Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker. In Three Volumes. Vol. I.

They come nearer and nearer, and now they are close to Joseph, who accosts them courageously, saying—"Good angels! take me with you to my own home, and to my father and mother."

"Gracious powers!—a spirit!—the Holy Child!" cry out the three angels, and scurry off with their torches at such a pace! but they have wings, and can run or fly as quickly as they choose.

Joseph did not try to follow them: he stumbled and fell, but soon got up again, when all had vanished, and he was once more alone. A little way off he saw the glimmering of a torch. How to get near it! Joseph had lost his cap, but he did not observe it; and, running as hard as ever he could, he shouted, "Stay, stay! I am little Joseph!" But the angels declined stopping, and were no longer to be seen. Their footsteps, however, were distinct enough in the snow, and Joseph followed the marks on, and on; and at last up a hill—Heaven be praised!—a light at last, indeed many lights, and brightness all round. The comforting feeling, that men are under shelter of a roof close by, inspired fresh courage in the little wanderer; and, with renewed strength, he ran down the hill to the lights, and reached the Forest Mill below at the very moment when the three angels were ascending the outside stair singing:

Joseph slipped quietly in behind the singers, scarcely daring to breathe, far less to call out—above all not to call out, or the angels would be sure to fly away again. He went with them into the room, and the three angels sung the song of the "Three Holy Kings" to the end. They were quietly listened to, and got plenty to eat and drink, and presents into the bargain; and the angels ate, and drank, and spoke their thanks very properly. Joseph soon found out that these were not angels at all, but three boys dressed up as the Three Holy Kings. They went away, and Joseph remained alone; and now, for the first time, he was remarked by those present.

"Who are you?—where do you come from?—what are you doing here?" These were the questions that quickly assailed him from the Röttmännin, and the miller's wife, and Tony.

"Eat something first to warm yourself; you are quite wet, and have no cap," said Tony, kindly. "There, my boy, eat and drink, and we will talk to you afterwards. Come, I will take off your jacket and hang it near the stove. Don't sit so close to the stove—it is not good for you."

"A handsome boy," said the miller's wife, while Joseph was drinking some mulled wine.

"The angels guided me famously. This is what they drink in Heaven, I suppose," said Joseph.

There was a strange flash in the eyes of the Röttmännin when she heard these words and that voice. She pushed aside the large jug, and stared at the boy very much as the fox had done in the wood.

"Where are you from?" asked the bride.

"From Waldhausen."

"Who is your father?"

"He does not live with us."

"What's your mother's name?"

"Martina, and my grandfather is Schilder-David."

"So, I have got you at last!" cried the fierce old Röttmannin. "Good Lord! this is Adam's son." So saying, she started up and grasped the child with eagle's talons.

"Yes, my father's name is Adam. Do you know him?"

"Come along with me; I will take you to my room and put you to bed," said the Röttmannin.

"No, I won't go with you," said Joseph. "You will stew me in a kettle, like the witches. Let me go, or I'll bite."

"Oh! I'll show you what stewing and boiling mean," cried the old woman with a fierce laugh. "It is a blessing from Heaven direct, that the child should have come here of his own accord. We will keep him hid, and not give him up. Now we can force both Adam and the others to dance to our piping."

"But I won't give you up the child," said the bride, coming forward. "Don't be afraid, my boy—don't be afraid; come and sit in my lap. But wait; I will first take off your shoes, and you shall put on mine, and you will soon be quite warm. Now tell me, does your mother know that you left home? and why did you come so far alone in such a night?"

"I went to meet my father, for they all abuse him in the village; and they say my grandmother is the very devil, and I wanted to tell him all this."

"I will be-devil you," cried the savage old Röttmännin, furiously struggling with the bride to get the child from her, who, however, used all her strength to defend the boy; and at the moment when the women were contending with each other, the two grandfathers came in.

"Oh! here is my grandfather," said little Joseph in ecstacy, running up to him.

"Is that the lost grandchild?" asked Speidel-Röttmann. "Come here, my boy. You have got another grandfather now. What a fine fellow he is! It would have been a pity——"

"And I say, no! and no again! and a thousand times over, no, no, no!" raged the Röttmännin; "and I would rather let my tongue be cut out and thrown to the dogs, than ever say yes, as long as I live."

"Quite right! Say no, if you like; but it's no use now. Is it not an actual miracle from Heaven, that a child should be lost in such a way and found again? In the wood yonder, all the people in the village are running about in search of the child. We may well be proud of such a grandson, and it is quite a privilege and an honour to have a child belonging to us, who is such a favourite that the neighbours are risking their lives for his sake. The good Lord has performed a miracle, and I hope He will perform one on you also, wife. Be kind, and give in. It is no sin to yield up your own will. Do you consent to it, Tony?"

"So far as I am concerned, I would on no account deprive the child of his father."

"But I say no, no! and with my last breath I will say no! and we shall see whether you can get the better of this no of mine."

During this discussion Schilder-David had remained perfectly silent: he was holding Joseph in his arms, passing his hand over his face and his limbs, as if to make sure that he really had him safe again. And now he slipped out at the door along with the boy: he could not exactly tell why: he wanted to be once more alone with Joseph at home; but when he got outside the house he, for the first time, perceived that his knees failed him—he was forced to sit down on the steps. Within the house he heard a commotion, a window was opened and a pungent smell of smoke was perceptible, for the lights on the Christmas tree were all blown out.

So sat Schilder-David. Who comes this way? Who can it be? It is Häspele. He shouted with joy on seeing Joseph, who was, however, shivering so much that Schilder-David was quite uneasy about him.

"Go back quickly into the wood and say that he is here, and prevent them all running about in search of him," said David, his teeth chattering.

Häspele hurried away, shouting out the good news. "He is found! he is found!" cried he up the hill till he was hoarse.

A female figure now came out to David and said—

"Give me the child."

"No; I'll give him to no one here. What do you want with him?"

"I wish to carry him to my room, and to put him to bed. Come with us."

"Oh! you must be Tony, surely? Your mother was a good woman."

"And I hope I am, too. Come, quick; make haste!"

"I can't go up the steps; I find out now what I have gone through."

"Come into the stable, then; for you will be warmer there, at all events."

Tony took the old man straight into the stable, where she prepared a comfortable bed of dry hay, and laid the child on it, and covered him up warmly.

Schilder-David placed his hand on the child's forehead, who soon fell sound asleep; and his grandfather watched by him, scarcely daring to breathe. Not till they were both quietly sleeping did Tony glide softly out of the stable.

CHAPTER XVI.

ASLEEP AND AWAKE AGAIN IN THE FOREST MILL.

Häspele had been sent by the anxious parents to the eminence where they had observed a light, to see what was going on there. Martina would not believe what Adam said:—"Who knows but they may have found our Joseph in the mill?" and yet she wanted to go there instantly herself; but Adam persuaded her to wait, at all events till Häspele came back.

At last he came; he ran as fast as he could to the spot where he had left them, but they were no longer there. "Is the whole world entirely bewitched this blessed night?" said Häspele. Adam and Martina however, at that moment, were engaged in laying hold of the three angels. Adam shouted to them in his powerful voice to stop, as they came near: the angels, however, seemed to feel such desperate alarm at any of the Röttmann family, that they fairly took to their heels.

"You will see that our Joseph is gone with the Christmas singers," said Martina, in a hopeful tone.

Adam pursued the angels, and was lucky enough to catch hold of one by the wing, but it came off in his hand; he followed them; and the flying angels were not quick enough to escape a man like Adam. He clutched one of the angels tight, and asked him about Joseph; then he brought him to Martina, who was waiting above; but the boy was in such mortal terror, that they could not get a word out of him; above all he refused to say who his companions were, and when he was asked if he had not met a fine tall boy, seven years old, in the wood, the angel first said yes, and then no; it was impossible to make sense of what he said. In the midst of this judicial examination, Häspele appeared: "He is there! he is there!"

"Who is there?"

"Joseph," said Häspele, quite hoarse.

"Where? where? where?" cried Martina, rushing up to him. "Where is he? for God's sake tell me! dead or living?"

"He is sitting in the mill below, drinking mulled wine."

"My child! my child!" cried Martina, in so shrill a tone that it vibrated through the valley, and running down the hill, as fast ever she could; Adam could scarcely keep up with her; she rushed up the steps and dashed open the door, crying out, "Joseph! Joseph! where is my Joseph?"

"You and your Joseph may go the devil," answered a voice: well did she know it; it was the voice of the Röttmännin. Neither fear, nor anxiety, nor peril of death, nor intense happiness could have overcome Martina, but this voice had such an overwhelming effect on her, that, with a loud scream, she sank to the ground in a swoon; even Adam, who was standing close behind her, was so terrified, that he let her fall, without trying to support her. "Mother! mother!" said he: he could not utter another syllable.

"Do not call her mother," said Tony; "go away, Adam; leave us; I will raise Martina myself: but first give me that warm mulled wine, and sprinkle some drops of snow water from your cloak on her face. So, so! she breathes!"

"Capital!" said the old Röttmannin, with a harsh laugh, "if the whole world go crazy, I won't. If they all fall down dead around me, like so many cockchafers, I will still say no!"

Speidel-Röttmann, however, instead of replying to his wife, went up to Martina, saying, "Come, Martina, try to be composed and to command your feelings—there, I have lifted you up, sit down here."

"My Joseph! where is my Joseph?"

"In the warm stable below, sound asleep," said Tony; "let him sleep on quietly, your father is with him; we laid him in warm, dry hay; and I'll tell you what we will do—we will carry him upstairs immediately, and lay him in my bed, in the next room. You can go down to fetch him: Adam, you need not be afraid about your Martina; go at once, and I will stay with her."

"And I!" said Speidel-Röttmann. Adam went down to the stable, and carried the child upstairs to bed, but Schilder-David was sleeping so soundly that he did not choose to wake him. The child, too, continued fast asleep, even when he took him in his arms. The father stroked the child's head fondly, and then his hand once more hung down by his side. Martina was now brought gently into the room; she bent over Joseph quietly, and listened to his breathing.

"Lie down beside the child, on my bed," said the Forest Miller's Tony to Martina, who looked at the girl in surprise, while Tony added, "You may be very glad that matters have taken this turn. Your Adam and I were forced into a betrothal; he disliked it quite as much as I did, and your Adam is good and true; he never spoke one word to me except about you; and though we were bride and bridegroom, yet we never kissed each other once."

"Then I will give you a kiss," said Martina, starting up and embracing Tony.

"I wish I had my cheeks between the two," said Häspele to Adam; and then addressing the two women, "You are both very nice girls, I must say! Come, Tony, your best plan is to take me: will you have me? I see you won't, but I'll give you a wedding present whoever you marry, all the same."

"Where is my father?" interrupted Martina.

"Still sleeping in the hay."

"Good Heavens! when he awakes, and no longer finds the child by his side, he will go out of his senses."

"Don't be uneasy, I will go to the stable and stay there with him till he awakes," answered Tony; but Häspele detained her by asking for something to drink, before he set out as quick as he could for the Reitersberg, where the men were still keeping watch. Tony quickly poured him out a glass of hot wine. The betrothal wine had been tasted by strange guests to-day.

All was again quiet in the mill. Joseph was asleep, and Adam and Martina watching by his bedside; Schilder-David was asleep stretched on the hay, and Tony seated near him; and in the room above the Forest Miller was asleep. The Röttmännin tried to wake him, for she wanted the help of a man, but the Forest Miller made no sound, and the Röttmännin cursed the "flour sack" lying there motionless, while the whole house was in an uproar. Just as the Röttmännin returned into the room, she cried out "What's the matter? is the world come to an end to day?" for the hills echoed with the report of guns, and every valley and rock resounded with joyful cries, so that little Joseph himself was awakened by the noise, and starting up in bed, called out "Father!"

"I am here," answered Adam.

The shots were repeated, and now the whole party drew near, amid the sound of horns, the ringing of bells, the cracking of whips, and the barking of dogs.

"You called on the devil to come—do you hear? he is coming. Give your consent, while it is yet time," said Speidel-Röttmann, in the hope of softening his wife's heart.

"If the devil comes, I shall be very happy to see him; I should rather like to have a talk with him," answered the Röttmännin; "you are all fools. If you choose to truckle to others, do so; but a woman of spirit never gives in—nor will I—never—I would rather die!"

The hobgoblin troop came nearer and nearer, and at last drew up at the mill. They did not come in, however, for in the stable was heard a woman's cry for help, and the wild groans and lamentations of a man's voice. Schilder-David had woke up, and could not find the child, and now he was rummaging among the hay seeking for him, and loudly lamenting; refusing to listen to Tony; indeed, threatening to strangle her on the spot if she did not instantly restore the child.

Edward hurried into the stable, and Tony ran up to him, calling out "Help, help!" Schilder-David looked somewhat formidable by the light of the lantern, when he turned round, after plunging into the hay, which had adhered in quantities to his hair, covering his face and clothes.

"David, 'he is all right and safe," said the young farmer Edward, in his pleasing voice. Schilder-David sank back into the hay.

"Who is that stranger?" said Tony to Häspele.

"The brother of our Pastorin."

"Sir—sir," began Tony, "do tell David that his grandson is in my room, and Adam and Martina beside him. Pray say this to him, for he won't attend to me, he won't listen to a word I tell him. For God's sake help me; you are the brother of our Pastorin, and no doubt you are a good man, and I thought so when I saw you once before to day. Help the old man to rise."

Schilder-David, who was now sitting in the hay, stretched out his hand to Tony, saying; "You are right, forgive me, and help me up." Tony and Edward each gave him a hand, and when Schilder-David was once more on his feet, he said, "You are two excellent people." Edward supported David on his left arm, and offered his right hand to Tony, he scarcely knew why,—and she gave him her hand, she scarcely knew why,—but they clasped each other's hands close. "I think I can now quite well walk alone," said Schilder-David, and the other two freed him from all the hay clinging to his clothes, and went with him upstairs.

Martina gave up Joseph to his grandfather, but the meeting with her father was cut short by their all going to the next room together, where Häspele was heard laughing merrily. He proposed to play the part of an evil spirit, and in that way to convert the Röttmännin. He thought this would be the best way to manage her.

When Joseph came into the room holding his grandfather's hand, Tony said, "You had better not be here just now," and she took him back into the room, on the other side of the entrance.

"This is the brother of our Pastorin," said she to the Röttmännin, as she was leaving the room, presenting Edward to her.

The latter now spoke in a very urgent manner to the Röttmännin, who gave him no answer, but fixed her bright staring eyes on him.

"It is time to go to church now," said Röttmann, and the whole of those present left the room. As they all assembled in front of the house, a voice was heard in the room above shouting, "Long live the Röttmännin, she has given her consent."

It was Häspele's voice, who ran triumphantly down stairs, all shouting "Vivat!" again and again; and the horn sounded merrily, and the bells rung, and the dogs barked. A voice screamed something vociferously from the window, but not a word was heard.

Amid singing and sounds of horns, they all went through the wood to the village. Tony walked beside Martina. On the top of the hill, she said, "I must now go back; I should like to go to church with you, and to stay with you; but, though I don't know why, I feel a kind of nervous uneasiness, because my father never woke up during all the commotion in the house. I have not been so dutiful as I ought, in not having gone to see about him. Good night, Joseph," said she, shaking hands with him kindly. "Good night to all." She passed Edward, without giving him her hand before all the people, though they both would fain have shook hands again. "Good night," said Edward in a whisper; and she answered, in a low tone, "Good night." Häspele shouted a loud "Vivat!" in her honour, as she left them to go to the mill, and all present joined in it.

Adam was carrying Joseph in his arms, who was dressed in his new clothes and his new boots; but at last the father was obliged to let him walk along beside David, who insisted on having him. On the hill, above the village, Häspele called out, with the last effort of his hoarse voice, "Stop! Stop!"

Here still lay the wolf, in the field into which Adam had flung him. Adam took the child close to the dead animal, and said, "Look; I killed this wolf with my cudgel." No scolding, however, nor persuasions would induce Joseph to touch the wolf; he was so frightened. "It's lucky for you that you are now to be under the rule of a father," said Adam, "or you would not have proved a true Röttmann." He led his son by the righthand and dragged the wolf after him with his left; and thus they all went along together, till they arrived at Schilder-David's house.

CHAPTER XVII.

A GREAT EVENT IN A SMALL HOUSE.

"Yes! I quite forgot to tell you that the Forest Miller"—had Leegart said, when she was interrupted by loud cries from the house—

"He is found; Joseph is close by."

The women ran out, and asked, "Is any one hurt?"

"Not one—all safe," was the answer.

Leegart remained immoveable in her chair, only placing her feet more firmly on her footstool, which seemed seized with a sudden trembling. She took a secret pinch of snuff, to tranquillize her nerves, and looked at the jacket with a glance signifying, "I have done with you at last."

"Joseph is here," called out Häspele, who had ran forward before the rest; "and my jacket is finished," answered Leegart, in the firm conviction that by her incessant sewing she had preserved Joseph's life; but as Häspele, in his ignorance, made no remark on this point, she asked "Where was he found?"

"In the Forest Mill."

"In fact, I need not have asked," rejoined Leegart, glancing round, with a self satisfied air, "I knew where he was; I pointed out exactly the way he was sure to take. At the very minute when the cry of his being found was first heard I was in the act of uttering the words: 'The Forest Miller'—all these women know that this is true."

The most important point for Leegart, was to prove that she was clever enough to know precisely what was going on, even when she was not there herself. When they all came into the room, Martina pressed Leegart's hand warmly—thereby causing her to scatter on the floor a private pinch of snuff. Leegart said again, "I knew it; I said it. I told them he was in the Forest Mill: at the very moment that Häspele arrived, I said the words, 'Forest Miller;' and I prophesy now for you, Martina, that you will get your Adam at last."

"It is so! it is so! here he is!" exclaimed Martina.

Leegart cast down her eyes modestly; she wished to vindicate her prophetic gifts, and to shew that she knew it all beforehand. She nodded emphatically to all who came into the room, as if to say: "I knew that you would all come here—I knew it long before—I foresaw it all, and particularly that Adam would come in, holding Joseph by the hand. I knew all about the wolf too. I only met an adder in the forest, but the one animal is quite as dangerous as the other. All that has occurred could not fail to come to pass." Leegart was surprised at nothing. The expression of her face said, "Nothing is hidden from me;" and she took a stolen pinch with entire complacency.

"I have three fathers now," exclaimed Joseph; "Leegart, here are my three fathers."

"Good," said David, "but go to bed now. Martina, take him away. God be praised, we are all come safe back," shouted he into his wife's ear. The grandmother nodded, with a pleased face. "Has it been snowing hay?" asked she, taking some stalks of hay out of her husband's hair. All laughed, and the deaf grandmother laughed too, and looked earnestly at each person, guessing, from the motion of their lips, what she could not hear. She stretched out her hand to Speidel-Röttmann, saying, "Pray sit down, pray sit down."

Adam went up and shook hands with her of his own accord, bawling into her ear in his stentorian voice, "God bless you! mother-in-law."

The old woman stepped back suddenly, as if she had received a blow. "I hear you well enough, I am not so deaf as all that," said she, retreating to the bench beside the stove, and looking nervously at the great men and the great dogs.

Schilder-David's house was not made for the Röttmanns. The father and son almost touched the ceiling when they stood upright.

Little Joseph remained for a time sitting on the knee of Speidel-Röttmann. David was jealous, and felt almost angry with the child for taking so quickly to other people.

"Give me your large wolf-dog," said Joseph to grandfather Röttmann, who said—

"He is yours."

"You are mine; my own;" said Joseph to the dog, but he was obliged to leave him with his grandfather for the present, as the animal would not go with him.

"Some one take Joseph to bed instantly," repeated David, in a voice of authority. His wife understood, by the movement of his lips, what her husband was saying, so she took Joseph by the hand, and went with him up to the attic. Scarcely had the door closed behind the grandmother and grandson, when Leegart stepped forwards with a degree of confidence and self-assurance that amazed every one, saying deliberately,

"And now, Martina, go and put on your wedding dress. I will assist you, for you know I always promised that I would. All you men, if you are true men, take care that Adam and Martina are married this very night. You can, if you will, and if you insist upon it. The Röttmanns have a famous opportunity of showing their courage. Speidel can now split asunder a hard log, and you, Adam, 'The Horse,' may drag it home. What are you all staring at me for? I say, go straight to our Pastor, and I tell you the thing will be done. I tell you so, and I always know pretty well what I say. Come, Martina, that I may dress you. You shall not hide your face any longer; you have groaned and grieved, and felt shame long enough. Come along."

She took Martina with her to her room, while every one walked after her in surprise, but no one spoke a word. Martina soon returned into the room, prettily dressed. Adam went up to her, and, unseen by the others, showed her something wrapped up and fastened by a riband into his purse. He then turned to the others, saying, "Father, and father-in-law, it is far the best plan. Come with us to our Pastor. He must make us one this very day."

"He will never do it."

"Let us at least try."

"Don't let us forget the chief point of all," said Schilder-David, suddenly stopping, "When any one goes to be married they must know their Catechism, and particularly the Ten Commandments. Can you repeat them to me, Adam? You say nothing. Here is Joseph's Catechism for you, go into the next room and look it over quickly."

"I will help you," said Martina, going with Adam into the next room.

This, however, was far from being an easy piece of work. Adam plodded, and became as hot as fire, but he could not manage to get the Ten Commandments into his head, especially the order in which they followed each other; in his agitation of heart, he evidently had no chance of impressing these Eternal Laws on his memory.

"Does our Joseph know the Ten Commandments by heart?" said Adam to Martina.

"Yes, indeed, word for word."

Leegart rescued the despairing Adam by coming into the room, and saying, "Don't delay at present. You are not like other people. The Pastor will probably ask you no questions on the subject, and, if he does, you can promise to learn the Commandments afterwards."

"A capital idea," said Adam, in a tone of relief; and closing the book at once, he felt as if a heavier load was taken off his shoulders, than on that memorable day when he had carried the cart and the sacks.

He returned with Martina into the sitting-room. The two fathers, and the bride and bridegroom, wished to leave the house together. Adam tried to make his mother-in-law aware of what was going on, but she shrunk from him, putting both hands to her ears; but when David spoke to her, she nodded. "Shall I stay at home," asked she, "and take care of Joseph? I will do it if you choose; but you have all done so much, while I have been sitting at home; and I must say I should like to be present at my Martina's wedding."

"Leegart will be so kind as to stay with Joseph."

"No! I will not be so kind. I have vowed to be present at Martina's marriage, and I could not possibly stay away even if I wished it."

Luckily Häspele, the refuge of the destitute, arrived at this moment, and though he had dressed himself very smartly, and was very proud of his personal appearance, and especially overjoyed that the wedding was to take place that very day, naturally expecting to have a conspicuous place at it, still he was at last persuaded to stay with Joseph by Martina saying to him:—"Häspele, all your life long you have been most kind both to the child and to me; be so good as to stay with the child today."

"Yes, yes, I'll do so of course, not another word," said Häspele, and, gulping down his disappointment as he best could, he went up to the attic and sat down by Joseph's bedside.

The two fathers, the mother, and the bridal pair went to the Parsonage, and a few paces behind followed Leegart alone, looking round at the houses on every side, where she saw a light, as she went along, and thinking how little they knew what an unexpected event was about to take place that night. Leegart heard the sounds of music—it must be bridal music sounding in the air. To be sure she is the only one who hears the melody, but she both knows and hears more than most people.

When the wedding party entered the sitting-room of the Parsonage, Leegart stayed below with the maid in the kitchen; she soon, however, dispatched her upstairs, that she might throw open the little window of the kitchen for air, she was in such a state of excitement.

CHAPTER XVIII.

FOR THE SAKE OF THE CHILD.

Night had followed morning, and morning turned into night, on this day like the previous one. The worthy Pastor required to exercise all his quiet self command, not to give way to the most feverish feelings of distress and anxiety; but just in the same way that he had resisted allowing the alarm bell to be rung except in the greatest extremity, so he now restrained his own feelings. He stood long looking out of the window. In the dead of night the ticking of the pendulum of the church clock was distinctly heard, and the heart of the anxious Pastor vibrated in unison with the swinging pendulum. He had learned the difficult art, in the midst of all the heartfelt sorrow and uneasiness he so keenly felt, to maintain the most perfect outward composure, and to subdue every symptom of passion: even the noblest of all—that of sympathy for others.

While all those who had remained behind in the village forced themselves to go to work, or sought to divert their thoughts by conversing with each other, and keeping themselves awake by sharing their uneasiness, the Pastor sat alone in his room, looking out of the window, apparently without emotion or noticing any object—and yet his inward agitation and excitement were great. The villagers, well acquainted with this habit of his, declared that at such moments the Pastor preached a silent sermon to himself; the Pastorin, however, had confided to her father, and to no one else in the world, that on these occasions the Pastor was composing poems, so tender and so aërial that solid words were too substantial for them, and he was content to breathe out his words and thoughts, though he neither wished nor tried to preserve them, by writing down his conceptions. Thus, when the poor child was found frozen to death, in the neighbouring village of Wenger, he had repeated, almost unconsciously, aloud, the words that are now inscribed on his tomb, and they had no little difficulty in persuading him to allow them to be written down, and sent to his brother clergyman at Wenger. Often, however, it was a poem, a deep thought from the kindred soul of another, or a melody of his favourite master, Mozart, that the Pastor repeated to himself at such hours, with all sorts of imaginary variations; and when he had held this silent intercourse with himself—the Pastorin called this his supernatural existence—he then went forth into the world, with a kind and consoling word for every one who needed it, and a degree of holiness an faith, strength and power, visible to all men. Thus he sat on this evening absorbed in a reverie.

The strokes of the clock were heard striking slowly from the church tower, proclaiming on hour after another; they go on striking, by day and by night, in joy or in sorrow—they sound on, and on, and loudly say: "Another space of time gone for ever—lost in Eternity!"

"We have found him," was the cry he suddenly heard in the streets, as the sound of a horn rung through the silent night, and the Pastor went out to welcome back his brother-in-law.

When they were again in the sitting-room, Edward told how Joseph had been found in the Forest Mill, with Adam's betrothed bride, Tony, He did not stop to describe minutely the fierce rage of the ungovernable Röttmännin, he spoke with enthusiasm of the kind honest sympathy shown by all the villagers:—

"These men," said he, "possess nothing but their lives, and their sound limbs, to enable them to struggle on through life, and yet with the utmost decision and confidence, as if it could not be otherwise, they, every one, exposed themselves to danger in order to save a lost child; this proved to me, dear brother, that your heart lived in all these men—you were at home, and yet they all came with us. I cannot but think that it must be a severe trial to you to leave such people."

The Pastor answered nothing; neither in assent or dissent, and the Pastorin asked:—

"So the Forest Miller's Tony has given up Adam? Heaven be praised for that! She has a pure and true heart, and is sure to do well in the world. Why did you not bring her with you to the village? I wish you had brought her here to me, Edward. She stands in great need of some one to interpose between her and her stepmother, and also the fierce old Röttmännin."

Edward did not say a syllable, but he breathed hard; in the mean time the Paster rejoined:—

"Don't be uneasy about Tony, she is wood of a fine and solid grain, and we cannot avert from others the consequences of their own actions, either for good or evil. They who have courage enough to do a deed, have also courage enough to endure its consequences, and ought to have it."

Edward looked up more cheerfully, but his cheeks glowed, and his sister, on seeing this, said:—"You are quite feverish—do go and lie down, and I will bring you a cup of tea when you are in bed."

Edward was very reluctant to follow this advice, and yet he felt quite dizzy; he had gone through more than he cared at this moment to confess. There was a knock at the door:—

"Come in," cried the Pastorin, but as there was an evident hesitation in doing so, she opened the door herself, and in came Speidel-Röttmann, Schilder-David and his wife, and, behind them, Adam and Martina.

"Herr Pastor," said Schilder-David, stepping forward, "God has helped us wonderfully; we hope you will give us further aid, and speedily too, that all things may be done in order."

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Speak yourself;" and David drew back, jogging Speidel-Röttmann's arm.

"What I want," began the latter, repeatedly stroking his closely cropped head with his hand, as if wishing to give a token of respect by pulling off an imaginary hat—"What I want, and I have not a word to say against it, is that the Herr Pastor should marry Adam to Martina this afternoon."

"Oh! that is delightful!" exclaimed the Pastorin, while Adam came forward, holding Martina's hand, and said—

"Yes, Herr Pastor, we earnestly beg you will."

"Yes, we humbly beg it," repeated Martina, in a low voice.

"Gently, gently," said the Pastor, in an authoritative tone, "you two young people, follow me to my room."

He went first, and the two followed him.

"Sit down," said the Pastor, when they were in his study—then he continued: "Adam, probably because you are the richest man in all the country, and can help yourself out of a full purse, without even thinking. What will it cost? you may imagine that whatever you choose can be done at once; you are proud of your strength, because you can knock down a horse, or kill a wolf with your stick: do you suppose that you are, therefore, entitled to imagine that where you are concerned, there are no laws or sacred injunctions, that cannot be abrogated when you wish it?"—

The Pastor paused, and Adam began—

"Herr Pastor! no one in the world knows me as I really am—neither my father, nor my mother—no one but my Martina. You, Herr Pastor, do know something of me; but not everything. What you have just said is very true; I have been a wild fellow; always ready to hit every man—a word and a blow; and I fear it is true, that I had not, hitherto, entirely subdued this wild fellow within me; but, Herr Pastor, he is now down for ever, and you and my Martina ... only give me some penance to perform; I will submit cheerfully, for I deserve it. Desire me to hack off my fingers, that I may become as weak as a child, and I will not shrink from it."

Adam's emotion was so great that he could not say another word, and the Pastor resumed—

"The law is, that you must be proclaimed three Sundays following."

"Is it not enough that the perils of my child made my blood run cold in my veins? Tell me what to do, Herr Pastor, and I will do it."

"Oh! Herr Pastor," entreated Martina; "have we not been punished severely enough? Have we not repented long enough?"

"No! you conducted yourself very properly during your long trial, but your sin was no light one. It shall never be said that those who once set the law at defiance, shall do the same now."

"If we cannot help ourselves, we must submit, I suppose," said Adam. Martina could not speak for tears. The Pastor let her remain for a time quiet, and then said:—

"Come with me to the next room."

"Is it all arranged?" asked the Pastorin.

Adam and Martina shook their heads, and Speidel-Röttmann came forward and said, "Herr Pastor, is it on account of the banns?"

"Yes, yes," answered Adam.

"If that is all," said Speidel-Röttmann with an air of importance, "Herr Pastor, I am willing to pay the fine it will cost."

"Truly, if rich farmers could smooth all obstacles with their money, there would be little difficulty for them in this world; but, Master Röttmann, there are some things which even your ten horses could not move from the spot. Has your wife given her consent?"

"Häspele declares she has," interrupted Edward. "He will be here presently."

Adam hurried away and brought Häspele back with him; he came in a great fright, and when the Pastor appealed to his conscience to say whether the Röttmännin had really given her consent, he said at length, after biting his lips till the blood came, "No, she did not."

"Very well then," said the Pastor; "I will on my own responsibility undertake to marry you, even without the Röttmännin's consent; but now I have something to say to you. Neither your pride, Adam, nor your humility—and I believe in your sincerity, and hope I shall have reason to do so henceforth—nor your swaggering, Speidel-Röttmann, as to paying the fine, but——"

"For the sake of little Joseph," the Pastorin could not help saying: "you give in on account of the boy. He is a precocious child. What would he think, if he heard that the banns of his parents were only published now? What battles he would have with his companions, and who knows what poisonous drops might fall into his heart, and what evil might be produced by them hereafter?"

"Exactly so," said the Pastor; "the child is now asleep, and utterly unconscious of all the perplexities and disorders of this wicked world; he has been in danger of death, and miraculously saved in search of his father, who proved himself a weak person, in spite of his strength; and his grandfather, who hitherto believed that everything could be purchased with money. So for little Joseph's sake I will marry you this night."

Martina rushed up to the Pastor, and knelt down and kissed his hand; Adam would evidently have gladly done the same, but in spite of his humility he could not quite bring himself to kneel yet; he only laid his hand on Martina's head, as if to testify that she was kneeling for him also.

All was still in the room, and the Pastor ended by saying, "We shall see each other again in church," and then went into his study. The Parsonage soon resumed its usual quiet aspect, but even before the wedding party left it, the news ran like wildfire from house to house in the village. "Adam and Martina are to be married to-night. Leegart said they would beforehand."