departed father, to hang up in his room as a remembrance. His mother brought it quickly, put it upon her son's head, and vowed that it became him better than the stiff military cap, on which she bestowed several very dishonorable epithets. At this, Franz'seph tore off his father's cap, and put on his own again, but he did not give the other back. Franz'seph walked up and down the village street, and wondered at the people stopping up so late, and not going to rest. How gladly he would have commanded the tattoo to be beaten. Out light, to bed, to bed! But everybody was his own regiment here, and there were no general orders. Franz'seph wished each person a very good night, markedly, when he arose from the settle before the door and went to rest. It seemed as he thanked them for closing their eyes, that they might not witness what he pur posed to accomplish.

his eyes two or three times, and then, as if he had been called, he waded in after the withes, and brought them safely back. Then he wiped away the sparkling drops of water from his countenance, and with them disappeared all his heaviness. Madeleine had seen this strange fitfulness with some surprise; she suffered sadly at the feud between Franz'seph and her father. She was not blind to the haughty and avaricious spirit of her father, but she also perceived the inactive idling of Franz'seph; and however strong their hatred of each other might be, she knew that they would not cease to think of each other, for they were both proud, and that bound them together. Her father never had precisely forbidden her to speak with Franz'seph, and he acted as if he knew nothing of their secret meetings, and Franz'seph, notwithstanding all his angry words, sought an opportunity to stand before her father honorably and uprightly. Smilingly, Franz'seph returned to Madeleine's side, and they spoke confidingly to each other as in days passed away. She had to regret, no matter how unwillingly, every hard word that her father had applied to him; and these bitter remarks, which usually infuriated him, he now listened to with such a gay smile as if they had all been praise. Only once, when she told him that her father had determined to have nothing to do with him as long as he wore the military cap, then he compressed his lips, took it off, looked at it awhile, and set it boldly back again. When Made-head-dress, probably that it might be the more leine went on to tell that schoolmaster Claus, who always wanted to prejudice her against him, was domesticated at her father's, and quite a favorite, in that he always spited Waterboots whenever he could, and that her father was continually advising her to listen to Claus; Franz'seph listened with an almost unmoved countenance, and said at last, that he would cause her father to think quite differently of him: he would not say how.

"Where is your father gone?" Franz'seph at length asked.

"To Speckfield, where on Monday we intend to cut the barley, God willing."

The sun was just looking its last upon the prospect at that moment, and its golden reflection gleamed in the rivulet, and on the faces of the lovers, as they stood hand in hand. The lips of Franz'seph trembled; there were words upon them that he could not speak, and ere he had the power, he parted from Madeleine, for they saw the great farmer coming down the hill. Franz'seph took up the withes himself this time, but he went round that he might not meet the other.

CHAPTER II.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S WORK. Ar home Franz'seph was restless. His mother detected him cutting off a large slice of bread and putting it in his pocket; he replied to her question of what he wanted it for, that often in the night-time he grew suddenly hungry, and he would guard against it. The mother shook her head at this strange change in her son's behaviour, and talked about the doctor again: but Franz'seph heeded her not, and had a quantity of business in the barn, as if it were early morning, and not at the beginning of night. He avoided her questions about this, too, and begged to have the cap of his

At length all was silent in the village, and the star-glistening sky looked silently down, for the moon arose not now till midnight. The door that opened from Franz'seph's house to the garden, opened softly, but no one came out; but a scythe, bound in a cloth, was carefully and silently laid down on the ground; and it was not till after some time that a man came out, closed the door, stood awhile listening, took up the scythe, and slipped through the garden out into the open field. It was Franz'seph: but he had another

difficult to recognise him ;-it was his father's furbound dog-skin cap. He breathed loudly, and often arrested his hasty pace, listening whether he did not hear strange steps; but there was nothing to be heard, except that the grasshoppers and crickets in the bushes and the grass paused not in their song all the mild night through. Franz'seph took the scythe, which he had previously carried in his hand close to the ground, placed it on his shoulder, and stepped bravely forward. How softly whispering the corn cradled itself on the light breeze, and sucked the last dews that were destined for it;-the kindly corn that grows and strives in peace, while the hands that sowed, aud shall speedily gather it again, are resting. What is it that rustles amidst the stalks, and now rolls down the hillock? Probably a hedgehog, that nightly seeks its food. In the bushes there is sighing and sorrow; those are the voices of birds whose eggs or young have fallen a prey to the marten or the weasel. The lives of animals are spent in seeking sustenance, but man prepares it by his labor. Franz'seph clutched his scythe the firmer. Now his way lay along the high-road, where, here and there, the well-supported fruittrees stood, and, as if plucked by an invisible hand, an early-ripened apple fell, and rolled along the hard causeway, or plump into the soft and dewy grass. Fruit-trees, whose stout trunks outlast man's ripest age, require but defence and support by the hand of man, producing their fruit unaided and alone; but bread, man's much-required food, ripens only in the hardly-labored earth, on stalks that live but for a season.

How it seemed in the lonely, silent night as if all the familiar things around were speaking strange words; and the word passed from stalk to branch-a word that made the heart to tremble; for man's spirit truly feels an indefinable terror

courses there and back again; and now he ima gined no melodies, but he marched onward as if an enemy had to be destroyed, so went he forward earnestly and powerfully. The ears of the corn fell rustling to the ground, and there was a strange whistling and rustling on the ground. Franz'seph had joked about his hunger to his mother, but now it seemed really to overcome and bear labour; but he did not stop, and came at length to his goal, running with perspiration. He seated himself upon the boundary-stone, and wiped his face. It is a dew that makes man's strength to grow, and the bread that the solitary labourer carries to his mouth is full of nourishing blessing. Never had he tasted such a piece of bread as this before.

"Industry is victue!" Faber had once told him, and now the words were whispered, as if by invisible lips, around the young man, who was eating his bread alone in the quiet of night. Though there be an industry that must form the foundation of all avarice and wicked strivings, yet industry, the activity of force, is the foundation of all virtue-all actual progress.

The village clock struck twelve, and the watchman proclaimed the hour. Franz'seph could hardly believe that he had been so long at work, for he had not heard any clock; but does an industrious man ever hear the clock, and does not time ever run by untold?

when it hears the voice of the universe; words and thought-that Franz'seph had half-dreamingly heard from Faber before, awoke as if with clear voice and bright eyes. Franz'seph went on whistling, so that none could hear save he alone. At last, the narrow pathway led through the middle of the cornfields. Franz'seph cooled now one hand, now the other, in the dew that rested on the ears; he looked across toward the hop-him down; every movement of the scythe was a garden, where the long poles stood pointing to the sky like a dead forest amid the fields. He could not help smiling when the prophecy of the gendarme, that those poles would some day be used for a general thrashing-but, suddenly, he stopped, for he heard footsteps behind him; quickly he sprang into the cornfield, crouched down among the high stalks, and held his breath. The steps came nearer and nearer, and now the invisible wanderer stopped at the place where Franz'seph had disappeared; and he began to think how he ought to act in case of discovery; but the person passed on, and he breathed freely again. The watchman was probably making his nightly round; now it was certain that he would not return to this district. A little while longer he stayed in his concealment, then he arose and carelessly bent his way to Speckfield. In looking round, he once thought that he heard a snapping and cracking in the hop-garden, and it seemed as if the poles were moving; but it was certainly a mistake, for how could the well-secured poles bend, when all the wind there was, scarce moved the ears of the corn? Franz'seph went on. and came at length to his destination, for he recognized the markstone that was the boundary of the great farmer's barley-field. He took the wrappings from the scythe, and passed the whetstone over the blade as silently as possible. But when the clock in the village-tower began to strike ten, he took heart, and used the whetstone boldly; and then he began to mow, so that the ears fell bustling to the ground; but he was so hasty with it that he often buried the point in the ground, so that he was obliged to go on more quietly, and walking forwards, he laid down the barley in rows. The motion now went so pleasantly, and almost toillessly, that it seemed as if life had entered the scythe; it seemed to go of itself, and carry him with it. From the forest might be heard the screams and lamentations of young owls, that were probably quarrelling over their prey. But what does the active person care for all the noise about him? Only the idler listens to each sound, and finds a welcome pastime in them. Then first, when Franz'seph had mowed the whole length of the field, he allowed himself breathing time; and the way in which he stretched himself showed that new life had entered his veins, and not languor. He could not rest long, and back he went again, and so evenly, in such tune, that Franz' seph imagined a melody to it. All the thoughts that had arisen in Franz'seph's mind during the past day and that night, now lay in the deepest recess of his heart, a generous, unceasing comfort. But now soon his train of thought pursued a new direction. When he again returned to the point of commencement, Franz'seph felt a degree of hunger which he had not known for a long time, but he remained stedfast to his determination of not eating until he had finished three full

Franz'seph was bewitched, as it were. There seemed a singing and sounding in the air and fields, as of a mighty invisible host. Franz'seph felt a heaviness scarce to be overcome, but he did overcome it; he looked round and strove to think the whole neighbourhood flooded with glorious sunlight, yet the moon came up and shone over everything with a mild and meek gleam. Field and wood and village lay in the light, and the stream glistened here and there. Franz'seph rose up quickly, and his scythe gleamed in the moonshine as he raised and examined it; he concealed the treacherous blade beneath the ears, and went on to the fulfilment of his task with stout resolution. He thought how astonished the great farmer and the whole village would be when it was manifest that the idler, while all were at rest, mowed a whole field of barley; and how Madeleine would rejoice that her confidence had not been misplaced. This kind of excitement was very necessary to him, for the work was more and more fatiguing to him, as well as the turning of night into day. He whetted the scythe oftener than before and not so carefully. The watchman, he thought to himself, believes no longer in the harvest spirit, but yet he is sure to tell every one to-morrow that be heard the much-reviled ghost at work. He will then look for the exact place whence the sound came, and then will the matter be the most speedily discovered, for I myself cannot speak of it, and I cannot await Monday.

Franz'seph sharpened the scythe more boldly, and did not pay half the attention to keeping it out of the moonshine; he was no longer afraid of being discovered by the field-keeper-indeed he rather wished it to occur. He had finished a great part of the field and was very tired; yet he could not leave off, for what use was doing half and not the whole? But if he were interrupted

"I, too, am glad it is Sunday," replied he, in a childlike way, "for we shall get newly-baked buns."

The wife told how she had had an anxious dream; that the peasants, rebellious about the tithes, had set the house on fire, and how no one helped or put out the flames but Franz'seph, who had at last disappeared in the flames.

‘Alas,” she concluded, sorrowfully, “I thought a country life was otherwise; and you, too, are so strict, and will now raise the malice of these people by the tithes. You will see, somehow or other, they will injure you."

"So I see, and, therefore, I farmed the tithes. One must give these people an opportunity for ridding themselves of all their secret malice, grinding down their souls. I am tired of all their little floutings and insults; let them give me open battle, I am ready. Don't be afraid of incendiar

they know, too, how much I should like to rebuild the place. But I must speak a word with Franz'seph now, and try to get him lay down his stupid soldier pride."

then it would not be his fault that there was some yet undone, because, had they not come in and stopped him, he would have gone on to the end, and so he ought to receive just as much commendation. But however much Franz'seph sharpened, and however loudly, no one was to be seen or heard who would interrupt him, and for some time he mowed away angrily, and listened to every stroke of the clock in the village. But at last he got the better of this ill-humor, and the nearer the dawn approached the more delighted was he with his labor. With the first streak of gray that shone in the east, a new thought sprung up animatingly within him: it was not the surprise and astonishment of the village that was so refreshing to him-he was pleased with himself, for he had proved that he was capable of carrying out a difficult resolve. And now, too, he was freed from the doubt, as to whether he should work on in the day, till he was seen; he deter-ism; they don't dare do anything so bold, and mined to be off before any one could find him. The morning clouds, that grew continually lighter, threw their rays over the pale moon, and it seemed as if this Sunday two suns were arising | to the world. Here and there a lark twittered on the ground, and a raven flew screamingly forest-ward, as if it were the messenger of night, and was proclaiming its retreat. Now did a lark swing itself on high from out of the dewy grass, and many followed. From the woods and the hedges sounded twittering and songs; the sun arose in all its glory, and with a joyful feeling of victory Franz'seph looked up to it. He had won a fresh heart in the quiet night-time. He moved on to the end of the row. Yet a small patch remained. Should he finish his work in the daylight? He held the scythe high in the sunlight, and within him the resolve arose that the sun might ever behold his future industry, and bless it. Then he concealed the scythe in the green oats hard by, and hurried away; but he returned Notwithstanding his boasted readiness, the not to the village, he strode towards the wood; countenance of the young farmer darkened perhe had not long to seek and to call for sleep-ceptibly; he could more easily have borne persoon he lay upon the mossy turf, wrapt in a mighty dream.

CHAPTER III.

A FIELD TRESPASS.

In the house of Emile Faber, named Waterboots, everything was yet in soundless quiet-only the dove in the cot cooed for liberty, and the cock crowed in his prison, the hen-house, louder still. The house, with very few exceptions, was just as Lucien, its former possessor had left it-only everything looked fresher; while a foreign-looking plough, and a great steam threshing-machine, made it manifest that some young and mighty power ruled here. The sleeping-chamber of the young couple looked upon the quiet lawn-clad garden, where an apple tree, with rosy-cheeked fruits, almost grew in at the window. The merry chirp of a cricket from that region had caused the young man to awake, and he was dressing when he perceived his wife to wake.

"Good morning, Pauline !" he cried, gaily, "it is yet early; go to sleep again, and rejoice with me; to-day is Sunday."

"Yes, dear Emile; and to-day we shall go to church together."

VOL. II.-X

The young man, an unusually tall figure, with flaxen hair, came up to his wife, and quieted her with kindly wordly words. Then he left the room, and went down to the court, where the great house-dog greeting him with barks and leaps, he untied him, then looked after the maids and the men, who were all about among the fluttering poultry and cooing pigeons. Faber was just standing by a newly-entered apprentice, teaching him how to work the threshing-machine more adroitly, when the village gendarme came into the courtyard, with a military greeting.

"What is it, so early, friend?" asked Faber. "Your hop-garden is ruined. The field-keeper has just brought in the news. There isn't a single pole standing, and all the plants are cut."

sonal ill-treatment than this ruthless destruction of his favorite plantation. The dog looked now in the face of his master, now in the face of the messenger, evidently awaiting the signal, "Seizo 'em;" growling, and, with fiery demeanor, he walked round the gendarme, till his master told him to be quiet. When Faber had received an answer in the affirmative to his question, as to whether the matter was officially notified, he returned to his wife in the house; and soon he might have been seen, the high water boots on, his dog before him, on his way to the fields. Intelligence of the occurrence had quickly spread through the village, for at every window and door men and women stood, making signals of condolence and innocence to Faber, who stepped sturdily out on his way to the scene of the disaster..

Soon groups of people assembled in the streets, and they one and all blamed the delinquent, who must be discovered, that he might pay for the damage, and not the village. One knot of talkers had gathered close by Franz'seph's house, near the pump, and here might be heard, above all,. the official voice of the schoolmaster, who proclaimed unswerving strictness, and expressed his determination to use every endeavor to discover the criminal. The great farmer, who stood by

attempted to calm him, and turn the thing into a joke, laughing maliciously the while, but the schoolmaster exclaimed

"And if you yourself had done it, I'd lock you up."

"I' the devil's name," exclaimed the schoolmaster, "let him speak. I won't hear another word from you."

Franz'seph now gazed with compressed lips at the old farmer. Evidently he had done the deed in his hate to Faber himself, and now wanted his son-in-law to speak for him. Franz'seph was ready to do this, although he did not see what would be the consequence; and although it grieved him deeply that he, who was Faber's only friend, should seem a creeping hypocrite in his eyes, yet

Franz'seph's mother, frightened by the early noise, came out, asking what was the matter, and whether any one knew anything about her Franz'seph, who had not come home all night. The great farmer signed to her, but the woman understood him not, and now every one began to cry at the concealed idler, who would now suffer that-Madeleine! And besides, as the schoolmaster which he had tried to bring upon the whole village. While they were thus irate, they saw Franz'seph, with his unaccustomed cap on his head, coming down the hill. The schoolmaster commanded the gendarme to go toward him at once and arrest him; but a comrade of Eranz'seph was quicker than the old slowly-moving soldier; he made haste, and called to Franz'seph, "Run away, you'll be arrested!"

Franz'seph did not seem to consider this exclamation as intended for him; he walked quietly on, and when the village guard, who had come up to him, announced to him his arrest, he passed his hand over his forehead and smiled incredulously.

The great farmer tried to persuade the mother to go home and depend upon him, but she would not leave the crowd, that now grew at each step toward Franz'seph. When they had come up to him, the schoolmaster was about to break out into loud revilings; but the great farmer interrupted him, begged for a word, went up to Franz'seph, took his hand, so that the youth trembled within him, and, said, almost without the slightest cough: "Franz'seph, I have done you wrong, and am not ashamed to say it before everybody. I thought you were a good kind of a blade, but one that wouldn't cut; but you have shown that you can cut. Let this affair end as it may; when you return you know where I live. Understood! Now fear nothing and be stedfast."

The mother stood crying beside her son, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. Franz'seph knew not how he felt; an icy feeling ran through him, so that he trembled all over.

"Do you confess what you have done?" added the schoolmaster.

"I don't know that it concerns you," returned Franz'seph, and the great farmer came forward again, and said:

Franz seph denies nothing. He is a fellow with courage, and does not skulk behind a hedge. Confess it? Yes, I say it for him, yes, my Franz'seph did last night cut down Waterboot's hop-garden, and was quite right. We are rich enough to cover the damage, and we don't want the village money-and a couple of weeks' prison won't kill him. My Franz'seph cuts, and is no good fellow. Let him go free. Schoolmaster, he won't run away."

Franz'seph's bosom rose and fell with heavy breath, and he put his hands before his eyes, as if to remember if it were a dream or no.

had touched a tender point, a strange kind of pride arose in Franz'sephs mind, and he cried out —“I am no good fellow. Yes, yes, I have done everything that cousin says." Every one was silent with horror-only Claus, who had come with a bailiff, laughed out aloud.

Franz'seph was delivered to the bailiff, and led off to prison. The great farmer conducted the weeping mother home.

CHAPTER THE LAST.
ANOTHER'S DEed.

When Faber came home he heard to his horror who had done the fearful action, and the newlybaked buns, about which he had rejoiced in so childlike a manner, were not at all enjoyable. His wife who thought much of her knowledge of mankind, declared that she had long perceived cunning and malice in Franz'seph, but that she had been silent, in order that she might not be considered distrustful. Faber doubted the actuality of this knowledge of mankind; he remarked, that it was wholly unexpected from the former be haviour of Franz'seph; and his wife sought to make the matter right again by entreating him to forgive Franz'seph's crime, and thus to compel the village to shame aad friendship. But that was too much to ask, and Faber declared that nothing should cause him to swerve from the path that justice appointed. He wrote immediately to the autho rities, demanding the strictest investigation into the circumstances. He was still writing when Madeleine came in, her eyes yet red with weeping; Faber knew the maiden well, yet he asked her name and wishes; and without a single word, answered her petition for grace, upon satisfaction, with the shake of the head, sealed his letter, left his wife, who tried to console Madeleine, and sent a mounted messenger to town with it. Soon he returned, and asked Madeleine since what time Franz seph had worn nailed shoes. The girl replied that he only wore boots with iron heels, and asserted his innocence from the fact of the traces of nailed shoes having been found in the hop-garden. Certainly he had himself confessed to it, but who knows what might have been the cause of that.

"Then he wore some one else's shoes, or had assistance," returned Faber, leaving the room again in disquietude, and sending a second servant to watch the place and prevent the footmarks being destroyed. While he was yet employed in giving directions to the man, he saw Madeleine leave the house; she went to Franz'seph's mother, who was still full of despair at what had taken place, and kept saying that her dear Franz'seph "He is no good fellow," interrupted the farmer. I must have been persuaded to do this wrong, for

"You cannot speak for him," remarked the other; "he can speak for himself. Tell me, Franz'seph; you were always a good fellow; I can hardly believe it."

such a scheme never could come from his good heart, and for such a purpose he never could have put his father's cap on. She had set her son's military cap before her on the table, and kept continually looking at it with tears and sobs, as if she would never again see the head which it

had covered.

In the meantime Franz'seph went silently along the highway, followed by the bailiff. When they came to the eminence where was the mowed field of barley it seemed to him as if a signal of some kind must arise for him there; but who was there to speak, to bear witness for him? O'er the waving ears of corn there hung a light mist, and from dle and hill sounded the morning bells. Franz'seph went quietly on, and thought of the brightsoine hour when he would return along this way greeted and honored. With open eyes he went dreamingly along, and could not clearly make out what had happened and what would yet happen. When at last they arrived in the town, and when everybody looked after the young criminal, and smiled significantly, then first he began to be afraid; but still he hardly believed it all was true, and first when he was alone in prison he suddenly awoke to the truth, and he doubled his fist against the unjust walls and cried aloud. The walls did not shrink from his blow, and his

cry fell dull upon the ear of silence there. What use was there now in thought? Nothing was to be done. At last Franz'seph lay quietly down, fully satisfied that the great farmer would soon make an end of his sufferings. Refreshment was brought him but he let it stand. Broken rest, unaccustomed exertion, stress of mind, all com

bined to sink Franz'seph in a leaden sleep. When he awoke, he had to recollect where he was, amid the dark night and the solitude. His whole manner of life seemed altered, -night had become day, day had turned to night. A broken ray of the moon fell into his prison, and lighted Franz'seph during the meal that he made of the cold fare they had given him. He felt refreshed and strong, and began to think that he would soon be released; the joke was getting serious. Franz'seph looked out into the moonlight through the slit, holding himself up by his hands. On a sudden it seemed to him as if he had received a blow on the head, so near did the tower clock tremble, as it was at the same elevatlon as his prison. One! This was another kind of waiting for the day to that in the fields the night before. Every quarter that struck simote Franz'seph on the head, and trembled through his whole body. Even when he lay down on the truckle-bed again, that did not stop; and steeped in these solemn tones he thought over the many hours he had dreamed away in halfproud half-cowardly idleness. Often did he spring up and stretch forth his hands, full of hot desire for labor. To-day he would work, work, work, and never idle; why was he a prisoner now?

A blueish tint showed itself in the heavens; no tone of blithe lark was to be heard, only the groaning pendulum of the tower clock, hitherthither! A bright day broke-a true and blessed harvest day. The more the hours grew, the more Franz'seph thought of the glorious and ready efforts of labor that were beginning at home; only he must lie there idle, and it seemed a heaven now to him to hold the scythe-he longed

for the handle of the scythe as for the hand of a a friend; crying with vexation and disappointment he turned upon his bed, when the door opened, and the gaoler came in with Faber.

The first sight of him terrified Franz'seph so much, that he stood there without being able to speak a word, but he soon put forth his hand to grasp that of Faber, who, however, declined it, saying that he begged to have an interview with him before the official examination took place, as it was still inexplicable to him that just the only person who had become friends with him should have been the one to do him such injury. Franz'seph would therefore explain who it was that had persuaded him to it, and who had assisted him. Franz'seph stared out silently, and would return no answer. But when Faber pointed to his boots and said

"Such a footmark is not at all to be found in

my hop-garden, therefore you could only have been sentinel, and others must have aided you,” then Franz'seph started, and said at length

"Dear sir, if I could tell you whom the other
footsteps belong to, would you let the whole mat-
ter be forgotten for a proper recompense ?"
I could see him there with pleasure."
"No; and if I brought the man to the gallows,

interrupted him, doggedly.
"Then I did it, and nobody else," Franz'seph

"That won't do; we had your confession that you could say otherwise, if you chose."

"Yes, if I would," replied Franz'seph, halfwith all goodness, to tell the whole matter; he, boldly, half-sadly. Faber now tried to persuade, as an inactive assistant, would only have a slight remembrance of their former friendship, not to do punishment; and at last he begged him by the him the harm of destroying his belief in the existence of good people.

This word "good" acted upon Franz'seph in a diametrically opposite manner to what the speaker's intention had been. Franz'seph became silent, and insisted that he should only answer the judge. Faber went on to say that in the village every one was looking at the shoes of his neighbour; that in the evening there was a burning smell in the house of the schoolmaster, as if schoolmaster Claus had been burning his. Also to this Franz'seph returned no answer, but laughed within himself.

Just as Faber was going away, Madeleine came in. She could scarcely speak for crying, and then she began to lament about the penitentiary whither Franz'seph would be sent, and about her father, who wanted to force her to marry schoolmaster Claus, who had quite won him by an act that no one could have expected.

"What does your father say of me?" asked Franz'seph.

"

Well, I'll tell you the truth," replied Madeleine; "he abuses you through thick and thin, and declares that you've done this only that you may be locked up this harvest time, and have time to idle."

"Ah! so he says, but he knows better," returned Franz'seph, smiling, though the old man's malice hurt him much. Why is Claus so well off, then? what has he done?" he pursued.

"Only think, to show what he can do, on Satur