When Easter came, Braesig set out for the water-cure, and the Kammerrath
arrived at Pumpelhagen, with his three daughters, Albertine, Bertha,
and Fidelia.
"He will never go away again, he is near his end," said Habermann to
himself, and Franz thought the same, and they spoke sadly of it to each
other as they sat together the evening after his arrival. Franz
naturally took his meals after this with his uncle and cousins, and
Habermann found himself very lonely in the old farm-house, he had
become so accustomed to the young man's society, and found it so
pleasant.
During the first week the Kammerrath had a visitor. Pomuchelskopp came,
in his blue dress-coat with bright buttons, and in his new coach, which
was rendered more splendid than ever, since it was adorned with a coat
of arms, which he had ordered from Vienna for half a louis-d'or. It
represented a haddock's head (Dorsch Kopp) on a blue field (Fell),
which the stupid laborers, who understood nothing about haddocks and
blue fields called "a block head (das Kopp) in a blue coat" (Fell);
having possibly discerned a personal resemblance between the escutcheon
and their master.
He had given up the idea of intercourse with Braesig's Herr Count, and
no other families of nobility lived in the neighborhood, so he found
the Kammerrath's arrival quite apropos. But the man was unfortunate. As
he made known his errand to Daniel Sadenwater, the Kammerrath's old
servant, in a melancholy tone--that he felt constrained to make
personal inquiries after the Herr Kammerrath, and added that he had
known the Herr Kammerrath very well at Rostock,--old Daniel went off
with a peaceful face to announce him, but came back with a face quite
as placid to say that the Herr Kammerrath regretted he was not in a
state of health to receive callers. That was truly vexatious for
Pomuchelskopp, and he sat all the afternoon sulking in the sofa-corner,
and his dear wife, who always became so cheerful and affectionate on
such occasions, called him "Poeking" incessantly, which certainly should
have amply compensated for his disappointment.
The Kammerrath, in his illness, felt the need of no other society than
he found at home. His two oldest daughters thought of nothing else from
morning to night but to amuse and comfort him, and the youngest, who
was the pet child of the whole family, and who continued a little too
young to suit her elder sisters, and perhaps prided herself a little
upon her childlike joyousness, sought for means to enliven him. Franz,
in the kindness of his heart, had assumed the office of secretary to
his uncle, and took upon himself all the little annoying cares, which
are not wanting in a household where sickness has entered; but the
Kammerrath took especial pleasure in the society of Habermann, and
consulted him not only about farming matters, but in all his affairs
and perplexities.
Habermann had little time, now, to visit at the parsonage, and if
Louise wished to speak to her father, she must seek him in the fields,
or at noon in the farm-house. So it happened that she often came in the
way of the Fraeulein Fidelia, and as it is an old story that young girls
who are growing to be rather old girls, hovering on the line between
youth and age, always incline to the youthful side, and enjoy the
society of those younger than themselves, it was quite natural that
Fraeulein Fidelia should take a great fancy to Louise, and in a little
while they were the closest friends.
It is generally a good thing for a young girl to have such a friend,
older than herself, but I would not say it is always so. It depends
greatly upon the circumstances of the older lady. Louise took no harm
from the intimacy, for Fraeulein Fidelia was very kind-hearted; she was
also a little tired of the frivolity and ceremony of high society, and
when her blessed mama--the gracious old lady, as Daniel Sadenwater
called her,--had endeavored to make her more ceremonious and dignified,
the Kammerrath had always taken his darling's part. He was a little to
blame for her childishness; she had always frolicked with him, from her
babyhood, and had laughed away his cares and troubles, and she kept on
doing so from force of habit.
She spoke of this daily task of amusing her father in such a manner
that Louise thought of nothing but how to comfort and assist her; and
what might have been dangerous under different circumstances became now
rather a preventive of contagion. Louise had too much good sense to
look among Fraeulein Fidelia's little fripperies of behavior for manners
suitable to herself. But she not only received benefit, she gave it. If
Louise had little knowledge of the world of fashion, Fraeulein Fidelia
had as little of the world in which she lived and moved--and there
Louise could give the best instruction.
But a vexatious thing was first to occur, which gave Fraeulein Fidelia
great annoyance. It happened in this way. The Kammerrath had sent to
Schwerin for a beautiful dress, for her birth-day present, Fraeulein
Albertine had given her a new summer hat, and Fraeulein Bertha, a pretty
shawl, and when the presentation was over, the two elder sisters had
arrayed their pet in the new finery, and stood looking at her right and
left, admiring her fine appearance, and Fraeulein Bertha exclaimed, "She
is a little fairy!" (fee).
Corlin Kegels, one of the maids, was going through the room at the
moment, and had nothing better to do than to say in the kitchen: "What
do you think, girls? Fraeulein Bertha says that our little Fraeulein
looks like a little cow (vieh)." The joke took, and Fraeulein Fidelia was
soon known among the servants only as "the little cow." Of course it
must come to her ears, sooner or later, and then there was a great
uproar and a great investigation, and Corlin Kegels, in spite of her
weeping and begging, was turned out of doors. Louise came in just then,
and met Corlin crying on the door-steps, and found Fraeulein Fidelia
crying in the parlor. One word led to another, and when Louise knew the
whole affair, she said, placing her hands compassionately on the
Fraeulein's shoulders, "Ah, the poor things didn't mean any harm."
"Yes, indeed they did," cried the Fraeulein, hastily. "The rough,
unmannerly common people!"
"No, no! Don't say that!" exclaimed Louise, really distressed. "Our
people are not rough; they have as much feeling as distinguished
people. My father says one must learn to know them, and that is not so
easy, their language separates them from their masters."
"Very likely," said Fidelia. "I call 'little cow' a rough, coarse
expression."
"It was a misunderstanding," said Louise. "The word 'fee' is unknown to
them, and this sounds like it, and seemed comical to them. They had no
idea of offending you. Dear Fraeulein, you are the idol of all your
servants."
This last sugar-plum, which Louise administered with no thought of
flattery, pacified the Fraeulein, and at last, in the kindness of her
heart, she resolved upon a nearer acquaintance with her people, and
Corlin Kegels was taken again into favor.
The Fraeulein made inquires of Franz, and he praised the Pumpelhagen
people highly, the Kammerrath, also, gave them a good character, and
said that their ancestors had lived on the estate since the memory of
man. "The first Herr von Rambow of whom we have intelligence," said he,
"bad two servants, one of whom was called 'Asel' and the other 'Egel.'
These had many namesakes, and in time a great confusion arose among the
different 'Egels' and 'Asels.' One Egel would take home the bushel of
wheat, which another Egel should have had, and one Asel would get the
load of hay which properly belonged to another. This confusion had
reached such a point under one of my forefathers, who--I am sorry for
the family to confess--had a very short memory, that the Frau von
Rambow, who was a good deal quicker-witted than her husband, undertook
to remedy matters. She had an idea, and as she had the rule she could
carry it out. All the fathers of families in the village were called
together, One Sunday morning, and every one must tell his christened
name and his father's name, and she wrote them down,--for she knew how
to write,--and then took the first letter of the christened name, and
the father's name together, and baptized the whole village. So 'Karl
Egel' became 'Kegel,' and 'Pagel Egel' 'Pegel' and 'Florian Egel'
'Flegel,' and 'Vullrad Asel' was changed to 'Vasel,' and 'Peter Asel'
to 'Pasel,' and 'David Asel' to 'Daesel,' and so on. And, it is a thing
to be noted, the old story said the ancestor of the Egels was a
flax-head, and that of the Asels a black-head, and so it is among their
namesakes to this day. And the resemblance was not merely external,
they inherited mental peculiarities as well; for the first Egel was
greatly skilled in cutting spoons and ladles, and making rakes and
wooden shoes, while the first Asel was an uncommonly fine singer, and
the gifts have remained in the families,--the night-watchmen have
always been chosen from the Asels, and the wheelwrights from the Egels;
you know at this day, Fidelia, David Daesel is the watchman, and Fritz
Flegel is the wheelwright."
Fraeulein Fidelia was excessively pleased with this story, and in her
restless and frolicsome humor she ran about to all the laborer's
cottages, chatting with the housewives by the hour, and keeping them
from their work, and bestowing cast-off finery upon the children. If
Louise Habermann had not been with her, she would have given Pasel's
eleven-year-old Marie a riding-hat with feathers and veil, and Daesel's
Stina, who watched the goslings in the duck-pond, would have got a
gorgeous pair of light blue satin slippers. The old fathers of the
village shook their heads over such doings; but the old mothers
defended her, saying that if she were not so sensible as she might be,
yet she meant well; and instead of calling her merely "little cow," as
before, they called her "a nice good, pretty little cow."
Pastor Behrens shook his head, also, when he heard of this new sort of
beneficence. The Pumpelhagen people were the best in his parish, he
said, and they had good reason to be, in having such a good old master,
the Gurlitz people had suffered greatly from the change of proprietors;
but nothing was so bad for people as indiscriminate and unmerited
beneficence,--he must talk to the Fraeulein about it.
He did so at the next opportunity; he told her that the Pumpelhagen
people were so situated that unless in case of sickness, or the death
of a cow, or some other misfortune, an industrious fellow and a tidy
housewife could take care of themselves, and that unnecessary favors
only taught them to look too much to others for assistance. These
people must go their own, free way, just like others and one must be
careful of intruding into their concerns, even to benefit them.
I am glad to say that Fraeulein Fidelia saw the justice of these
remarks, and limited her benefactions in future to the people who could
no longer help themselves, to the old and the sick, and for these she
was changed from a little "vieh" to a little "fee." Louise helped her
in these Good-Samaritan labors, and as Franz now and then met them in
the cottages, he saw to his surprise that the little maiden had a good
deal of experience, and was both wise and skilful in action, and that
the lovely eyes rested with as much sweetness and compassion upon a
poor old sick laborer's wife, as upon him, that Christmas eve. He
rejoiced at this, without rightly knowing why.
The spring was over, summer had come, and one Sunday morning Habermann
received a letter from Braesig, at Warnitz, saying that he must stay at
home that day; Braesig had returned from the water-cure and was coming
to see him in the afternoon. So it happened; Braesig came on horseback,
and dismounted with a spring, as if he would send both feet through the
causeway.
"Ho, ho!" cried Habermann. "How active you are, you are as quick as a
bird!"
"Freshly sharpened, Karl! I have made a new beginning."
"Well, old fellow, how did it go?" asked Habermann, when they were
established on the sofa, and had started their pipes.
"Listen, Karl! Damp, cold, soaking wet, that is only the beginning.
They make a man into a frog, and before human nature changes to
frog-nature a man suffers so much that he wishes he had come into the
world as a frog, to begin with; but it is good, for all that. You see,
the first thing in the morning is generally sweating. They wrap you up
in cold, wet cloths, and then in woolen blankets, so tightly that you
can move nothing but your toes. After that they take you into a bathing
room, ringing a bell to keep the ladies away, and then they put you
into a bathing-tub, and pour three pailfuls of water over your bald
head, if you happen to have one, and then you may go where you please.
Do you think that is the end? You may think so, but it is only the
beginning; but it is good, for all that.
"Well, then you go walking, for exercise. I have done a good deal of
walking in my time, raking and harrowing and sowing peas, and so forth;
but I always had something to do. Here, however, I had nothing at all.
And then you drink water from morning to night. It is just like pouring
water through a sieve, and they stand there and groan, and say, 'Ah,
the beautiful water!' Don't you believe them, Karl, they are
hypocrites. Water is bad enough, outside, but inside it is fearful; it
is good, though, for all that.
"Then you take a sitz-bath--can you imagine how that feels, four
degrees above freezing point? Just as if the devil had got you on a
red-hot iron stool, and kept putting fresh fire under; but then it is
good for you. Then you walk again, till noon, and then you eat your
dinner.
"But you have no conception, Karl, how people eat at a water-cure! The
water must sharpen the stomach famously. Karl, I have seen ladies, as
slender and delicate as angels, who would eat three great pieces of
steak, and potatoes--preserve us! enough to plant half an acre! The
water-doctors are to be pitied, for one must eat them out of house and
home. After dinner, you drink water again, and then you can talk with
the ladies; for in the morning they won't speak to you, they go about
in strange disguises, some with wet stockings, as if they had been
crabbing, others with their heads tied up in wet cloths, and their hair
flying. You can talk to them as you please, but you will find it hard
to get answers, unless you inquire about their diseases, whether they
have had an eruption, or swellings or boils, for that is polite
conversation at a water-cure. After you have amused yourself in this
manner, you must go to the 'Tuesche,'[2] but don't think that it is
black,--no, nothing but clear cold water; it is good, though. You must
take notice, Karl, everything that is particularly disagreeable and a
man's especial horror, is good for the human body."
"You should be cured of your gout, then, Braesig, for you have a special
horror of cold water."
"One may see very well, Karl, that you have never been at a water-cure.
You see, the doctor explained it to me at length, this confounded
Podagra is the chief of all diseases,--it is the mother of all
mischief,--and it comes from the gout-stuff that lodges in the bones
and ferments there, and the gout-stuff comes from the poison stuff that
you swallow by way of nourishment, for example, Kuemmel and tobacco, or
the things you get from the apothecary. And if you have the gout you
must be sweated in wet sheets, till all the tobacco which you have ever
smoked, and all the Kuemmel you have ever drank, is sweated out. So you
see the poison-stuff goes away, and then the gout-stuff, and then the
cursed Podagra itself."
"Was it so with you?"
"No."
"No? why didn't you stay longer, then? I would have held out till the
end."
"Karl, you may talk. Nobody holds out,--no human being could. They had
one man there who was sweated till he smelt so strong of tobacco that
the doctor called the patients in, that their own noses might testify,
and it was put down in the books; but it came out afterward that the
rogue had been smoking a cigar, which is forbidden,--and Kuemmel is
forbidden also. But to go on with the daily life. After the Tuesche, you
walk again, and by that time it is evening. You may still walk about in
the twilight, if you please, and many of the gentlemen and ladies do
so, or you may amuse yourself in the house, with reading. I used to
read the water-books which a certain Russian has written, his name is
Frank, one of the chiefs of the water-doctors. Karl, there is
everything in those books, everything in brief. But it is hard for a
man to understand, and, on that account, I did not get beyond the
second page. That was quite enough for me, for after I had read it I
was as dizzy as if I had been standing on my head half an hour. Do you
think, Karl, that fresh air is fresh air? Not a bit of it! And do you
think that water out of your pump is water? You are quite mistaken! You
see, fresh air is composed of three parts, oxygen and nitrogen and
carbonic acid gas. And the pump water is composed of two parts, oxygen
and hydrogen. The entire water-cure system is founded upon fresh air
and water. And you see, Karl, how wisely nature has provided; we go
about in the open air, and we breathe in the black carbonic acid,
and the nitrogen, for they cannot be separated, and then comes the
water-cure and turns these ugly things out of doors, for the oxygen of
the water unites with the carbonic acid, and the hydrogen drives out
the nitrogen from the body, in the sweating process. Do you understand,
Karl?"
"No," said Habermann, laughing heartily, "not a word of it."
"You shouldn't laugh at things that you don't understand, Karl. You
see. I know the nitrogen is driven out, I have smelt it myself; but
what becomes of the black carbon? That is the point, and I never could
get beyond it, in my water-cure science, and do you suppose Pastor
Behrens understands it? I asked him yesterday, and he knows nothing at
all about it. But you will see, Karl, the black carbonic acid is still
in my body, and so I shall have the cursed Podagra again."
"But, Zachary, why didn't you stay a little longer, until you were
thoroughly cured?"
"Karl," said Braesig, dropping his eyes, with a confused expression, "it
wouldn't do! Something happened to me, Karl," looking Habermann in the
face again. "You have known me since I was a child, have you ever
noticed any disrespectful behavior to the ladies?"
"No indeed, Braesig, I can testify to that."
"Well, then, just think how it must have troubled me! A week ago this
last Friday, I had an infamous grumbling in my great toe,--for it
always begins at the extremities,--and the water-doctor said, 'Herr
Inspector, you must have an extra packing. Dr. Strump's confounded
Colchicum is doing the mischief, and we must have it out.' So he packed
me himself, and bandaged me up so tight that I could scarcely draw
breath, saying I did not need air so much as water, and upon that he
was going to shut the window. 'No,' said I, 'I understand enough to
know that I must have fresh air; leave the window open,' and he did so,
and went off. I lay there quietly, thinking no harm, when suddenly I
heard a humming and a buzzing, and as I looked up, a whole swarm of
bees came in at the window, and the leader,--for I knew him, Karl, you
know I am a bee-master, I went out one spring at Zittelwitz with the
schoolmaster, and took seven and fifty hives--and this leader made
straight for the blanket which the doctor had drawn over my head. Well,
what was I to do? I could not stir,--I blew and blew at him, till I had
no breath left; not the slightest use. The beast fastened himself on my
bald head,--for I always left off my peruke, in order not to injure
it--and the whole swarm came hovering over my face. I rolled myself out
of bed, fell on the floor, struggled out of the blankets and wet
sheets, and ran out of the door, with the devils after me, and cried
for help. God be praised, the assistant of the water-doctor--the man's
name is Ehrfurcht,--met me, and took me to another room, and got me
necessary clothing, so that after resting awhile I could go down into
the dining-room, that is to say, with half a score bee-stings in my
body. I began to talk to the gentlemen, and they laughed. I turned to
one of the ladies, and made a friendly remark about the weather, and
she blushed. Why should the weather make her blush? I don't know, nor
you either, Karl. Why do you laugh? I turned to another lady, who was a
singer, and asked her very politely to sing a song, that she had sung
every evening. What do you think she did, Karl? She turned her back on
me. As I stood there wondering what it all meant, the water-doctor came
to me, and said, 'Herr Inspector, don't take it ill, but you made
yourself quite noticeable this afternoon.' 'How so?' said I. 'Yes,' said
he, 'when you sprang out of the door, Fraeulein von Hinkefuss was
crossing the corridor, and she has told it in confidence to all the
rest.' 'And on that account, am I to be deprived of all pity? Shall the
gentlemen laugh, and the ladies turn their backs on me? I did not come
here for that! If Fraeulein von Hinkefuss had got half a score of
bee-stings in her body, I should inquire after her every morning, with
the greatest interest. But let her go! One cannot buy sympathy in the
market. But now come, Herr Doctor, and take the bee-stings out of me.'
If you believe me Karl, he couldn't do it. 'What,' said I, 'not take a
bee-sting out of my skin?' 'No,' said he, 'I _could_, to be sure, but I
dare not, it would be a surgical operation, and according to the
Mecklinburg laws I am not qualified for it.' 'What?' said I, 'you can
drive the poison out of my bones, and not draw the stings out of my
body? You dare not touch the skin of the outer man, and you clear out
his inside with your confounded water? I am obliged to you!' and from
that moment, Karl, I lost confidence in the whole concern, and without
that it could do me no good, they say so themselves to everybody, when
he first arrives. So I came away, and had the stings taken out by old
Surgeon Metz, at Rahnstadt. And so ends my story of the water-cure. It
is a good thing, though; one gets quite a different view of things, and
even if the cursed Podagra is not cured, one gets an idea of what a
human being can endure. And, Karl, I brought you home a water-book, you
can study the science in the winter evenings."
Habermann thanked him, and the conversation turned to farming matters,
and so, by degrees, to the apprentices.
"How does your young gentleman get along?" inquired Braesig.
"Very well indeed, Braesig, he is equally good at everything. I am only
sorry that cannot see more of him. He does his duty, wherever he is,
and Daniel Sadenwater tells me that he watches many a night with our
poor, sick master, though he is very tired. He is a model young man. He
has interest in his work, and a kind heart for his friends."
"Well, Karl, and your greyhound?"
"Oh, he is not so bad; he has a good many maggots in his head, but the
youth is not vicious. He does what he is told, when he doesn't forget
it. Well! we were young once ourselves."
"The best of your young folks is that they are so hearty. I was at
Christian Klockmann's, you see, lately, he has a son, fourteen years
old, just confirmed. He is tired all day, falls asleep while he is
walking, when he ought to eat he won't eat, and if he is sent to the
field he perishes with cold."
"Ah, no! my two are not like that," said Habermann.
"And the young gentleman watches at night by the old master?" said
Braesig. "It is sad for the young man! The Herr Kammerrath is then very
feeble? Give him my respects, Karl, I must say adieu, I have an
appointment to meet my gracious Herr Count." Whereupon Braesig departed.
The Kammerrath had indeed grown very feeble, of late; he had suffered
another slight shock, but had fortunately retained his speech, and this
evening Franz came to ask Habermann to go over and see his uncle, who
wished to speak with him.
When the Inspector entered the room, Fidelia was there, chattering to
the old gentleman of this and that; the poor child knew not how long
she might be able to talk with her good father. The Kammerrath bade her
leave him alone with Habermann, and when she was gone he looked at the
inspector with deep sadness, and said, feebly, "Habermann, dear
Habermann, when that which has always given us pleasure pleases us no
longer, the end is near." Habermann looked at him, and could not conceal
from himself the sad truth, for he had seen many death-beds; his eyes
fell, and he asked, "Has the doctor been here to-day?"
"Ah, dear Habermann, what good can the doctor do me? I would rather see
Pastor Behrens once more. But I must speak to you first of other
affairs. Sit down here, near me."
He went on hastily, yet with frequent interruptions, as though time and
breath were both growing short for him. "My will is at Schwerin. I have
thought of everything, but--my illness came so suddenly--my wife's
death--I fear my affairs do not stand quite so well as they should."
After a short pause, he resumed, "My son will have the estate, my two
married daughters are provided for, but the unmarried ones--poor
children! they will have very little. Axel must take care of them--God
bless him, he will have enough to do to take care of himself. He writes
me that he wishes to remain another year in the army. Very well, if he
lives carefully, something may be saved to pay debts. But the Jew,
Habermann, the Jew! Will he wait? Have you said anything to him?"
"No, Herr Kammerrath; but Moses will wait; at least I hope so. And if
not, there is a good deal of money coming in from the farm, much more
than last year."
"Yes, yes, and real estate has risen. But what good is it? Axel
understands nothing of farming; but I have sent him books, through
Franz, books about agriculture,--he will study them; that will help
him, won't it, Habermann?"
"God bless the poor old Herr!" thought Habermann. "He was always so
practical and reasonable himself, he wouldn't have said that when he
was strong and well; but let him take what comfort he can," so he said
yes, he hoped so.
"And, dear friend, you will stay with him," said the Kammerrath
earnestly, "give me your hand upon it, you will stay with him?"
"Yes," said Habermann, and the tears stood in his eyes, "so long as I
can be useful to you or your family, I will not leave Pumpelhagen."
"I was sure of it," said his master, falling back exhausted upon the
pillows, "but Fidelia shall write--see him once more,--see you and him
together."
His strength was gone, he drew his breath with difficulty.
Habermann rose softly, and pulled the bell, and as Daniel Sadenwater
came, he took him into the ante-room, "Sadenwater, our master is worse,
I am afraid he cannot last long; call the young ladies, and the young
Herr, but say nothing definite about him."
A shadow fell upon the old servant's face, as when the evening wind
passes over a quiet lake. He looked through the half-opened door of the
sick-room as if it came from thence, and said to himself as if in
excuse, "God bless him, it is now thirty years----" turned away, and
left the room.
Franz and the young ladies came. The poor girls had no idea that their
father was failing so rapidly; they had thought surely the doctor would
be able to help him, and the Lord would spare him a little longer. They
had taken turns in watching by him, of late, and it struck them
strangely that they should all be there at once, with Franz, and
Habermann, and Daniel Sadenwater.
"What is it, what is it?" began Fidelia, to the old inspector.
Habermann took her hand, and pressed it. "Your father has become worse,
he is very ill, he wishes to see your brother---- Herr von Rambow, if
you will write a couple of lines, I am going to send the carriage for
the doctor, and the coachman can take the letter to the post. In three
days your brother can be here, Fraeulein Fidelia."
"He will not last three hours," said Daniel Sadenwater, softly, to
Habermann as they came out of the sick-room.
And the three daughters stood around their father's bed, weeping and
lamenting, and would fain hold fast the prop that had upheld them so
long, and each was thinking anxiously for something to alleviate and
help, and the three hearts beat more and more anxiously and quickly,
and the one heart ever more slowly and feebly.
Franz sat in the ante-room, listening to every sound, and now and then
going into the sick-room. He had never before seen the departure of
human life, and he thought of his own father, whom he had always
imagined like his uncle, and it seemed as if his own father were dying
a second time. He thought also of his cousin, who was not here, and
whose place he filled, and thought that he should love him the more,
all his life.
Habermann stood at the open window, and looked out into the night. It
was just such a warm, damp, cloudy night as that in which his heart had
come so near to breaking. Then it was his wife, now his friend; who
would come next? Would it be himself, or---- No, no, God forbid! that
could not be.
And Daniel Sadenwater sat by the stove, and did what he had done every
evening for thirty years; he had a basket of silver forks and spoons on
his lap, and on the chair near him lay a polishing cloth, and a silk
pocket-handkerchief; and he rubbed alternately the spoons and forks
with the handkerchief, and as he looked at his master's name on the
fork which he had polished every evening for thirty years, his eyes
were so dim that he couldn't see whether it were bright or not, and he
set the basket down, and looked at the fork till his eyes ran over with
tears.
Amid all this trouble and sorrow, the pendulum of the old clock moved
steadily back and forth, back and forth, as if old Time sat by a cradle
and rocked his child safely and surely to sleep.
And he slept. Two eyes closed themselves forever, the dark curtain
between Here and Beyond dropped softly down, and this side stood the
poor maidens, lamenting and vainly stretching their arms after that
which was gone, and wringing their hands over that which was left
behind. Fidelia threw herself down by her father's body, and sobbed and
cried until she was taken with spasms. Franz, full of sympathy, lifted
her in his arms, and carried her out of the room, and her two sisters
followed, in new anxiety for their darling, and Habermann was left
alone with Daniel Sadenwater. He pressed down the eyelids of the dead,
and after a little turned away with a heavy heart; but Daniel sat on
the foot of the bed, looking with his quiet face into the still more
quiet face of his master, and he held the fork still in his hand.