meet with an accident, which he thought would only serve them right after what had happened that morning. "There it is, as flat as a flounder!" he exclaimed joyfully when the first overloaded waggon reached the turn of the bridge, and then upset.--"Wo!" was shouted from the bridge.

"Confound it! won't you stop! Wo, can't you!" Fred looked round about him, what was to be done? He did not know what to do. Suddenly he caught sight of Hawermann and Brasig, seated on the wall, galloped up to them, and said: "Oh, Mr. Hawermann ....."--"Sir, you've made your bed, and must lie upon it!" interrupted Brasig.--"Oh, Mr. Hawermann, what are we to do? The first waggon is lying right across the bridge, and the others can't move."--"Ride quickly ...."--"Hold your tongue, Charles, you've been set aside like a lamb for the sacrifice, and have nothing to do with it," exclaimed Brasig.--"No, never mind, the men are wiser than you, they're putting everything right down there."--"It isn't my fault, Sir," said Fred, "Mr. von Rainbow gave all the orders himself. The waggons are to go in a row, and are to move on quickly though they are overloaded."--"Then obey orders, and ride till your tongue hangs out of your mouth like a dog's," said Brasig.--"He's on horseback over there on the heather-hill, and is overlooking and ordering everything himself."--"Then, I suppose, he has a telespope in one hand and a field-marshal's baton in the other like old Blucher in the hop-market at Rostock," said Brasig scornfully.--"Ride on to the farm," interrupted Hawermann, "and see that each waggon sets off again for the field the moment it is emptied."--"I dar'n't do that," answered Fred, "the squire has given express orders that the waggons are all to go back to the field in a row as they came. He says that order must be maintained."--"Then you can tell him that I never saw a finer specimen of a donkey in all my life ....."--"Brasig, take care what you say,"

cried Hawermann warningly.--"Than--than your little mule, Mr.

Triddelfitz," added uncle Brasig with great presence of mind.

Fred rode away to the farm.--"Charles," said Brasig, "let us go too. We shall see everything capitally from your window."--"It's all the same to me," said Hawermann with a deep sigh, "where I am; whether here or there." So they went. The waggons all drove into the yard, the first right up to the barn, and the others in a row behind it. The forkers muttered that they were being worked to death; the labourers grumbled about the wet rye, and asked who was to thrash it out in winter; the men in charge of the horses laughed and played each other stupid tricks to while away the time they had to wait doing nothing, and Fred rode about the yard with a quiet conscience, for he was doing his duty, and carrying out his master's orders. As soon as the rye was all put in the barn, he placed himself at the head of the empty waggons and the procession moved off. The forkers and stackers closed the barn door softly to shade them from the sun, lay down and went to sleep, for they had plenty of time to enjoy a nap.--"What a delightfully quiet harvest time, Charles," said Brasig, "the yard is as silent as death, and not a leaf is stirring! It's a great pleasure to me to see anything of the kind, for I a.s.sure you I had never thought such a thing possible."--"It isn't at all pleasant to me," replied Hawermann, "I see misfortune coming. Two or three mistakes of this kind will deprive the squire of the people's respect. As soon as they begin to see that it's really ignorance and not a new mode of farming that has brought about the changes, they'll begin to take their own way. I am very sorry for the unfortunate young squire, and still more so for his poor wife."--"There's Mrs. von Rambow coming out of the house, and there's the nursery-maid with the baby asleep in a perambulator. But, Charles--come to the window quick--what's all this?"--It was certainly worth the trouble of hastening to the window, there was now a stir and movement in the yard, which a moment before had been so still and quiet, Fred Triddelfitz thundered up to the farm on the old thoroughbred Bill, Alick followed about twenty yards behind, and shouted: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming," cried Fred, galloping out at the other gate with Alick still in pursuit.--"What the devil does all this mean?" asked Brasig. He had hardly time to ask the question when Fred and Alick came back and recrossed the yard shouting: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming."--"Have you gone mad, Sir?" asked Brasig as Fred galopped past the farm-house, but he received no answer. Fred was sitting crumpled up like a sack in his saddle, and when he heard Brasig's question could not help giggling from fright and misery. As he pa.s.sed Mr. von Rambow he tried to touch his cap, but knocked it off instead, and Frida cried out anxiously: "Alick, Alick, what's the matter?" but got no answer, for Alick was too busy. Suddenly Bill jumped over the fence in front of the sheep's pen, and Fred was thrown head over heels into a heap of straw. Alick now drew in his horse and called again: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming, Mr. von Rambow," answered Fred from out of the straw.--"What devil drove you to ride so hard?" asked Alick.--"None," said Fred, getting up, and finding to his great joy that he had met with no injury, "I was riding one, that's all, and I think that Bill ran away with me."--"You're right enough there," said Christian, who had come out of the stable to see what was the matter.

"You gee, Sir," turning to Mr. von Rambow, "the count used to ride Bill in steeple-chases, and when once the beast gets his head, he goes on till he finds a fence or hurdle to jump, and after he has had a good run he stands as quiet as a lamb. Just look at him now."--"Alick,"

asked Mrs. von Rambow, who now came up, "what is it?"--"Nothing, my dear; I had given Triddelfitz an order, and no sooner had he ridden off than a better plan occurred to me, so I followed him to make the desired change, but his horse ran away with him, and I went in pursuit."--"Thank G.o.d it was no worse," she said. "But, Alick, won't you come in and have some tea?"--"Yes," he said, "I've been working very hard to-day and am rather tired. Triddelfitz, just go on as we have been doing."--"All right, Sir," answered Fred, and then Alick went back to the house with his wife.

"Alick," she asked, when they were seated at tea, "I don't understand.

The harvest waggons used always to come into the yard one by one as they were filled, at my father's place, but I see that you're making them come in a string of six."--"I know the old-fas.h.i.+oned way perfectly, Frida dear, but I think that it's a bad way, and one in which it's impossible to keep order; while if you have a train of six waggons you can easily maintain order."--"Did Hawermann arrange it in that way?"--"Hawermann? No. He has nothing whatever to do with it. I have at last found it necessary to emanc.i.p.ate myself from the bailiffs leading-strings, and have told him that I intend to bring in the harvest without his a.s.sistance."--"Alick, what have you done! He'll never stand that."--"He must though. He must learn that _I_ am master here."--"He has always treated you as such. Dear Alick, what you have done to day cannot fail to do us a great deal of harm," and she leant back in her chair in deep and painful thought.--Alick felt uncomfortable and a little cross.--The door opened and Daniel Sadenwater brought in a letter: "With Mr. Hawermann's compliments."--"There it is," said Frida.--Alick read the letter: "The bailiff gives up his place at Christmas. He may go now for all I care.

I don't require a bailiff. Besides that, I could get a hundred instead of him if I liked. I'm only sorry that it was he who gave up his place, not I who told him to go," and starting to his feet, he began to walk up and down the room. Frida sat still, and said nothing. Alick felt that her silence was meant as a reproach. He knew that he was in a difficult position, but that he must not confess it even to himself, and must lay the blame of what had happened on the shoulders of another, so he went on: "But it's your fault, it all comes of your taking that pretentious old scoundrel's part"--Frida made no answer; she rose and left the room.

That evening she sat by her little daughter's cradle and rocked her to sleep. Alas, who can rock his thoughts to sleep as she did her child! A baby comes straight from G.o.d, and still has the peace of heaven in its heart; but human thoughts come from earth, and are full of care and trouble and utter weariness; to such as are burdened with these, sleep is unattainable. Alick was right, he could easily get another bailiff, a hundred if he wanted them. But Frida was also right: they were losing a true friend.

CHAPTER XVI.

There was great joy in Joseph Nussler's house. G.o.dfrey was elected, he was to have the living of Gurlitz. And to whom did he especially owe his election? Why to our good simple-minded old friend Pomuchelskopp, to be sure. His was the casting vote. Three divinity students preached one after the other, each anxiously struggling so to interpret the Word of G.o.d as to please the congregation, and prove himself most worthy of obtaining the living. "Henny," said Pomuchelskopp, when G.o.dfrey had finished his sermon, and was pa.s.sing his handkerchief over his white face, "Henny," he said, "we'll choose this one, for he's the stupidest."--"How can you be sure," asked his loving wife, "does one fool always know another when he sees him?"--"My chuck," said Pomuchelskopp, overlooking his affectionate wife's pleasantry, either because he was so accustomed to her little jokes, or because G.o.dfrey's sermon had touched him, for G.o.dfrey had preached on the text: "Forgive your enemies."--"Henny, listen. The first of these students, the one with the red face, is a son of old farmer Hamann, and custom is a great thing, you'll see that fellow will work his own glebe; the second, look, there he is, was seen examining the glebe by Gustavus, and was heard asking the parsonage-coachman, who had charge of the barns, for the roofs were in bad order. There'd be no hope with either of these; the rector's son is the man for us."--"He who reckons wrong, reckons without his host," said Henny drily.--"I hav'n't done so at any rate,"

answered Pomuchelskopp, "Mr. von Rambow and Nussler have both given me a written agreement not to take the land, the young man can't farm himself, he's far too stupid for that, and the ground is too small to make it worth while for any one to take it by itself. He must let it to me, I am sure of getting it, and I can say to him: So much, and _not a penny more!_"--So G.o.dfrey was elected, for almost all the votes were given to him, only one or two of the oldest labourers at Rexow gave their votes to their master, Joseph Nussler. But that was merely an oversight and made no difference, for it was all in the family.

So, as I said before, there was great joy in Joseph Nussler's house.

The twins basked in the suns.h.i.+ne of happiness, and made plans for the future. Mina was quite as happy as Lina though she had not the same cause. Still she could not help remembering that her father had said one day when he came from the fields, that he found the sole management of the farm too hard work, and only wished that Rudolph were far enough on to be able to come and help him. Her mother had certainly answered that he ought to be ashamed of himself for saying such a thing, for he was still a young man, and he had replied that he would go on by himself a little longer. But still Mina saw that her father would really like to have Rudolph there, and so it would come to pa.s.s sooner or later. Lina's things were all ready, the trousseau was prepared, and Mrs. Nussler's sitting-room looked more like a shop than anything else, Spinning, knitting, sewing, embroidering, crocheting were going on there, bales of goods were unwound and then wound up again. Every one was busy, even young Joseph and young Bolster. Young Joseph had to help to wind skeins of wool or cotton. He sat straight up with his pipe in his mouth, and a skein of knitting cotton over his hands, his wife stood in front of him, and wound it into a ball. Then he had a little rest, but when Lina or Mina came in he had to begin again. And young Bolster did not escape; if ever any one had cause to curse the marriage it was he; he was continually being tramped on and tumbled over, and at last came to the conclusion that it was better on the whole to take up his abode in the yard than in the parlour until the trousseau was finished.

"Well," said Mrs. Nussler one evening as she laid her hands in her lap, "the marriage may take place to-morrow, Brasig, for all I care. I'm ready."--"Then," answered Brasig, "you needn't put off any longer, for no doubt the methodist and Lina are ready when you are."--"Ah, Brasig, that shows how little you know about it. The chief thing is still wanting. The government hasn't given its consent--what's the right word for it--to the election as yet"--"Oh, yes, I know what you mean, 'confirmed his call,' as they say now-a-days; for my own part, I consider 'vocated' a better word, we always used it long ago when the late parson Behrens came to the parish, but it has gone out of fas.h.i.+on now."--At this moment Christian, the coachman, came in, and said: "Good-evening, Mistress, here are the newspapers."--"Wer'n't there any letters at the post-office?" asked Mrs. Nussler.--"Yes,"

said Christian, "there was one letter."--"Why didn't you bring it?"--"_Nay!_" said Christian scornfully, as if to show that that was too great a piece of folly for him to have been guilty of, "they asked such a ransom for it, that I hadn't enough, money to pay for it."--"How much was it?"--"One pound four! What do you say to that?

They said there was a post-mark, or a post-stamp, or something of that kind on it. It came in the mail-cart, and is addressed to the young gentleman, I mean our Miss Lina's bridegroom."--"Good gracious, Christian! What a dear letter! Who can it be from, I wonder?"--"I know," said Christian, "but I don't intend to tell,"

and he glanced at Brasig.--"You may speak out before Mr. Brasig," said his mistress.--"Very well," answered Christian. "It was from a woman, but I've forgotten her name."--"Mercy!" cried Mrs. Nussler. "From a woman! To my future son-in-law! And costing one pound four!"--"A common occurrence!" said Brasig. "A common occurrence, even amongst methodists!"--"So it is!" said Christian, preparing to leave the room.--"Christian," and Mrs. Nussler rose, "you must take the rye to Rahnstadt tomorrow, ask particularly what name it is at the post-office, and I'll give you the money, for I must have the letter."--"Very well, mistress," said Christian, going away, "if you want it, you shall have it."--"Brasig," exclaimed Mrs. Nussler, throwing herself back into her wicker-chair, and making it groan loudly, "what has my son-in-law to do with women's letters?"--"I don't know," said Brasig. "I hav'n't the slightest idea, and I never trouble my head about secrets. Wait till the end, and you're sure to know."--"But," said Mrs. Nussler, "G.o.dfrey's such a quiet sort of fellow."--"Methodists ar'n't to be trusted," replied Brasig, "never put faith in a Jesuit!"--"Brasig," cried Mrs. Nussler, springing to her feet so suddenly that her old chair gave a loud creak, "if there's any secret, I'll take my child back. If Rudolph had got into a sc.r.a.pe, I'd have forgiven him, for he's a thoughtless lad, but not hypocritical.

But G.o.dfrey! No. Not as long as I live. A man who pretends to be so much better than his neighbours, and then--no, let him keep away from me and mine. I'll have nothing to do with a man of that kind."