Although it may, in these pages, seem as if I had cherished too high an ideal of the people, I desire right here to say that I have found among the lower cla.s.ses that which is n.o.blest and highest in man. But I have also found much that is mean and revolting. Envy and malice are characteristics almost peculiar to the farmer, and are especially shown about the time of irrigating the meadows. It affords him peculiar pleasure to wait until a neighbor has set his water-traps, and to sneak out and reverse them so as to make the water flow on to his own meadows.

The authorities had forbidden the watering of meadows after two o'clock on Sunday morning, but it availed nothing. I appointed a servant who was to have the sole right of setting the water-gates and opening them again; and the meadow farmer could not forgive me for this. I had robbed him of the pleasure of wreaking his spite on others.

It was not so much on account of the advantage he had gained thereby; but, like the rest of them, he had found it great sport to outwit the "gentleman farmer," as they called me.

The meadow farmer really hated me and Joseph; for if it had not been for us he would have been the first man in the village. Wherever he went, they inquired, "How goes it with Waldfried?" or "How is Joseph Linker?" It annoyed him that they did not ask after him first of all.

He would have been glad to take a share in politics, but was too mean to bestow the requisite amount of time upon such matters; and then he would say, "Such folks as Funk should not be permitted to put in their say; there is nothing behind him."

We had just reached the saw-mill, down in the valley, when we saw a large hay-wagon coming along the road in the direction of the meadow.

Martella sat on top: Rothfuss was walking beside the horses.

Martella alighted. She looked quite troubled. She welcomed Richard, and asked me, "Where have you left Ernst?"

"He is not with us."

"Where then?"

We had no time to reply before Martella called out, "So he must go to war after all!"

"Of course."

"Of course? Of course?" Martella asked repeatedly. She stopped for a moment, and removing the rake from her shoulder rested herself upon it.

I told her that in all likelihood there would be no war, and that all the clamor was nothing more than angry threatening on both sides.

"That is not true!" cried Martella; "you should not tell me an untruth!"

"Martella, this is my father!" cried Richard.

"And mine too," she interrupted; "forgive me! Because you are my father you should forgive me; if you did not you would not and could not be my father. Forgive me! Oh! they will shoot my good, kind Ernst!"

She sat down by the roadside and covered her face with both her hands.

In a little while, however, she yielded to our entreaties, and accompanied us to the house, but without speaking a word on the way. As soon as we arrived there, she hurriedly left us and hastened to the barn. In a few moments she returned and cried out with a loud voice, "Mother, Richard is here!"

The child's temperament was strangely variable.

My wife was especially delighted at Richard's return. "With one exception," she said, smiling (for she could not reconcile herself to Richard's remaining unmarried), "you always did the right thing at the right time. We need both a son and a Professor. Perhaps you will be able to make Martella understand what is meant by the words State and Fatherland."

She told us that Martella, who was generally so quick of apprehension, found it impossible to form any conception of those ideas, and that, naturally enough, in her present troubles, this was doubly difficult.

For, even in our eyes, the events as well as the duties of that sad period seemed like a horrible enigma.

It seemed as if thinking of Martella had relieved my wife from the weight of her own trouble. When I informed her of the expected arrival of Bertha and the children, her face beamed with joy. She at once repaired to the rooms that they were to occupy, and seemed, in antic.i.p.ation, to enjoy the thought of entertaining those who were dearest to her.

I had told my wife nothing of Annette's coming. She was, however, gifted with a prophetic insight that bordered on the marvellous.

Results which to others were yet invisible were, by her, discerned with unerring foresight. She at once devoted two large rooms opening on the garden to Annette.

Martella hurried about, helping to get the house in order, and seemed as if there was nothing to depress her spirits.

Rothfuss complained to me that the "forest imp," as he at times called Martella, left him no peace, day or night. She wanted him to tell her why people had to be soldiers, and why there was such a thing as war; and she had abused the Prince in terms that would secure her seven years in the fortress of Illenberg, if her remarks were reported to the authorities.

She had once even wanted to run off to the Prince and tell him how wicked it was to command human beings to shoot one another, and that he should, at all events, give her lover back again, for the war was nothing to Ernst or to her.

Rothfuss called the professor to his a.s.sistance.

Richard declined the commission, remarking that it was not necessary for every maiden to know why her lover was forced to go to the wars, and that, in the present instance, he hardly knew the reason himself.

Notwithstanding this remark, he essayed to speak with Martella on the subject, and I have never seen him so nervous and confused as on that occasion; for Martella called out to him, "Do not say a word: it is all of no use." Then she embraced him, and kissed him, and pressed him to her heart.

Martella's ardent kisses had so surprised and confused him that it was some time before he could collect himself. I had never seen him so unnerved before. I believed that I understood the cause of his emotion.

Martella was a riddle which to Richard seemed more difficult of solution than to any of us.

What we had all failed to accomplish was brought about by the simple-minded Spinner.

Had she been told that she could be of use, or had she divined it? She came up to Martella and said, "Child, your lot is a hard one; but look at me: mine is still harder. My best child, indeed my only one,--for the others had left me to starve,--has also gone to the war; and though a lover be ever so dear, he is not a son, as you will sometime know when you have a son of your own."

After that, Martella was quite resigned. She had, of course, not acquired any idea of the significance of the word "State;" but she now felt that the fate of all beings was ordained by a great overruling power.

Joseph kept us constantly informed of the excitement that reigned through the neighborhood. Funk was the chief spokesman. He announced that the time was about to arrive when Germany would become a free confederation like our neighbor Switzerland.

I do not think that one of those loud talkers believed in the fulfilment of such hopes; but, for the time being, it afforded them an opportunity of indulging in high-sounding phrases. On the other hand, we knew that to "abolish Prussia," as their phrase ran, would simply be the first step towards preparing for Germany the fate of Poland.

And yet my own kindred--my son, my son-in-law, and Martin, my grandson--were fighting to accomplish that very object.

BOOK SECOND.

CHAPTER I.

We were seated on the balcony when we saw Bertha and her children coming up the hill towards the house. My wife at once arose, and opened the two folding-doors, as if with that action she were opening wide our hearts to receive them.

Realizing the fact that there was no escaping from our troubles, Bertha had conquered her sorrow, and now appeared as fresh and cheerful as if she had just been drinking at the fountain of youth.

As soon as the first greetings were over, my wife inquired about Ernst.

Bertha had seen him but once, as his captain had sent him up the country to get transportation for horses.

"That is bad; they should not have sent him there. O Ernst, poor, dear Ernst!" suddenly shrieked my wife.

She grew pale and fell back on a chair. We feared that she would faint.

Bertha rushed to her aid, but she speedily recovered herself, and her trembling lips were the only sign, of the emotion she had pa.s.sed through. She did not tell us why she had found it so wrong of them to send Ernst on that errand. She accompanied Bertha to her room, and stroking the light locks of little Victor, whom she had taken on her lap, said, "He looked just as you do when he was a little boy, except that he had blue eyes."