which Thoma had listened at first, disappeared now that her mother concluded with advice and censure. She moved her lips impatiently, but said nothing.

From the valley could be heard the din of the fair; the drums and trumpets in the show booths, the lowing of the cows and oxen, and the whinnying of the horses in the broad meadow by the river side.

At the foot of the mountain, where the signpost is, Thoma beckoned to her a beggar, who sat by the roadside, holding out his handless arm, and gave him a bright, new mark.

"That pleases me," said the mother, as they drove on.

Thoma answered with a voice clear as the morning:

"Yes, mother, on this, my day of happiness, I cannot pass the first beggar I meet without giving him something; and see," she cried, looking back, "see, he is making signs to us; he has just found out how much he received, and is showing it to the others. If I could only make the whole world happy, as happy as I am! O mother, it must be terrible! There sits a poor man appealing with such pitiful glances; men pass by, one gives nothing, the others give nothing, it is too much trouble to put their hands into their pockets and open their purses, and the poor man begs with empty mouth."

The mother nodded with a happy face, and wanted to say: "You do not take after your father in everything, in some things you are like me," but she suppressed the words. She was still vexed for having so far forgotten herself as to say anything against her husband.

"Good morning, Thoma! Good morning, mother!" suddenly sounded in greeting the clear voice of Anton; he held out his hand and continued:

"Come, jump out and walk with me."

"No, you ride with us."

"I'll walk beside you," replied Anton, and rested his hand upon the railing of the wagon, as he walked along.

The mother made excuses for having kept him waiting, and said that the farmer was following on foot.

CHAPTER VII.

Upon entering the fair ground, Landolin was immediately greeted by the farmer Titus, called the Mountain-king, whose estate lay on the other side of the plateau. Titus offered him a large sum for the prize cow, which Landolin haughtily refused. He was soon surrounded by a crowd of farmers, who, partly in earnest, and partly in jest, charged him with having ruined the fair by exhibiting her, for the other cattle looked small and poor in comparison. Landolin smiled; he had brought her merely to gratify his pride, but he was very well pleased to find that he had been able to arouse the envy of others; and the annoyance of the Mountain-king especially pleased him, as they had long been rivals. The other farmers had really no ambition, their thoughts and efforts were centered on gain. This was the case with the rivals, too, but in addition to this, they desired a special recognition of their superior importance.

The Mountain-king Titus had this advantage, he despised the world, and let it be so understood; the man who does this the world runs after. He acted as if (and perhaps it was true) he desired nothing from any one; he had the indifference of the pretentious peasant; he might hear his name spoken behind him seven times without so much as turning his head to find out who spoke, or what was said of him. He rarely talked with any one, but when he did, the person addressed was happy; "The Mountain-king has just spoken to me, and so long, and so politely!"--he who could say this was elated with the honor. Landolin, on the other hand, despised the world no less than the Mountain-king; but he longed for applause and homage, and when it was not voluntarily offered him, he endeavored to compel it. He was boastful, and displayed his condescension, or even his anxiety for the good opinion of this and that one, and by that very means trifled away the desired standing.

Landolin and the Mountain-king treated each other like friends, while at the same time they hated each other profoundly.

Presently they stood in the presence of a third person, to whom each of them was bound to do honor. Pfann, the Circuit Judge, a man with a fine countenance, wearing gold spectacles, was walking with his wife on his arm, through the crowded fair, bowing here and there. He now came up to the two men, and told them that on the next day they would be summoned to serve on the jury.

"I'm sorry it cannot be arranged otherwise," he added, "but the next term of court falls during harvest."

"It's always so," cried Landolin; "in return for paying high taxes, we have the privilege of sitting for weeks at a time, nailed to a bench."

He thought that he had spoken not only with dignity, but with general approval, and he looked around for signs of assent; but nobody nodded.

Titus, on the other hand, was silent, and his silence was more weighty than Landolin's words.

"We may congratulate you," said the judge's wife to Landolin; "I hear your daughter is to be betrothed to the miller's son, Anton, of Rothenkirchen. He is an excellent young man, intelligent, well-educated, and brave."

Landolin did not appear to be altogether satisfied with this praise, and could not help saying, vaingloriously, even at the expense of his future son-in-law:

"Yes, the young folks are so desperately fond of each other, that I have given my consent. Thank God, I am able to take a son-in-law of lower rank; and, indeed, he might have been an officer. But I must say farewell; I have waited too long, they are expecting me at the 'Sword.'" He stepped quickly away.

When the Circuit Judge had found his way through the crowd to a quiet corner, he said:

"There you have a sample of your honest-hearted peasantry. Utter stupidity or cunning roughness is their alternative. The roughness hits at random, without reflecting how the smitten feels the blow. Landolin is not ashamed to belittle the brave boy his daughter is to marry, merely to make himself appear bigger by his side."

"I still hold," answered his wife, "that the hearts of these people are true, and are often better than their words and deeds. Landolin did not really wish to speak disparagingly of Anton; he only wanted to set down his old rival, Titus; for Titus, too, would have been glad to have Anton for a son-in-law."

The judge was astonished at this new information from his wife; but at her charitable judgment, which nothing could shake, he had long since left off being astonished.

They wandered on; and as they proceeded, the greetings given the wife were, if possible, more earnest than those given the judge himself. She nodded to some with special friendliness, and to a few she gave a pleasant passing word.

CHAPTER VIII.

On one side of the river was the noise and bustle of the crowded fair; on the other, in the shade of the elms and willows, hidden from all the world, sat Anton and Thoma, caressing each other.

"Now be sensible, and say something," said Thoma at length.

"No, no, I cannot talk, and I don't need to, for everything I would say you know already," replied Anton. He told, however, of his awakening before day, of his morning walk, and how he had greeted Thoma from the far distance.

She laughed gladly, and tears came to her eyes. She was certainly sincerely fond of Anton, but the deep, gushing love which now burst from him she had scarcely dreamed of.

"Yonder is the fair," said he, "anything can be got there. I should like to buy something for you, but it would be useless; the world, the whole world, is