It was noonday again when the caravan reached the linden-tree. Freddie
ran to meet them, crying, "Is it winter?"
His mother went up to Peter Mike, laid down the money, begged him to
overlook the florin which was gone, and demanded her child.
The parson was in Peter Mike's room, and had almost succeeded in
persuading him to be reconciled to his brother's children and to give
the adopted child but a small portion of his property. At sight of
Crescence he rose, without knowing why, and raised his hands. He tried
to induce the woman not to give her child away; and, when she answered,
the sound of her voice was like a reminiscence of something long
unthought of.
Peter Mike had called Florian. When the latter saw the parson, he
rushed up to him, seized him by the collar, and cried, "Ha, old fellow!
I've caught you again at last." Crescence and Peter Mike interfered.
The parson, with a husky voice, begged the latter to retire, as he had
important communications to make to the strangers. Peter Mike complied.
"Is your name Crescence?" asked the parson.
"Yes."
"My child! my child!" said the parson, hoarsely, falling on her neck.
For a time all wept in silence. The parson passed his hand over her
face, and then made them both swear never to reveal the relation in
which they stood to him. He would give them a house and set them up in
business. Crescence was to be regarded as his sister's child.
Thus the vagrant family settled in the village. Florian has returned to
the active use of his faithful knife.
The wife of the Protestant minister, who is very religious, claims to
have discovered beyond a doubt that Crescence is not the parson's
niece, but his daughter; but people don't believe it.
The dog, who is also in the butchering-line, has exchanged his name of
Schlunkel for the honest one of Bless. The gloomy recollections of the
past are buried in oblivion.