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 THE WORKS OF
GUSTAV FRENSSEN
R

JÖRN UHL, cloth, 12mo, $1.50

(Two Hundredth Thousand)

DIE DREI GETREUEN

(THE THREE FAITHFUL) (Zn Press)
(Sixtieth Thousand)

DIE SANDGRAFIN (&Press)

(Twenty fifth Thousand)

eG

DANA ESTES & CO., PUBLISHERS

EsTEs Press Bosron, Mass.
JORN UHL
By GUSTAV FRENSSEN

TRANSLATED BY F. S. DELMER

BOSTON $ DANA ESTES &

COMPANY # PUBLISHERS
LONDON è ARCHIBALD CON-
STABLE & COMPANY, LTD. $ 1905
 Copyright, 1905
By Dana Estes & COMPANY

ENTERED AT STATIONERS’ HALL

All rights reserved

JORN UHL

First printing, April, 1905

Second printing, May, 1905

COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
 PREFATORY NOTE

GuSTAVE FRENSSEN, the author of “ Jorn Uhl,” was born in

the remote village of Barlt, in Holstein, North Germany, on
October 19, 1863. His father is a carpenter in this village,
and, according to the church register, the Frenssen family has
lived there as long as ever such records have been kept in the
parish.
In spite of his father’s humble circumstances, Gustave
Frenssen managed to attend the Latin School at the neigh-
boring town Husum,
of and in due time became a student of
theology. He heard courses of lectures at various universities,
passed the necessary examinations, and finally, after long years
of waiting, was appointed to the care of souls in the little
Lutheran pastorate of Hemme in Holstein. Here within sound
of the North Sea, and under the mossy thatch of the old-
fashioned manse, he wrote his first two books, “ Die Sandgrafin ”
and “ Die drei Getreuen.” These two novels remained almost
unknown until after the publication of “Jorn Uhl” in 1902.
This book took Germany by storm. Its author, much to his
own surprise, “awoke one morning to find himself famous.”
All Germany was asking who he was and where he lived. His
homespun and drowsy congregation of rustics suddenly found
themselves elbowed out of their little kirk every Sabbath to
make room for the curious literary pilgrims that flocked there
from all parts of the country to see this man who had so
y

91492
vi PREFATORY NOTE
touched the heart of Germany, and the piles of letters that the
village postman every day brought to the manse were almost a
scandal in the simple hamlet.
But Frenssen’s books had aroused much hostility among
the orthodox church party, and in 1903 the poet-preacher gave
up his pastorate and retired to the beloved and homely Holstein
village of his youth, henceforth a free man, to devote himself
to literature.
Little need here be said about the fierce battles of criticism
that have raged around this book. The admirers of the French
novel smile condescendingly at what they dub its ‘‘ deliciously
superannuated” style, looking upon its author as a kind of
Richardson born by some freak of anachronism into the age of
Ibsen and Hauptmann. “ But,” answer Frenssen’s admirers,
“ this book has sprung from the deep consciousness of modern
Germany and utters the longings, thoughts, and aspirations of
the German heart ina way that no other modern book has
done. It is a living book; it is a book so throbbing with real
life, passion, and poetry, that we overlook in it those epic
liberties of narrative on account of which your pedantic critics
so damn it.”
Jorn Uhl, the peasant hero of this book, might stand for a
great part of modern Germany, and that by no means the
worse part. If Germany has anywhere a claim to autoch-
thonous art in her modern literature, it is here. The book has,
moreover, appealed to modern Germany in somewhat the same
way as Dickens appealed to the England of his day, and it is
the first time that this can be said of any German novel.
That the impression made on the English reader will be equally
strong is of course hardly to be expected; yet the translator
hopes that the English version of the book will not only prove
interesting as a picture of a homelier and, if you will, less
pampered culture than that of England, but that it will stand
even in a translation as a book of real human worth, as a
 PREFATORY NOTE Vii
sincere criticism of life, and a poet’s interpretation of the life
of man and the wonder of the universe of God.
A word of warning ought, perhaps, to be addressed to English
readers of the book. After the tragic notes struck in the
opening chapter there is a sudden and unexpected change to
an altogether different key, which to many will no doubt prove
disconcerting. The big effects are only reached toward the
middle of the book, and needless to say a thorough enjoyment
of them, even of the Tolstoi-like picture of the battle of Grave-
lotte, presupposes an acquaintance with all the foregoing
chapters. A second reading will reconcile us to much that at
first glance seemed arbitrary and inartistic in the development
of the story. It is indeed, as if Frenssen wantonly turns from
the theory that a novel should be drama written out in full, and
claims the liberties of an epic poet in the treatment of his
subject.
One further remark may be permitted. For good or ill
throughout the whole book there run punning allusions to the
names of the two Frisian families that play a part in the story
—the Uhls and the Crays. It must be born in mind, therefore,
that Uhl = owl, and Cray = crow.
Although the Low German dialect is used but very sparsely
in the original, the Doric note being chiefly felt in the general
style—the primitive use of the tenses, for example — the
translator has nevertheless taken the liberty of employing
Scotch expressions here and there to suggest the provincial and
rustic atmosphere of the story. F. S. D:
BERLIN, 7905.
 JORN UHL
CHAPTER: I.

In this book we are going to speak about Life, and Life’s

travail and trouble. Not the sort of trouble that mine host Jan
Tortsen made for himself when he promised to set a wonderful
Eider fish before his guests and couldn’t keep his word, and
then took it so to heart that he grew crazy and had to go into
the madhouse. Not the sort of trouble, either, that that rich
farmer’s son went to, who, for all his stupidity, managed to
learn to play ducks and drakes with his father’s crown pieces to
such good purpose, that he got through the whole of his inher-
itance in-a single month.
No, but of that sort of trouble shall we speak which old
Mother Whitehead had in mind, when she came to tell of her
eight children, — how three of them lie in the churchyard, and
one in the deep North Sea, and how the other four live far away
in America, and two of them haven’t written to her for years
and years. And of that labor and travail will we speak that
filled Geert Dose’s soul with its anguish, when, on the third day
after Gravelotte, he could not yet come to die, in spite of that
fearful wound in his back.
But while we have in mind to tell of such things, things that
many will say are sad and dreary, we nevertheless go about the
writing of this book with a heart full of cheerfulness, although
our face be earnest and our lips compressed. For we hope to
show in every nook and corner of it that all the labor and
trouble the people in it go through are not gone through in vain.

Wieten Penn, head maid servant at Uhl Farm, had been say-
ing that a great gathering of folk would take place there this
winter.
II
2 JORN UHE
“ But the strange thing about it is,” she said, “ that the people
will come as though to some gay festival, and will go hence as
though from a great funeral.”
So spoke Wieten Penn. Her mind was of a strange, medi-
tative cast, and she went by the name of Wieten “ Klook,” or
“ Canny ” Wieten.
Klaus Uhl, the big, stalwart marsh farmer, was standing in
the doorway in his shirt-sleeves, and looking away out over the
marshes awaiting his guests. A self-satisfied smile lit up the
shining good-humored face, for he was thinking of the jollifica-
tion and the card-playing to come, and the punch-drinking, and
all the spicy jokes they would crack that night. His slight little
wife, with her worn, pale face, had just sat down in the chair
that stood near the big white porcelain stove, and her eyes went
wandering over the great rooms all made fine and gay for the
guests. She was now expecting the birth of her fifth child, and
was weary with the many things she had had to do.
The three eldest lads — big fellows who were soon to be con-
firmed — were standing there, long-limbed and ungainly, near
one of the card-tables. “Their heads were narrow, and covered
with flaxen hair, and they had a peculiar domineering look about
them. The youths had taken up a pack of cards that lay on the
table, and were arguing in high, loud tones, with now and again
an oath, about the rules of the game; at last one of them
snatched the pack out of the hands of Hans, the youngest, call-
ing him a young blockhead.
The door opened and the little three-year-old Jurgen came
running up to his mother. ‘ Mother, they're coming; I can
see their carts.”
“ Mother,” said Hans, who wanted to revenge himself on
some one for the affront he had just suffered, “ Jorn looks quite
different from the rest of us, doesn’t he? Why, he looks
just like you with that long face and those sunken eyes of
his.’
She stroked the little fellow’s short-cropped flaxen head.
“ He’s bonnie enough for me,” she said.
The little lad laid his hands in her lap, and looked up into her
face. “I say, mother, Hinnerk says I’m soon going to get
either a little brother or a little sister. I want a sister. When
is she coming? As soon as she comes, you’ll have to tell me at
once, won’t you, mumsie? ”
 JORN UHL 13
The two big brothers went on with their game, nudging each
other and laughing.
“ And what do you think, mother? The stable-boy says that
last night the horses couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stand. their
stamping and fright, he says, and got up to see what it was.
And when he came into the stable there they were all standing
with their heads lifted, and at the far end of the barn there was
a clanking noise, as if some one was dragging a chain. And that
stupid Wieten Klook has heard about it, and of course wants
to make out that there’s something in it. Now I’d just like
to know what it is that’s in it.”
“Oh! for sure there’s something in it,” laughed Hinnerk.
“ You just wait and see! There’ll be another horse coming into
the stable, and then the oats will be a bit scarcer. Do you see?
That’s what’s in it.”
They cast a sly glance at their mother, and went out nudging
each other and trying to stifle their laughter. And now she
was alone with little Jurgen, who had quietly seated himself
by her side.
“Tt is not a good thing,” she said, softly, to herself, “ to hap-
pen after so many years. “The others are grown so big and
knowing. ‘They are hard-hearted like their father, and have the
same hard way of speaking. “They begrudge the little being its
life, even before it is born.” Her eyes wandered over the tables
and the piles of plates and shimmering glasses, and through the
rooms with all their gaudy, half-rustic, half-townish finery.
And she felt in her heart, not for the first time, that she was
out of keeping with all this brave show and all this big, noisy
house; and her longing soul took flight and flew far away over
the marshes and the stunted dry heather, and home to the old
farm on the moors. Yes, yes. That was the place for her.
There had been four of them under that long, low, thatched
roof, that stood midway between the moor and the forest: her
father and mother, her brother Thiess, and herself. And father
and mother had been such queer, droll creatures, and had
roguishly bantered and teased each other their whole life long.
On Fridays, when the father came home from market driving
his lean-ribbed horses, he used to stand up in his cart while still
a good distance off, and threaten her with the whip, shouting
out: ‘ Now, for goodness’ sake, little woman, do be sensible
for once! Inside, I say, not out here in public!” But the little
14 FORNEMME
woman had never grown “sensible,” in spite of the fact that
she was over forty. Directly he set foot on the ground, outside
there, right in public, so that a man at work on the Haze Moor
once saw them, she would throw her arms around his neck and
hug and kiss him as if there were no one else in the whole wide
world. And then the gaunt little man, with his small, finely
cut weaver’s face, would just laugh outright. They had never
had an angry word, and had always been as loving and cheery
as a pair of swallows in springtime. . . . They had both been
dead now for many a day. And her brother dwelt there behind
the Haze Wood alone. He was unmarried, and had his father’s
small features and the same droll and kindly ways. But she
herself had left the lean heaths of her home and gone down into
the fat marsh-lands while still a mere girl, and had become the
wife of Klaus Uhl.
And now chains had been heard clanking in the stable.
“ The three bigger boys will be able to look after themselves.
They’ve already begun to go their own ways, like foals that
leave their mother and forget her.”
But what about little Jürgen and the child whose coming she
was expecting? . . . “ Wieten must stay by the little ones.”
The carts were coming nearer: a string of three or four of
them, one after the other, were seen approaching along the road.
‘The sturdy Danish horses kept tossing and lowering their heads,
and every time they tossed them the steam rose from their
nostrils, and every time they lowered them they made the silver
on their harness glisten in the clear air. “That was the clan of
the Uhls; they came up once a year at this time and fore-
gathered under the old rooftree of their fathers to celebrate
the Uhl fest.
They were not far off now, and Klaus Uhl, with a smile on
his face, was just about to go down into the stable-yard that
lay below the house, when a clattering, old-fashioned cart that
had come from the direction of the village drove up.
“The deuce! who ever expected to see you here, brother-
in-law?”
Thiess Thiessen pulled up and laughed. ‘‘ My old turnout’s
hardly grand enough for the company that’s coming, eh?
Neither am I, for that matter, but I’m off again directly. I’ve
been buying a couple of calves in the village, and thought I’d
just look in and see my sister and little Jörn.”
 JORN UHL 15
The little man was down from his high cart with a tremen-
dous jump, and led his horses slowly and deliberately into the
barn; then he went in to where his sister was. She was sitting
r the back room with little Jörn, and was delighted to see
im.
“Come,” she said, “ and sit down a little while. Here we’re
quite safe. Yes, Thiess! safe from the grand big Uhls!” she
laughed. “ Come, sit up to the table. And how are the cows
getting on? Have you got the big black bullock as leader?
Now just tell me all about everything at home, just as if you’d
brought the whole Haze farm with you.”
She asked and he answered. ‘They had a good comfortable
chat, while from the front room ever and anon came the noise
of heavy footsteps and people talking, and the clatter of crockery.
“Til just look in and see how they’re getting on in the
kitchen and in the stable. And Wieten can get me a bite to eat,
and the man can show me the calves and foals. I am going to
take Jorn along with me. But you must stay here, sister.”
He took the little fellow by the hand and went out.
In the kitchen doorway a thick-set little youngster brushed
against his knees.
“Thats a Cray, I’ll be bound,” said Thiess. “ You can tell
it by his big red head.”
“ Its Fiete Cray,” said Jurgen. “ He always plays with me.”
“Oh! then of course he’ll have to come and sup with us,
too,” said Thiess, perching himself on the kitchen table.
They gave him a plateful of meat; and Thiess Thiessen took
it between his knees, and the two children sat beside him.
“Ts this your boy, Trina Cray?” said he.
The wornan turned her hot face from the fireplace toward
him. “ Yes,” she said, “ he’s the fifth. I’ve had six.”
“ Quite enough mouths at the manger, Trina, for a laboring
man who has to make heather brooms and brushes to keep him-
self going in winter.”
“ Oh, well,” said the woman, “I get all kinds of things given
to me at the farm here to keep the pot boiling.”
“ You don’t go home empty-handed then, eh? ”
“Noanot 11.”
“ Who’s responsible for that, Trina?”
“Your sister, Thiess Thiessen.”
“ Does me good to hear it, lass; does me good to hear it.”
16 JORN UHL
“I say, Jorn, did you see,” cried Fiete Cray, “ what a dip my
mother just made into the dripping? A lump as big as my
fst!”
“ Trina, that lad has great notions in his head. He’s a real
Cray; mark my words, he won’t end his days under the thatch
roof where he lives now.”
“ Hell have to go out to service and be a farm-laborer in
summer, like his father before him, and then make brushes to
keep himself in winter.”
“ Who can tell?” said Wieten.
“Ha! ha! now isn’t that Wieten all over!” said Thiess
Thiessen. “‘ But take care what you’re saying, Wieten. Prophesy
him something good while you’re about it. He has sharp eyes
in that round headpiece of his, and a lively fancy, too, I should
say.”
Wieten Penn was as a rule reserved and taciturn. But she
liked having a talk with Thiess Thiessen; for he was full of
such a grave inquisitiveness about everything. “‘ Strange things
can happen to a man,” she said, reflectively. “Once on a time
one of the Wentorf Crays left his father’s house— a working-
man’s child he was — and came to the Little People who live
underground beneath the pines on Haze Heath. ‘They loaded
him with gold, and then led him forth again, and he came back ee

to Wentorf. It seemed to him as if it was only yesterday that

he had left home. But people told him he’d been away for forty
years. And he could not but believe they spoke the truth. For
when he looked in the glass, he saw that his hair had all turned
gray. And, what’s more, he died soon afterward. Theodor
Storm, who always thought he knew better than I, used to say
to me: This story is meant to show how a man can go away
into strange lands, and be so taken up with the fret and fever
of life and gold-getting that he can never get back his true peace
of mind till it’s too late and his life is past. But that’s just
nonsense. It’s simply a story that really happened to some

“ Jorn!” shouted Fiete Cray. “ Just look! there goes another

lump. I say, Jörn, the king . . . why, the king can eat drip-
ping the whole day long.”
“ Laddie,” said Thiess Thiessen, “ just bide still! You say
something, Jorn.”
“ I know a rhyme,” said Jorn:
 PORN -UHL 17
“c Stork, Stork, Mister,
Bring me a little sister,
Stork, or bring the t’other,
Bring me a little brother.’ ”

“Let’s sing it all together,” proposed Thiess; so they sang

it and kicked their heels against the kitchen table, without
noticing the while that Wieten had pricked up her ears and then
left the room, and also that the kitchen maid was sent off on a
message. It was not till Wieten Penn went over to Trina Cray,
who was busy at the fireplace, and the latter clasped her hands
together over her breast in the way anxious women are wont
to do, that Thiess Thiessen noticed there was something the
matter.
“ What ails ye, lassies?”” he asked. “Is anything wrong,
Wieten? ”
“The stork’s here, Thiess, and is standing outside on the
chimney-top! ”
“ Wha-at!” cried Thiess. He stared at Wieten Penn, his
eyes wide with astonishment. “ Do you mean to say the stork
has come?” . . . With a bound he was down from the kitchen
table; he tore the door open that led into the yard, and rushed
away out into the stable. In two minutes he came back with
his thin gray-brown old overcoat on, and his foxskin cap with
its ear-lappets pulled down over his forehead. “ Take good
care of my sister, both of ye,” he said, hurriedly. “ Do you hear?
Take good care of her. And I won’t look too close at a crown
piece or so between ye, in spite of turf and calves being so cheap
this year.”
“ Won't you wait, Thiess, and hear how things go? ”
“No! no! Give her my love, lass. . . . I’ve harnessed up
and the cart’s waiting. Tor many aidia bear the sight of it.
I wish her luck, wihi her luck!” and he was off. As he
A across the floor of the hall they saw him shaking his
head, whether at the world, his sister, or himself, who can say?
and the sound of his heavy trampling steps died away over the
big dusky room.

The guests had been eating and drinking, and were now sit-
ting at the card-tables. Big, homely faces the picture of health,
and some of them proud and handsome enough. ‘The three
18 JORN UHL,
Uhl lads were standing behind the card-players, looking at the
cards; sometimes they were good-humoredly asked for their
advice, and would nod knowingly, and join in the laughter, or
fill up the punch-glasses afresh for the guests.
The players began to grow noisy in their mirth, and to tell
each other jokes and stories in the midst of their game, and
to play more or less recklessly. Little piles of silver coin were
pushed backwards and forwards across the table amid shouts
of laughter and curses. There were three or four of the
men, however, who remained quiet and sober. “These were
the real gamblers, and they had made up their minds not to go
home with empty pockets. Each of them sat at a different table,
for they could win nothing from each other. “Two of them were
by nature shrewd and level-headed men; they are still living in
their pretty, old-fashioned farmhouses under the lindens in the
Marner Marsh, but two of them were crafty and bad by nature.
They looked into the hands of their careless neighbors, and
cheated right and left. One of them, later on, fell into the
hands of Hamburg magsmen, who were still sharper and more
unprincipled than himself; and the other is now an old man of
eighty, and half-blind. He still plays Six-and-sixty for half-
pence, in his son’s cowshed with the stable-boy, and gets cheated
to his heart’s content.
The reckless ones well knew that they were playing with
cheats, but of course they were much too grand and good-hu-
mored and offhand to make a fuss about it. One of them who
had lost pretty heavily could not help remarking, “‘ Look here,
now, your eyes are a bit too sharp.” But they would soon begin
laughing again, and go on with their game.
Speech-making was scarcely the strong point of the company.
They left “spouting,” as they called it, to the minister and the
schoolmaster. Klaus Uhl, who in his youth had paid a flying
visit to a grammar school, was the only one of them who used
to hold forth now and then, and was even noted for the jovial
bonhomie of his speeches. He began by asking the company to
excuse his wife for not having put in an appearance, adding that
she had now gone to bed; but they were not to let that disturb
them, but to look to it that each of them went home with a good
handful of crown-pieces in his pocket.
“Thats not so easy, Uhl,” they laughed.
“ And, what’s more, as I’m your host you shouldn’t grudge
 JORN UHL 19
me a share of the luck myself. You eat my meat and you drink
my wine, and in my house you always get your fill of good vic-
tuals and good liquor. As you know, I’m just expecting my fifth
child.” At this they threw their great broad shoulders back in
their chairs, and there was a chorus of shouts and boisterous
laughter.
“Well, your acres are broad enough, and you’ve plenty of
money put by . . . and wheat’s going up. . . . Let the young-
sters go to college, and as for Jörn, why, he must be our
Provost.”
Klaus Uhl laughed, and clinked glasses with his guests.
Alick, the eldest son, whose head was muddled with punch, was
smiling vacantly to himself. Then Hinnerk, the second eldest,
left the room with unsteady steps, and came back carrying little
Jurgen, whom he had brought from his warm bed. He held
him aloft, and said, “ Look, here’s the Provost.” He wanted
to amuse the guests and make fun of the little lad, this late-
born interloper. But they all rose to their feet with tipsy
enthusiasm, laughing and shouting, “ And a bonnie little chap
he is.” The child, roused out of his fresh sleep, was poking
his little fists into his eyes and looking around him, dazed and
bewildered.
“ He shall be our Provost one of these days,” they cried. . . .
“ Here’s to his health! Here’s to the health of the Provost!”
Hans, the third eldest, came in from the passage with drowsy,
sleepy face, and approached his father from behind.
“They want to know whether you'll come to mother for a
minute,” he asked.
Uhl paid no heed to the question, and the lad went slouching
out again.
“My guests are perfectly right,” said Klaus Uhl, and he
looked across the table with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “ It
stands to reason, I can buy farms for all my youngsters when
they’re old enough to look after them. But I’ve had a pretty
good schooling myself, and have had quite enough Latin
knocked into me to know that book-learning is a mighty fine
thing. So I thank you for your good wishes, friends. I'll do
what I can, and little Jiirgen shall be the first son of a farmer
to sit in the house of the Provost. We farmers can well expect
— gad! I say we can well expect and demand that one of our
own class shall govern us one day or other; and if we can
20 JÖRN UBL
~

demand that, then I’d like to know what family has a better
right than the Uhls to give us a governor.”
Again the door opened, and again Hans stood there. He
stopped in the doorway, and called loudly through the noise:
“ Father, mother says you must come to her.”
“Don’t interrupt me just at present, boy. . . . By and by.
. . . As I was saying, he’ll have an easy time of it in his youth,
always plenty of money in his pocket, and so on; and then he’ll
be smart and good-looking, and have his head screwed on the
right way. Faith! he wouldn’t be the son of his father if he
didn’t. And, what’s more, he’ll take life easy, just as I do.
He’ll never know what care is, I tell you. Come, friends, let’s
drink a health to the Provost. Here’s to Jörn Uhl.”
“ Here’s to the health of the Provost.”
“ The health of the Provost.”
“ Father, the woman that’s with mother says that we must
have the horse and trap in readiness.”
That startled them.
“ Horse and trap? . . . Why! what’s the matter now?”
“ Has something gone wrong?” asked one.
“Come, let’s put the cards away,” said another. “It’s
already after eleven.”
“Come, friends, I’m off,” said another.
“Wait a minute, I’m with you,” said another.
“ Don’t go yet awhile, friends,” said Klaus Uhl. “ It’s noth-
ing but a woman’s nervousness.”
“No, we must be. . .”
“No, it’s time to be jogging.”
A few still continued talking about their game, regretting
that it had been broken up so suddenly and unexpectedly.
“T think Pll just look in at “The Wheatsheaf’ on the way
home for a little while.”
“So will I. D’you know what? We'll just step down to
the inn together. We can go on foot, and let our carts come
on afterward.”
“Tm devilish sorry that I can’t come with you, friends,
devilish sorry,” said Klaus Uhl.
“Tf you come with us we won’t get home before daybreak
for a certainty.”
One of them went up to him and grasped his hand, saying: |
 JORN UHL 21
“No, don’t come with us; it’s better you should stay at home
with your wife.”
He went into his wife’s room, and found her fairly well.
The people around the bed were saying that they hoped to be
able to manage now without the doctor’s help. Then he went
back to the front room and listened through the door, that was
still open as the guests had left it. Through the stillness of the
night you could hear in the distance their loud shouts and their
laughing answers. Once more he went slowly back through
the great room, and again returned. Finally he took his cap
down from the peg where it hung. It was as though a strong
man were taking him by the shoulders and thrusting him out.
He passed through the doorway and followed the others. He
never wore an overcoat when walking. He had so much vigor
and warm blood in him that he did not need it.
Immediately afterward Alick and Hinnerk entered the serv-
ants’ room with a full punch-bowl. As a rule, they liked to
play the master, and were at constant strife with the servants
on the farm; but on a day like this they assumed a condescend-
ing sort of good fellowship, and would fain have hobnobbed
even with the servants.
The head ploughman on the farm, an old gray-headed man,
had seen the last conveyance off, and now came in. He let
himself drop stiffly into a seat, and drained the glass that they
set before him. ‘The stable-boy was hacking at the wooden table
with his knife, and anon trying to wrest a coin from the fist
of little Fiete Cray. One of the guests had given it to the lad.
The boy had fallen fast asleep, with his head on the table, and
was holding the money tightly clenched in his hand, and only
murmured occasionally in his sleep, “ Leave me alone, Jörn!”
drawing his hand back.
The dairymaid now came into the room. At other times
she was gay and sprightly enough, but now she seemed quite
dazed, and her eyes were staring wide with fright.
“ Ts it true about the noise in the stables last night, Dietrich? ”
The man nodded. “ I can’t help it, Jule,” he said. “I heard
it right enough myself, but what it means, I don’t know.”
“I can’t bear to be in the room there with Wieten. She’s
white as a sheet, and will have it that something dreadfui is
going to happen to-night. I won’t stay here any longer— not
another hour will I stay on the farm if things go wrong.”
22 TORN TOTLI
She took hold of the edge of the table, for her knees were
trembling, and let herself drop into a chair.
“ Hallo!” said Hinnerk, “ now just stop that croaking, you.
Let’s eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die, as the
parson says.”
He pushed a full glass of punch toward the girl, but his hand
was so unsteady that he spilt it, and had to fill it up afresh.
“Come nearer to me, Jule.”
“Thank you for nothing,” said the girl; “at other times
you're too proud to know me. I'll have nothing to do with you,
and as for your punch, you can keep it for yourself.”
Alick looked up at her tipsily.
“You sha’n’t laugh at me, I tell you; I’m master in this
house.”
“You master; you're nothing at all,” said Jule Geerts.
“ You're nothing more than a stupid lout.”
“What! you hussy! Pll make you pay for that!”
“ What did Wieten say to you, Dietrich? She has been see-
ing lighted tapers, hasn’t she? Do you really think it’s true?”
She looked at the man with wide eyes full of fear. He made
a wry face. He was “ keeping company,” as the servants say,
with Wieten Penn, and had half a mind to marry her, but it
worried him that people should say of her that she could see
into the future and knew the signs of coming trouble.
“ What has she been seeing?” asked the girl for the second
time. She was shuddering with fear already, and knew that her
terror would only be increased, but she could not help wanting
to hear it.
“A week ago to-night, about nine o’clock, when she had just
come back from the village, she saw the shine of lights in the
big room. They weren’t arranged as they generally are when
there’s card-playing going on there, but higher, as if they were
placed around a coffin, and each candle had a kind of reddish
halo around it. She didn’t dare to look in, but you may be sure
she put two and two together — and there you have the whole
story.”
“Stuff and nonsense! All stuff and nonsense!” said Hin-
nerk, wagging his head tipsily from side to side.
Suddenly they heard doors being hastily opened. Jule Geerts
started up and shrieked. She remained a nervous woman for
the rest of her life, it is said, even after she had had children
 JORN UHL 23
of her own; and as they grew big and the ailments of age began
to trouble her, she always would have it that the pains in her
back were caused by that night, and the fright she got when
Trina Cray’s white face appeared there in the doorway. “ She
looked just like a ghost,” she would say.
“ Dietrich, harness up quick, and go for the doctor!”
“Clear out!” cried Hinnerk. ‘ You and your youngster,
away with you both from the farm!”
He gave the little fellow a rough push so that he awoke.
“The poorest woman in the land is not so utterly deserted
as your mother this night.”
Dietrich was already outside. Jule Geerts crept away shiver-
ing after him.
Steps were heard hurrying hither and thither. There was
commotion throughout the whole house. In the kitchen the
smouldering fire was blown into a blaze. In the big hall the
light of the lantern flew like a great red bird backwards and
forwards, as if wildly seeking some outlet of escape. Now it
would flutter up and down the wooden walls of the stable, and
anon fly away over the horses, so that they became restive. Now
it leapt up to the great rafters of the roof, and now again went
rushing up and down the high-piled hay-sheaves. In the stables
the chains of frightened animals were rattling. “They heard
the big door being dashed open, and the wheels of a vehicle
whirling away out into the snowy night.
The sick woman turned her head from side to side uneasily,
listening and asking for her husband.
“Strangers have to help me in my hour of need. . . . Are
the children asleep? Has little Jorn been put to bed? So his
father says he’s to be Provost, does he? No, let him first grow
up an honest and sober man — whether Provost or ploughman,
it won’t matter.”
She had received her first three boys from her husband, im-
passively, as his gift, and so they had taken after their father.
Then ten years passed by, in which she had drifted farther
and farther apart from him, and learned her lesson of self-
reliance. She had gradually ceased to look at Life and Human-
ity through the eyes of her big, loud-voiced husband. Slowly
and hesitatingly, but, as time went on, more and more clearly,
she had come to see that her own world and her own way of
looking at things was infinitely more beautiful, clearer, and
24 JORN UHL
purer than her husband’s. The four people who had once dwelt
over there behind the Haze on the quiet moorland farm — ah!
what good and happy lives they had led there; but as for
these, who were living here on the Uhl lands, they all seemed
like lost souls wandering forlorn in some trackless wilderness.
She no longer had power to prevent it. She had allowed the
man at her side to have the upper hand too long. She could
not even hope to make her own three children any different from
what they were, they had grown so far beyond her control.
But, after all, she had come at last to her rights. For once
more she had borne a child, this time a small, delicate-featured
boy, and it was no wonder she had laughed so proudly and
happily to herself when her husband, as he looked at the child,
was forced to exclaim:
“ Hes a Thiessen all over!”
And this one, that was to come into the world to-night, was
also a Thiessen; that she was sure of.
And it is a difficult thing for a Thiessen to make his way
through the world. They are an odd and meditative folk.
“ The three eldest boys know how to use their elbows. They
will make their way in the world, but my heart is sore for the
two little ones if I have to die.”
She tried to fold her hands, and prayed in deep and bitter
anguish that her life might be spared, entreating this thing of
God, till the beads of sweat stood thick upon her forehead.
“ Tell Wieten to come to me,” she said.
The young woman came close to the bedside.
“ Wieten, I may be ill for a very long time, and perhaps I
may never get over it. If you would only promise me to stay
here on the farm, Wieten Penn. . . . I believe it will be better
for you, too, never to marry. Don’t worry about the big lads,
— you wouldn’t be able to manage them in any case, — but
look after my little ones for me, Wieten. Tell my husband that
I have asked this thing of you, and that I begged him to let you
have your way with my two youngest children, if I died.”
Wieten Penn, whom they called “ Wieten Klook,” had fore-
seen the coming of many a thing. She had foreseen the hour
of joy and the hour of sorrow, but not such a request as this.
No one can explain, not even she herself, how she came to de-
termine her whole future with such swift decision in those few
moments.
 JORN UHL 25
“ I will look after the children,” she said, “ as true as I stand
here. You may trust them to me, Mistress Uhl.”
She left the bedside and went into the kitchen and stood by
the fireside awhile, silent and motionless.
Then Dietrich came in and said to her in his simple, dry way:
“ You don’t need to stand by the fire all night long. The
farm lads are all sitting in the front room; come and sit with
us awhile.”
She shook her head.
“No! It can never come to anything between us, Dietrich,”
she said. “ Let me go my way in peace, and leave me alone.”
Then he went out of the kitchen on tiptoe; and shook his
head at the world for awhile. But he soon consoled himself,
and has remained a bachelor all his days.
Then the sudden noise of wheels driving up was heard. The
doctor crossed the hall, examined the patient, and made his
preparations. He came back to the kitchen once more, and
inquired where the husband was.
“ Hes down at ‘ The Wheatsheaf,’ ” said Fiete Cray, “ play-
ing cards. Weve sent for him twice, but he won’t take any
notice.”
The doctor scowled, muttering the names of certain animals.
Nobody had ever before called the great, proud, jovial man by
such names. Then he wrote three words on a piece of paper
and sent one of the maids to the inn with it.
“ Run,” he said.
In the dim light of the big hall, as she was taking her shawl
down from the peg, Jule Geerts read the word “ operation.”
Then, shivering and weeping, she rushed off, and kept look-
ing behind her as though evil spirits were pursuing her.

Toward morning all was over. The grooms, pale and speech-
less, were cleaning down the sweat-covered horses in the stables.
Wieten Penn was standing near the fireplace with her hand
raised to her head. As she gazed into the glowing embers, she
saw nothing but live flames there, for her eyes were full of tears.
Jule Geerts was sitting near the wash-trough, quite motion-
less.
She felt afraid of Wieten and of every dark corner in the
house, but most of all was she afraid of the little dead woman,
lying inside there so still and quiet. “The doctor had said to Uhl,

f
ON \
26 JORN UHL
zz

“ Had I been sent for an hour earlier perhaps I could have been
of use. Why wasn’t I sent for sooner?”
Then Klaus Uhl gnashed his teeth and cried out like a wild
beast. He lay wailing beside her bed and crying, ‘‘ Mother!
Mother!” As wife she had meant but little more to him than
that. She was the mother of his children, and that was all.
He had always called her by this name, “ Mother.” His chil-
dren’s need cried aloud to him in that one word.
Wieten stood in the next room, holding the new-born child
in her arms.
“A wee little lass, but strong for all that,” said Trina Cray.
“One can see already that it has its mother’s face, and even
her dark hair.”
“Tt doesn’t cry,” said Wieten; “surely it’s not dead.”
“ Give it to me for a moment,” and Trina Cray took the
baby and gave it two or three slaps with the palm of her hand.
Then the child uttered a cry.
“ Shall we lay it in my bed?” asked Wieten. “ I have made
my room warm. Jorn is lying there already.”
They crossed over to Wieten’s room, and found little Jorn
quietly asleep in bed. He lay cuddled together like a hedge-
hog, all rolled up in a ball. The small face was almost hidden,
but one could see his head with its bristly, flaxen hair. And
near him lay Fiete Cray, sleeping in his clothes. He had drawn
the blanket a little over to his side, and was curled up comfort-
ably.
“ The sleepyhead!”’ said Trina. “ Has he stayed here, too? ”
“ Just leave him where he is,” said Wieten; ‘“I’ll put the
little maid at the other end.”
And so the children slept that night in one bed — the two
boys at the head of it, and the little baby girl at their feet.
 CHAPTER. II.
JURGEN was the name of the bristly-haired youngster, and
the little girl’s name was Elsabe. That was what the minister
had put in the baptismal register; but the baptismal register
speaks aristocratic High German, while all the people amongst
whom these children lived speak Low German, and so they
call him Jorn, and the little girl in the cradle they call Elsbe.
ay these are the names they still go by to-day, Jorn and Elsbe

In little Jorn Uhl’s eyes the house he lived in seemed a great

vast place. When the child stood in the big hall, or trotted
through the barn, he could see gloomy, mysterious corners
everywhere. Nor did he believe that it came to an end any-
where; for him the hall was as big as the whole world.
And the grown-up people who come in, now through this
door, now through that, are always doing such wonderful things,
and with such grave faces, and so soberly, without screaming
or skipping about or weeping or anything! It is simply mar-
vellous! They are all different from him. Only little Snap,
who runs along beside him through the huge room, is at all like
him. They have their meals together, and sleep curled up close
to each other, and from time to time —that is to say, every
Saturday — Wieten puts them both into the big wash-tub
together, and souses them up to their ears in water.
They are all so different from him, the horses and the human
beings and the cows. He and Snap are the only two creatures
that are exactly alike. Once, indeed, he and Snap were in hopes
that they had got hold of a real comrade. It was a foal that
was grazing near its mother in a neighboring paddock. ‘They
could both tell at a glance that the mother was another of those
strange, grave, grown-up creatures, but in the foal they saw
signs of a philosophy something like their own. But when
Snap came rather too near the foal it kicked out. My! how
27
28 JORN UHL.
it kicked. Howling, they both made for the barn-door as fast
as their legs would carry them. There they stood gazing with
terrified eyes at the foal, both barking. At least, that is how
Jorn expressed it. He never said, “ Wieten has been scolding,”
but “ Wieten has been barking,” so close was his fellowship
with his comrade Snap.
There was not a soul on the whole farm to take Jorn by the
hand and explain things to him. Wieten had no time, and the
others had no inclination. And perhaps it was just as well
that it was so, for now it was a case of Robinson Crusoe. “ Up
with you, and explore the country, and discover land and water
and tools and food for yourself!”
One sunny day he and Snap were out hunting in the old moat,
with loud halloos, trying to catch a water-rat that was swim-
ming there. “They were both pulled out of the water half-
drowned, and both got a thrashing from Wieten, and were
both put to bed together, and barked and bellowed themselves
to sleep.
That was one of their voyages of discovery. Then again,
neither of them knew what a cellar was. They both thought
it was a kind of bottomless pit, with great lizards for beams and
uprights. One day, when they had laid a wager as to who
would reach the other end of the hall first, and had started off
with a rush, there suddenly rose a threatening voice out of the
earth in front of them — great beet roots flew up right and left.
With their accustomed unanimity they flung themselves at the
man’s head that appeared in the opening.
Later on, howling and barking, they sat together near the
ladder that stood in the stable, and told each other about the
dreadful things they had seen.
And so, between them, they thoroughly explored their farm-
house realm, and gained considerable experience:
But one day this close relation between Jorn and his comrade
underwent a sudden change.
Up to this time they used to go together, three or four times
a day, into the back room, to stroke the little girl that lay there
in the cradle or sat up in a chair, Snap wagging his tail at her.
And then they would run out again, and trouble themselves
no further about the child.
But one beautiful, sunny day, when Jorn had come back with
Snap from a run in the meadows, what was their surprise to
 JÖRN UHL 29
see this same little girl standing in front of the kitchen door,
gazing around her with wondering eyes. Never were two
creatures more taken aback than Snap and Jörn Uhl. To think
that such a thing was possible! They took the wee mite between
them, and went with her along the road to a place where there
was beautiful clayey water in the wheel-ruts. There they
began to dig moats and build dikes.
From this time on Snap began to ware in importance.
Jörn now played all day long with this little sister of his.
The dog became less and less of a comrade and more and
more of a mere plaything. The little girl became acquainted
with her surroundings much more quickly than her brother had
done. He had only had Snap for a guide, and Snap was at best
but an uncertain and unreliable leader. But the brother knew
everything and could do everything. He led little Elsbe over
the whole house, and into the bakehouse, and out to the barn,
and even out over the stile into the meadows where the calves
could be seen playing about. And one day he said:
“Come, Elsbe, let’s go and climb up Ringelshorn.” He took
her by the hand. Snap ran on ahead, barking, and so they went
along the road till the old hill-land rose up before them.
“ Now for it!”
Up they go, toiling and panting. The pathway leads steep
up through the heather. They have to take a rest on the way.
Then an idea strikes Jorn. He will tie the piece of yarn that
he always carries in his pocket to Snap’s collar, and Snap will
have to pull them up the hill. So they go on higher and higher.
Now a sand-hole, now heather again, now high thickets of
broom, which they can hold on to. Then they rest awhile.
At last they are at the top, and are just going to cry “ Hal-
loo” through their hands, when the East Wind, that they had
not noticed at all while they were down below, catches hold
of them. Up there on the heath he has free play. He rumples
the little girl’s hair and blows her skirts up, and pushes her
rudely, and often topples her over. Jörn makes a dash to help
her to her feet again, but Snap misunderstands it all. He is
so stupid. He thinks they want to climb down again, and
springs away down-hill. ‘That’s how it is that Jörn gets entan-
gled in the cord, and the three tumble and roll head over heels
down the slope, till they find themselves lying in a heap in a
sand-hole at the bottom. And up above stands the East Wind
30 JORN UHL
with his cheeks puffed out, bending over the edge of the hill,
roaring with laughter at them.
“Well,” says Jorn, after they have howled for a bit, “ that
was a nice piece of work, wasn’t it?”
They climb the hill again, but the dog refuses to go with
them. They coax him, they appeal to his sense of honor, they
threaten him with hunger, and pelt him with sand and lumps
of earth. He understands it all perfectly well, for he wags his
tail, and shivers and barks pitifully for forgiveness. But he
hasn’t pluck enough. “Let him be, Elsbe, he’s a regular
cowardly custard.”
They sit down on the hilltop, in the cold wind, among the
heather, and look for awhile quietly down on the broad, flat
marsh-land and the Uhl buildings at their feet.
“I say, Jorn,” says Elsbe, “ why haven’t we got a mother?
Everybody but us has a mother. What does a mother have
to do, Jörn? ”
“ What do you mean, Elsbe?”
“ Why, I mean with a child.”
“Oh! she goes like this all the time, to and fro, to and fro,
holding it in her arms; and then she says, ‘ My dear little one,
my little pops!’ and all that sort of thing. I saw one yesterday
as I was fetching Hinnerk’s boots from the shoemaker’s.”’
“ But no mother ought to stay dead. Ought she?”
“ She doesn’t, either, only when people don’t look after her.”
“ Who didn’t look after her? ”
“ Why, father didn’t, nor the others either. There were a
whole lot of people in the house, eating and drinking, and they
just thought of nothing else but eating and drinking.”
“ Father too?”
ce Yes.”

“ Do you know for certain, Jorn?”

“Yes. Fiete Cray told me so.”
Elsbe keeps kicking the earth up with her foot, and is so in-
tent on her thoughts that she can hardly get her words out.
$ aero quite, quite sure? As true as I stand here?”
es.
“ Why didn’t he look after her, then?”
Jörn springs a little way down, into the heather, and says
out loud, with his face turned away:
“ Because he was drunk!”
 JORN UHL 31
Neither knew exactly what the word meant, but at home
they had often heard their brothers use such expressions as
ra drunken lout,” or, “ You were blind drunk, too, yester-
ay.
‘They felt it was something dreadful, and spoke no further
about it. Presently Jörn said: “ Do you know what, Elsbe?
To-night in bed, when Wieten comes to us, lets both say
together, ‘ Mother Klook!’”
z FS oe and if Fiete Cray comes, we’ll say to him, ‘ Father
ray!
And then they climbed down Ringelshérn from mound to
mound, holding on by the heather.

As they grow older the evening brings with it a new kind

of life for them. “They may now stay up for two whole hours
after supper. And they sit in Wieten’s little room, round the
square table, and all the four sides of it are occupied. At one
side sits Wieten, Jörn at another, at the third side sits Elsbe, and
at the fourth, between Jörn and Elsbe, sits Fiete Cray.
During the day Fiete Cray cannot come. He has to go
tramping far away among the marsh villages, selling brushes
and heather-brooms and curry-combs. He has his wares in a
little cart drawn by dogs.
But of an evening he comes over to the Uhl for awhile. He
comes every evening. In the winter he is blue with the cold,
and in the summer rather tired; but he’s always in good spirits.
In winter it is particularly cosy and sociable among this little
company.
It always begins in the same way: Wieten lays a pile of
stockings and balls of wool and mending on the table, puts the
lamp in the middle, and pushes her mending to one side. “Then
she sets a great hunch of bread and raw bacon before Fiete
Cray, who clutches at it hungrily. Jorn Uhl has never for-
gotten that swift, eager clutch, and the thin, frozen, boyish
hand that was not always too clean.
One of the brothers comes in — Hans, or perhaps Alick.
“ Fiete, you must come and play cards with us; we want
a fourth man.”
But Jorn and Elsbe cry “No! No!” and hold him fast.
Then Hans goes up to the table and says, threateningly:
“ If you don’t come with me, I'll tell father how you're fed
32 JÖRN UHL
up here every night, my young gourmand. Your proper place
is in the servants’ room.
And then Wieten will give a sharp look over her spectacles
at the gawky, half-grown youth, and point to the door.
“ Off with you! This is my part of the house; and if I find
you here again, I’ll tell your father where you were last night,
you young good-for-nothing. You'll be the worst of the whole
lot yet!” And sometimes she'll raise her hand darkly. “I
know all about you and your brothers. The time will come
when you’ll seek your bread among the stubble of the fields.”
Then he laughs and goes out with a curse, and they have
peace once more.
“ And now Fiete must tell us about his day’s doings!” says
Jorn.
“No!” says the little girl, with a grand air of self-im-
portance; “first Wieten shall tell a story, and then Pl tell
you one, and then Fiete shall tell his.”
“ Ail right, then; fire away!”
There sits Wieten, turning over the pile of mending, stretch-
ing her hand out now and again for this and that piece of cotton,
drawing the thread across holes that gape in the stockings, and
telling one tale to-day and another to-morrow. And so it goes
on. For example, it is Wieten’s turn:
“ When I was in Schenefeld, the farmer’s wife used to tell
us this story. ‘There was once a peasant,’ she used to say,
“who had taken a two years’ lease of a piece of land from the
devil, and the devil said to the peasant, “ You will farm the
land, but we'll let the dice decide which of us is to have what
grows above the ground there, and which of us is to have what
grows beneath it.” Well, they started throwing dice, and, of
course, the devil made the highest throw, and so he was to have
everything that grew in the field above ground. So off went
the peasant and sowed a crop of beet root, and when autumn
came, what did the devil get, think you? why, nothing but the
leaves. Very well! Next year they cast the dice once more.
This time the devil naturally took care to get fewer points, and
so he was to have all that grew beneath the earth. Off went
the peasant and sowed the land with nothing but wheat. And
when autumn came, what did the devil get, think you? why,
nothing but the roots.
““Then, of course, he abused the peasant to his heart’s con-
 JORN UHL 33
tent; and at last he said, “ To-morrow TIl come again, and
you and I will have a scratching-match.” Then the poor
peasant got very frightened. But his wife noticed that he sat
all day with his head on his hands, looking very worried and
downhearted, so she said to him, “ What are you brooding over,
husband? ”
“So he told her all about it, and said, “ To-morrow I’ve
got to scratch with the devil.”
““ But his wife said, “ Just be easy, and don’t go worrying
about it. Ill manage him for you.”
“< Well, now, what was to be done? She sits herself down
and waits, and pretends to be in a great rage. After awhile
along comes the devil right enough, and, says he, ‘‘ What’s the
matter with you, little woman ? ” says he.
“Oh, deary me, Mr. Devil,” says she, “ just look at this
here great scar in my beautiful oak table. My husband says
he’s got a scratching-match with another man to-day, and so
he’s been trying his nails here, and has torn off this great piece
with his little finger-nail.”’
“< The devil gave a look toward the door, and said, “ Where
is he away to now?”
“ <“ Where is he?” said the woman. ‘Oh! he’s just gone
round to the smithy to get his nails sharpened up a bit.”
“< Then the devil stole quietly out, and made off as fast as
ever his legs would carry him.’ ”
During this story Fiete Cray and little Elsbe sat quite still,
devouring Wieten with their eyes. Jörn was paying no atten-
tion. He was trying to stand one ball of wool on top of another,
and kept on trying and trying, and heaved a great sigh of relief
when he finally succeeded.
“ My word, if he had come,” said Elsbe, “ what a scratching
the peasant would have given him! Like this!” and she clawed
the table with her fingers and tried to look terribly fierce.
“’There’s not much in those devil stories,” said Fiete Cray;
“but the little Earth Men, they’re the sort of people I like to
hear about. They're real good and kind, too. They've made
many a man rich for his whole life. But the queer thing about
them is that I’ve never yet set eyes on one of them — not a
single one. Many’s the time I’ve come through the Heath
alone with my dogs, and on past the Wodansberg, And often
34 JORN UHL
I’ve left my cart standing while I stole quietly into the wood,
but I’ve never seen anything.”
“ They live in the Wodansberg,” said Elsbe.
“I don’t believe it,” said Jorn.
“ Oh, you believe nothing at all,” said Wieten.
“ Once,” said Fiete, “ it was dreadfully hot, so I left the dogs
standing in the shade with the cart, not far from the Wodans-
berg, where the path turns off to Tunkmoor. I went a little
way into the wood, and lay down on some dry leaves, not far
from a big hazel-bush, and there I must have fallen asleep.
Suddenly I was wakened up by a rustling among the leaves, and
just as I’d got my eyes open it seemed to me that three or four
little people, a bit bigger than squirrels, ran off and hid them-
selves in the hazels; and a moment afterward I heard voices in
the bushes. It sounded as if they were saying, ‘ Sleepyhead!
sleepyhead!’ I sat up and looked around me, and turned all
the leaves over, but not a sign of gold was to be seen.”
Wieten looked at him distrustfully. Fiete Cray’s stories
always caused her a certain amount of uneasiness. He invariably
contrived to give them such a practical turn — that was charac-
teristic of the Crays. He was not content that such and such
a devil should be out-devilled, or that some man or other, in
olden times, should have got a share of hidden treasure, but he
himself, Fiete Cray, was always expecting to get hold of money
in this way. He lay under every bush and lurked behind every
tree, expecting the glittering gold to appear.
Jorn looks up doubtfully from his play, and says, suspiciously:
“They were squirrels, of course; and as for what you heard,
it was nothing more than some field-mice squeaking.”
Fiete Cray shook his head disdainfully.
“Tf only I knew,” he said, “ how they could be got at.”
“The woman in Schenefeld,” said Wieten, “where I was in
service when I was young, she used to say that the fairies had
all taken their bag and baggage, and wives and children, and
had wandered off together into -another country.”
“ Is that it?” said Fiete. “ Where did they go to, then?”
“Well, I can’t exactly say. I fancy they moved to the
Vaalermoor and round about Milstermarsh. Maybe they even
crossed the Elbe. But Theodor Storm always made out that
they had come to Dittmarsh.”
 JORN UHL 38
l hone Storm! You’re always talking about him; who
is he?
“ Who is he? He used to say he was a student. He often
used to visit us at Schenefeld — he and a man called Miillen-
hoff. They wasted God’s precious hours, lolling about in all the
villages, and were happiest when listening to some old story or
other. They had their eye on me in particular, because they
knew that my mistress had a store of such tales; but she
wouldn’t tell them any, and so they came to me. Every eve-
ning, when I went to the reed paddock to milk the cows, the
two of them would be standing there waiting to hear stories.
And while I was talking they’d go and drink half a bucket of
the milk.”
“ What did they have to talk about, Wieten? ”
“Tve told you already. They thought they knew everything
better than I did. There wasn’t a single old saw that Storm
couldn’t give you in some different way, and he used to tell
all these stories differently from what I do. He used to say he
was going to write a book about them. Many a time I’ve called
him a young blockhead, and left him standing where he was,
and marched off, milk-pails and all.”
Fiete Cray looked knowingly at her through his half-shut eyes.
“ What was his idea about where the little Earth Men are? ”
“ What was his idea? What’s that got to do with me? I
don’t care a snap for him and his ideas. My mistress in Schene-
feld used to tell the story this way: ‘One night the ferryman
at the Hohner Ferry was called up out of his bed, but when he
gets outside he can’t see a living soul, so he thinks he must have
been dreaming, and goes back to bed. Presently some sand or
earth is thrown against his window, so up he gets again and goes
out, and there, from his house down to the water’s edge, the
ground was nothing but a mass of tiny, little gray people. One
of them, with a long beard, says to the ferryman he must put
them across the Eider, as they couldn’t stand the noise of the
church folks’ singing and the pealing of the church-bells any
longer. So they were going to emigrate to the Marsh-land.
There were no churches there in those days.
“< The ferryman let go the ropes, and they all came trooping
down to the ferry-boat — men and women and children, beds
and pots and pans, and dishes of silver and gold; all thronging
on one another’s heels, till the boat was packed full. And so it
36 JÖRN UHL
went on the whole night long, to and fro, load after load, and
they never seemed to come to an end. When at last they were
all over, and the ferryman was on the return journey, he looked
back and saw that the field on the other side was full of thou-
sands of lights. They had all lit their little lanterns, and were
moving on toward the west.
“< But next morning, when he went down to the ferry, what
does he see lying on the edge of the jetty but thousands of little
gold farthings. Each of the little men had laid his fare down
there.’
“ Storm used to maintain that they had knocked at the
window, but I said they threw sand against it. We had a
great argument on that point. So I left him standing where he
was, and took no notice of what he called out after me.”
“ What did he call out, Wieten? ” asked Elsbe.
“ He wanted to tease me, and so he kept on singing out,
‘Don’t waggle like that! Don’t waggle so, I tell you!’ But
when one has a yoke to carry, with two great big full pails of
milk, and the yoke and pails both bound with brass-work, it’s
little wonder if one gets a heavy tread.”
“Where is this man Storm now? ” asked Fiete.
“ Where is Storm? I fancy he said he wanted to become
Provost. Hea Provost! He’s never come to anything! ”
“ Hasn’t he written the book, either? ”
“What, he? He was that lazy, that once he lay the whole
afternoon, stretched full length in the meadows, from one milk-
ing-time to the next, and said he did it because the wood looked
so fine in early leaf. It’s safe to say that he’s never written
a book, and hasn’t become Provost, either.”
“Jorn isn’t listening at all!” said little Elsbe, and gave him
a poke. “ Jörn, listen, I tell you!”
“ Just look!” said Jörn. He had built a bridge from the
work-basket to the table with three pairs of scissors and Wieten’s
spectacle-case, and was pressing his hand down on it to show
how strong it was, and looked around at the others with pride
in his eyes.
SLA Say. Wieten, what did Storm have to say about our Gold-
soot ?* Did he say the same as you, or something different? ”
r I can see, she said, as she looked sharply at Fiete Cray,
you believe Storm sooner than me. You’re always after some-
* Low German soot —a spring, a well.
 JORN UHL 37
thing new. As to the Goldsoot, I knew nothing about it in
those days. I first heard of it after I had come here and seen it.”
Fiete Cray leaned his head on his hand and gazed at Wieten.
His round, boyish eyes, that generally looked out on the world
so archly and impudently, were now dreamy and far away. The
Goldsoot lay not far from the village in a hollow on the edge
of the Geest. It was his one great, secret hope.
“I say, Wieten, do tell us it over again!”
“ Will you believe me or that lanky Holsteiner? ”
“Oh, you,” said Fiete Cray, and struck the table with his fist.
“Well, just listen, then. It was like this. It’s said that
here in the neighborhood there once lived a very rich man, who
died without having any children. But one dark night, before
his death, he went to the hollow near the Geest slope, and threw
all his money into the well. Now they say that if one pokes
about it with a stick, it has a hollow sound, and some even say
that if you look down into it you can sometimes see a little gray
man sitting there, wearing a cocked hat. That’s so. And once
upon a time three men started off in the night, and without
making a sound they dug down in the well, till suddenly they
came upon a big copper kettle. “Then they laid a crowbar across
the hole, and fixed ropes through the handles of the kettle, and
wanted straightway to pull it up. Presently a huge load of hay
drawn by six gray mice came up from the marsh and galloped
past them, tearing away up toward Ringelshoérn. ‘They shut
their teeth together and didn’t say a word, but kept on pulling.
At last they had the kettle almost at the top, when a gray man
on an old gray mare came by, riding up from the marsh. He
bade them a good evening, but they managed to keep cool, and
didn’t utter a word. Then he pulled up his mare, and asked
them whether he had a chance of catching up with the load of
hay. Then one of them got angry, and said: ‘The devil! it’s
old cloven-hoof.’ At the same moment the crowbar broke, and
down fell the kettle to the bottom of the well, and the gray
man vanished.”
“ Fiete got some gold from the witch lately,” said Elsbe;
“ you know, the witch that lives in the Hooper firs.” She felt
in her pocket and produced a shining coin, and laid it on the
table in front of them. Fiete Cray stared at the money, and
then turned slowly around, like a criminal some one takes
by the shoulders, and looked Wieten in the eyes.
38 JORN UHL
She raised her hand, and said: i
“Tf you carry on with any more nonsense, you'll feel these
stockings about your ears, and good-by to your bread and butter,
once and for all.”
He fixed his eyes on the table in front of him, and was for a
moment crushed and silent. Then he began to show Elsbe the
contents of his pockets. Soon they begged him to show them
some of his tricks.
Jörn pushed all his toys aside, string and scissors and bits of
wood, and said:
“ Now for them, Fiete!”
“ A trick?” said Fiete Cray; and while his quick fingers
were still working under the table, two bright-colored pebbles,
that he had found as he came along by the sand-pit, began to
fly backwards and forwards over the corner of the table.
“ And now another! ”
“ Another trick?” said Fiete. He held up his empty hands,
and put them under the table again, and directly afterward
a little gray animal with a long tail slipped, jump, jump, over
the corner of the table toward Elsbe, so that the little thing
drew back with a frightened face. But as it began jumping
across for the second time, Jörn stretched his hand out for it,
and held it up, laughing and saying:
“Its only Elsbe’s old pocket-handkerchief! ”
“Well,” said Wieten, ‘we've seen enough tricks for one
evening. Now off to bed with you!”
Without further ado the three went into the corner where
the bed stood, and the two little Uhls began to undress them-
selves; and Fiete had to help little Elsbe to undo her clothes
and to take off her stockings for her, and relate the while all
that had happened during his day’s travels — whether the big
dog had been on the farm, and whether any one had given
him any dinner, and whether the boys in the marsh villages had
teased his dogs and pelted him with stones.
He told them with repressed rage in his voice how the boys
in the marsh had again refused to let him go by in peace.
“Couldn’t you defend yourself?” said Elsbe.
“No; they were just coming out of school, and suddenly
they stood in a ring around my cart.”
“ Were they Uhls?” asked Jörn,
 JORN UHL 39
“ Of course, every man Jack of them — from Dickhusen and
Neudeich, and all about there.”
“Couldn’t you make a run for it? ” asked Elsbe.
The reins had got tangled, and so the dogs couldn’t get
away.
“What did you do then? Did they hit you?”
“They didn’t dare come right up to me, because my dogs
would have sprung on them. They'd have bitten them, I can
tell you, if they’d touched me. But, all the same, it was pretty
bad for me; the stones were just flying about my head.”
“Poor old Fiete. Whatever did you do?”
“I suddenly thought of a plan. ‘Boys, I said, ‘did you
ever hear that story about the owls and the crows?’
“< No,’ they said.
“So I said: ‘ Well, listen, then. There were once four
crows that sat in an ash-tree, near an old farm-house. It
wasn’t long before the owl that lived there looked out of his
door under the eaves of the loft, and said to them:
** “Good day to you.”
“<< Good day,” answered the crows.
“«“ Have you got any spare time?” asked the owl. “Then
I can put you in the way of earning an honest penny.”
“*“Right you are!” answered the four, for the snow was
lying old and thick over the whole country, and there wasn’t
much to be earned.
“«“ My old comrade, old Tom Malkin, is dead,” said the
owl. “ Now, I was thinking you might carry him to his grave.
When my old friend was alive, he often used to say to me:
‘Jan Owl, he would say, ‘ you must give me a decent burial.
A respectable life deserves a respectable funeral,’ he used to say,
for he was a highly cultivated man. Now, look here, you four
have good black coats on, and are honest people — ”
“< Come along, then,” said the crows, and crept in through
the owl-hole after him one by one.
“< Now, it was pretty dark in the loft, and the thatched roof
was low, but they could see old Tom Malkin where he lay.
He was lying in the hay, stretched at full length, without a
move in him. The owl took up his post at his friend’s head,
1 The pun on the Uhls and the Crays (the owls and the crows), which
lends point to this story in the original, must be taken for granted by the
English reader. It recurs throughout the book, — TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.
40 JORN UHL
and the crows hopped along, all askew, just.as they do in windy
weather among the young wheat.
“«“ Many’s the mouse we've caught in this loft together, old
Tom, that you well know,” said the owl. “ Weve always been
good friends, and many’s the spree we’ve had with one another.
But that’s all past and gone now. Oh, Tom! Tom, old fellow!
How you'd rejoice, and what a spring you'd make, if you were
only alive and I said to you, ‘Tom, four stupid black crows
are standing round you.’ ”
“< Then up sprang the tom-cat, and there was a crow-hunt,
the likes of which you’ve never seen.

«c The first, he lost an eye,

The second lost a leg,
The third, he got his coat all torn,
And the fourth flew out of the owlet’s hole.

And that’s me,’ I said. I’d got my ropes straight, so I jumped

on my cart and off I went.”
“Well,” said Wieten, “and now go home, Fiete.”
Then Fiete Cray stole out of the kitchen door and away
down the path, and crept into his father’s humble cottage.
And then Wieten, too, goes to bed.
‘Toward midnight, or a little later, the father and the big
brothers come home from their wild carousing in some inn.
But the children have been asleep these three hours.
 CHAPTER’ ITE

WHEN Dominie Peters cast his eye over the hundred children
of St. Mariendonn sitting there at his feet in two rows of
benches, — the boys on the right, the girls on the left, — and
when about three in the afternoon it began to grow dusk, as
it always does in winter, then, I say, it used to strike the old
schoolmaster that there were two distinct sorts of human beings
at the Donn. The roof of thatch drooped like tired and heavy
eyelids over the windows, and the light came through into the
schoolroom in slanting meagre rays. In this silent slanting
twilight you could spy, here and there among the children, a
sprinkling of round red heads, with freckles so intense and hair
so fiery red that they seemed to emit a kind of light. And this
halo-gleam of hair grew brighter, and this dull sheen more vivid,
when these eyes, shrewd and quick, or furtive and restless,
began their play; it was like so many kittens gambolling in
sunshine. ‘Those were the Crays and their kin.
But you also saw scattered among the round red heads others
not so numerous — boys and girls with narrow faces and fair
skin, and with hair as fair as fields of rye just before the reap-
ing; faces of strong and often noble lineaments, with steady,
clear, proud eyes. When one of these light-haired children left
his seat, his gait revealed a small, well-knit frame, full of lithe-
ness and strength. “Those were the Uhls and their kin.
Pastor Petrus Momme Lobedanz, who had the care of souls
in St. Mariendonn some hundred and fifty years back, used to
wonder even in his day at this marked distinction. For on the
last pages of a baptismal register, which he had filled with
names, he has written down certain thoughts and observations
as follows:
“ The little thorps that are built along the sides and on the
slopes of the Geest are nearly all called by the name of Donn.
In order to distinguish them one from another, however, cer-
41
 12 JORN UHL
tain of the thorps are called after the wealthy villages which lie
in front of them; others, again, whose existence dates further
back, and which have a church of their own, are called after
Catholic saints. Thus this village is called St. Mariendonn.
“To the right and left of the village the dune rises steep
and unbroken, covered thick with heath and bracken, but at the
spot where the village stands it is all scooped and hollowed out.
It is as if multitudes of children had been playing there, and
had undermined the sand-hills. It is the Crays who have thus,
in the course of centuries, burrowed and scooped out this
mighty sand-hill, and have built their dwellings into it and
worn it down. For the Crays are a restless race.
“ And since the land where they dwell is so light and sandy
that sometimes in dry weather their gardens are blown like
driven snow against their house-walls, and they are thus pre-
vented from gaining sustenance from the soil, and since, more-
over, they have little opportunity and still less inclination for
steady work as hired laborers, they have come to be a race of
wandering pedlars and dealers, known in all the country-side.
“Every Monday morning, when the sun rises, I stand on
the Ringelshorn and look over toward St. Mariendonn, and
watch the Crays taking flight. Some, with bundles and baskets
on their shoulders, wander up toward the villages on the Geest.
With backs bent double you see them plunging the long staff
on which they lean into the sand in front of them. Others go
down into the marsh villages with their little carts drawn by
dogs. ‘The wealthiest among them will harness some stiff-
jointed, rough-haired jade of a horse to a ramshackle cart, and
disappear. ‘Toward the end of the week they all fly home to
their nests again, and have always sold out their wares, nay,
have mostly purchased something fresh into the bargain. One,
who went out with haberdashery, comes back with a spavined
horse; another, whose cart departed stiff with the bristles of
brushes, returns with a load of basket-willows; a third, who
drove down to the Watt to the crab-fishing, has got hold of an
` old chest from some one on his way through some marsh thorp
or other.
“ But they are sturdy folk, and I won’t hear anything said
against them. I have been intimate friends with many a one of
them, and am so still with some. I won’t hear them run down;
 JORN WHHL 43
for I myself, on the side of my grandmother, who was a Nuttel-
mann by birth, have Cray blood in me.
“Tis said of them, I confess, that away from home they’re
not such strict and God-fearing folk in their dealings as they
are at home among themselves on Sundays. Here in their own
village, especially, they are honest, sober people enough, and
even pique themselves on their fear of God and their regular
church-going; and they will boast to me of their lively interest
in God’s word. But I, alas! I am but a weak man, and do not
like to tell the boaster straight to his face: ‘Man! don’t you
know that the whole country-side has a saying, “ As honest as a
Cray on Sunday? ”’
“Folk about here say that a Donn Cray has never yet been
known to buy hay and oats for his horse; they just let their
beasties graze in lonely spots by the roadside and in the pasture-
lands, while they themselves are taking their noonday nap be-
neath the roof of their wagon. And when a Cray is summoned
before a court, it’s always a court outside his own parish, and he
is always the accused and never the accuser. But when such a
one comes to me, to get his baptismal certificate in order to
prove his identity before the court, and I ask him what it is
he’s accused of, he is sure to allege either the maliciousness or
the error of the accuser as the cause of all the trouble.
“ And when the accused doesn’t come home after the trial,
but mysteriously vanishes for several weeks, as if the earth had
swallowed him up, and I meet his wife at church and I ask her,
‘ Ant)’ Katrien, where is your husband?’ then she’ll look me
straight in the face, and say, ‘Oh, he’s just away to Hamburg,
minister, doing a little shopping!’ “Then my weak nature shows
itself again, and I don’t venture to say anything to her. In
the marshes, though, they have a jest about a man serving his
time in gaol, and say of such a one: ‘Oh, he’s just away to
Hamburg doing a little shopping!’
“ These are things that weigh heavy upon my heart, et animi
semper eger sum. But it’s the more unpleasant to me, because
they’ve got a report abroad in the marshes that I have pledged
my word never to tell the Crays of their dishonesty. And in
return, I am said to get tithe of all the profits they make on their
peddling excursions. And they have a saying, too: ‘“‘ Let’s skip
that,” as the minister of St. Mary’s said, when the youngster
at school was going to recite the seventh commandment.’
44 JORN UHL
“ Now, what is the origin of such animi.rectio? where do
they get such a disposition? Roundabout here it’s said to
come from the Crays having gipsy blood in them. ‘Their an-
cestor, it is said, was a strong devil-may-care fellow, and a great
boaster to boot, and is said to have picked up with a gipsy girl,
whose troop had camped during a sand-storm near the Haze
Wood pines, on the edge of Woden’s Heath.
“In the marriage that followed — that is, if there was any
marriage — it is said that this gipsy spouse was too much for
him, and that he led a henpecked and troubled life. He had
to live in a cave with her, because she couldn’t bear to live in
a proper house. Whilst she went gadding about through the
marsh villages, fortune-telling, haggling, and begging, he had to
cook the food, feed the goats, and mow heath for the winter
firing. She used always to call him her ‘ pet lamb,’ and must
have thoroughly tamed him down. It was from this strange
couple, then, that folks say the Crays are descended.
“ But I always maintain that this statement of the case is due
to the folly of the marsh-folk, and is naught but the hooting
and clamor of the Uhls. For as long as ever folk can re-
member, the Uhls have looked down on the Crays.
“ I think it’s much more likely that the Crays are descendants
of the Wends, who are said to have carried their invasions right
into our country in olden times. The following facts have led
me to this conclusion: first, the round, red-haired heads, and the
oblique eyes, which almost all of them have; second, that at the
western end of the village, toward Woden’s Heath, below
Ringelshérn, there lie three houses apart from the rest—
namely, the school, the old farmhouse of the Uhls, and the
cabin of Simon Cray, and the three together go under the name
of Wentorf, which one can easily see might mean thorp of the
Wends. Last and third, that near Wentorf, close to Ringels-
horn, there lie old earthen ramparts, the remnants of fortifica-
tions,— mea opinione,— around which the children of the
Crays and the Uhls still have their fighting-grounds.
“Of the Uhls, there’s not much to be said, except that they
dwell in the marshes on their broad acres, and have hair as light
as rye-straw, which in the case of their women often looks
beautiful enough, and that they are a long-limbed, sturdy, and
arrogant race. Quite recently, one of them got into a brawl
in the inn at Wentorf on market-day, and when some one said,
 JORN UHL 45
‘Oh, yes, you are an Uhl! You are an Uhl! You can do
anything you like, can’t you?’ There he stood in the middle of
the room, and slapped his hand on his breast, and cried, ‘ Yes, I
am an Uhl! An Uhl, I say! And I thank God for it!’
“The Uhls despise the Crays, and the whole year round
salute them neither with nod nor bow. Only once in the year,
at Shrovetide, when the whole country-side gives itself up to
woful buffoonery and heavy toping— then do the Uhls harness
up their horses, pack flitches of bacon and pots of butter into
the straw in the bottom of their carts, and drive over to St.
Mariendonn, some with their wives, others without them, and
carouse with the Crays, and are hail-fellow-well-met with them,
going arm and arm with them from house to house. They call
that ‘ yorting.’ For a whole week, St. Mary’s rings with shout-
ing and singing. And they’re all so good-humored and brotherly
with one another, that it’s often a hard task for me not to join
them, and sometimes I’ve turned the corner and gone in for a
little frolic together with them, in finibus pastoralibus. But on
the seventh or eighth day their cudgels come into play, and a
terrible row begins. The last fight is always at Ringelshorn;
from thence the last of the Uhls are driven back down into the
marshes. Then the Crays can call St. Mariendonn their own
again.
“I cannot bear the Uhls. I tremble every time one of them
comes up to the manse, and I am glad that there are not such
a great number of them in my parish. Every minister that
dwells in the marshes complains about them. But I, quamquam
saepe ab his collegis vexatus, rejoice when I look down from
my pulpit, of a Sunday, and see these red roundheads, this folk
of dealers in rags and brushes and brooms, this Cie folk, all
seated in front of me.’
Thus far the baptismal register. Concerning Pastor Petrus
Lobedanz’s reliability and judgment, there is nowadays nothing
further known.
Fritz! Cray seldom went to school. His father, Jasper Cray,
had always some excuse or other ready. Sometimes he said he
couldn’t do without the lad to help him, sometimes he said
Fritz had no boots. So it came about that he hardly went to
school at all, except in winter, when Wieten would come run-
1 Low German: Fzete.
46 JÖRN UHL
ning over to the Crays’ house of a morning, while it was still
dark, saying: “ There’s so much snow on the ground that I
can’t let the children go alone. Fiete must go with them to-
day.” Then Fiete would jump out of bed, put on his old patched
jacket, and begin with much kicking and stamping to pull on
his big boots. But the old man would growl: “TI tell you, I
can’t spare the lad to-day.” ‘‘ You can’t, can’t you?” Wieten
would ask, viciously. . . . “ Then I suppose Ill have to buy
him out, as usual.” She laid the three pennies on the table,
which she had ready in her hand all the time. According to
an old compact between them, the son got one, and the father
two. So she went with the lad to the Uhl.
The three trudged off through the snow; Fritz Cray ahead
as pioneer. At almost every step he turned around. He turned
around so often that, counting the whole way, he must have
gone further backwards than forwards. So much did he have
to say.
Now they were all there: a hundred children, and Dominie
Peters stood behind the school-desk. The singing and the
prayers were over. And school was to begin. But at this mo-
ment there arose a disturbance at the boys’ end of the room, just
where a number of Crays shone in a compact reddish glow.
“ What’s the matter there?” asked Dominie Peters.
“ He’s twisted hisself.”
“Whats that you say?”
“It’s Tonjes Cray from Siiderdonn, who was looking out
the window, and can’t get his head straight again.”
“Come, come, now!”
The lad sat there, with his head all askew, and pulling a most
pitiful face; he kept opening his mouth wide and then shutting
it again.
It must be noted that his mother had last night been telling
him of a boy she had known in her young days, whose tongue
used at times to loll from his mouth, like that of a dog exhausted
by running in the dry east wind, and he had only been able to get
it back into its place by catching himself by the throat and pull-
ing downwards. ‘This strange lad had naturally been a Cray.
Dominie Peters is not a man to be joked with; he had his
eye on the youngster at once.
“ My lad,” he said, threateningly, “ turn your head straight,”
 JORN UHL 47
But the boy sprang straight upright, and kept gazing with head
askew at the window, and bellowing, “ I can’t, sir! I can’t.”
Peters shakes his head at this fresh Cray enigma, and looks
around helpless.
Then he notices that Fiete Cray, whom he hasn’t perceived
before, is standing up in his seat. “ I can!” says Fiete. “ What,
you, Fiete? Well, my lad, then go over to him.”
Fiete Cray left his seat. All eyes were directed toward him.
He was wearing a sort of satinet suit, grayish brown, and
patched all over, and his trousers weve stuck into his heavy top-
boots. He placed himself in front of his cousin, as though he
were going to speak to him very solemnly. But of a sudden he
raised his hand and dealt him a smart box on the ears, so that the
head — willy-nilly — made a movement of fear, and became so
movable that its owner could take it in both hands, and howl and
weep. With measured heavy steps Fiete Cray went back to his
place.
Fiete Cray was by no means a shining light of learning in the
school. What he gathered of experience on his peddling ex-
cursions through the marsh and Geest was coarse-grained, real-
istic ware, and hardly of much use to him in school work, which
concerns itself with the realm of the ideal. What he heard of
an evening from Wieten Klook was old fantastic folk-lore, a sort
of wisdom for which Dominie Peters — who was a practical
man, with some money saved and put out at interest — had no
sympathy. And, besides, the folk-lore that Fiete Cray imbibed
had come to have a wild, romantic Indian touch about it, in
keeping with the true Cray nature. But as he used all his
practical experience with a sort of paternal benevolence for the
good of oppressed justice or endangered discipline, the gaps in
his book-learning came to be overlooked, and, in spite of his
irregular attendance at school, he had got a certain reputation
with teacher and scholars alike.
The big pupils were sprawled over their slates, tapping
gently, whispering, reckoning, and writing down figures.
“Third class! We'll now have sentence-building. .. .
Who'll make the first sentence?”
A little Cray stands up: “On our farm we have one cow.”
“ Repeat together! ”
They all say it in a loud, shrill voice, each syllable distinct.
48 JORN UHL
Those who have no cows say: “ On our farm we have none.”
So it goes on. Poverty says “ None.” Well-to-do says “ One.”
Jorn Uhl soon noticed that he always said “ one,” and never
“none.” Nay, when the son of Peter Wick, one of the Uhls,
made the sentence, ‘‘ We have no stallions,” and all repeated
it, then he, Jorn Uhl, the only one in the whole school, big as
it was, was able to say, — and he said it loud and clear, — “ We
have a stallion . . . and a bull.” ‘The clause he added, un-
fortunately, somewhat spoilt the effect. For many others had
bulls. But it none the less caused great excitement, especially
as Lorenz Cray’s little girl, whose father had a large family,
immediately afterward made the sentence: “ We have no flour
in the bin.” Hereupon the teacher proposed they should take
another kind of sentence. “ We have read in the Bible about
a king called David. Now, what’s the name of our king?”
Then the little girl Cray, Lorenz Cray’s girl, stood up again,
— the little blockhead,— all eager to answer, and said: “ Our
king’s name is Klaus Uhl.”
The stallion had won the day for the Uhls. The bigger
scholars laughed, the younger ones were dumfounded. But
nobody had anything against it. The sentence was repeated in
the usual way by the class.
But when Dominie Peters turned around and was going away
up the passage the children called out: “The Provost is up.”
Sure enough, there was Jörn Uhl standing in his place, with
indignant face.
“What is it, Jurgen?”
“ My father is not a king.”
“Very well, we must allow you to know,” said the old man.
When the children left the room, he saw that the little dark-
headed mite, Elsbe Uhl, remained sitting on her form, and that
she had laid her head upon the desk, and was sobbing as if her
heart would break. He went up to her and asked, “ What are
you crying about, Elsbe?”’ After many attempts to speak, she
said, “ My father is a king.” As he was turning away from
her, smiling, he saw Jorn Uhl standing near with angry eyes.
He caught hold of the lad by his stiff flaxen hair, and said,
“Tell me, why did you say your father wasn’t a king?”
“Often he can’t stand straight.”
“ What’s that? He can’t stand? ”
“ No, because he often gets drunk.”
 JORN UHL 49
The old man bit his lips and looked at the boy with com-
passion. “So that’s it! So that’s why he’s not a king? But
hark, laddie, you mustn’t say that to the other boys. But do
you know what? You must make up your mind to grow up
hard-working and sober.”

The children’s yearly festival was a great day—a much

greater day than Christmas. All the Uhls in the parish always
looked forward to it with greatest zest, and the Crays, too,
were by no means indifferent to its delights.
Who has ever taken part in those children’s feasts at St.
Mariendonn, I say? Uhl or Cray, let him stand up and confess
that he has never seen the like of them for splendor and gran-
deur in any other place in the whole of merry Germany.
Now Fiete Cray had first of all asked Anna Seemann to
walk with him in the procession through the village to the king’s
dance, as it was called; but afterward Trina Biesterfeld of
Siiderdonn had heard that Fiete Cray would, on that day, be
wearing a real fine suit of clothes, which his father had picked
up second-hand at some farmer’s. So she offered Fiete Cray
a threepenny bit if he would jilt Anna Seemann and walk with
her. He agreed —that is, after she had given him a two-
bladed penknife, which she happened to have, into the bargain.
And, besides that, she had to promise to make him a blue sash
for the festival. But after managing his own affairs so satis-
factorily, Fiete Cray began poking his nose into other people’s
business, too, as was always the way with him, and wanted
to arrange about a sweetheart for his mate and neighbor, Jörn
Uhl, too, and made a great mull of it. Both parties would have
nothing to do with him. At playtime he spoke to fat little Dora
Diek, and promised her she should have “ smart Jürgen Uhl,”
and hinted, moreover, that he expected a few pence as prize-
money if the matter came off. But she said no, she’d rather in-
vest her money in lemonade than in sweethearts. And she stuck
to her decision, in spite of all Fiete Cray’s persuasive arts.
In after years, when she was twenty, she looked at the com-
parative worth of things from an entirely different standpoint.
She visited all the fairs and dances of the country-side, seeking
for the sweetheart she could not find.
But Jürgen Uhl didn’t answer to the helm, either. For the
first time he flatly refused to obey his leader’s orders, and told
50 JORN UHL
Fiete, with remarkable decision in his tone, that he wasn’t going
to let sweethearts be palmed off on him; ‘he would choose one
for himself.
He stood three evenings, one after the other, in the pouring
rain, under the eaves of the schoolhouse, and waited for little
Lisbeth Junker, Dominie Peters’s grandchild, to come out. It
was she he was going to ask.
On the third evening she really came, and ran swiftly through
the rain across the street to the store. Her short skirts flew up
as she ran, and her blue garters could be seen. When she was
on her way back, she caught sight of him from a distance, and
cried over to him: “ What are you standing there in the rain
for, Jürgen? Have you been kept in?”
“No,” said he, “ I’ve just been waiting for you. I wanted to
ask you something.”
She came bounding toward him, and nestled close up to him
so that she shouldn’t get wet. And she pressed so close to him
that she had to cling to his arm, and to look up into his face
when she spoke.
A stranger was driving up the street, and saw the two chil-
dren standing there, and thought what a pretty sight it was,
and made his horses go slower as he drove past them.
“ What was it you wanted to ask me, Jörn? ”
“Oh, about the pigeon-shooting, you know. Were soon
going to have pigeon-shooting again; aren’t we?”
“Well?”
“ Why ... and then I must have some girl to walk with,
and .. . and I don’t know about whom to take. Of course,
it’s all the same whom I take. What do you think, Lisbeth?”
“Oh, and that’s what you wanted to ask me about? I don’t
know about that, Jörn. It’s not so easy to say. You're so big.
. . . Do you know what? ‘Take Trina Siem, or — let me think
—take Jule Uhl. Or take . . . No, but she’s too little for you.”
“ Whom are you thinking of? ”
“ Oh, it just occurred to me; but she’s really too little for
you.”
“ Just out with it, Lisbeth. Its all one, little or big, even if
she were as tiny as you. Now tell me whom yov’re thinking of?”
“Oh! Tve forgotten,” said she.
And as she spoke, she let go his arm and sprang out into the
rain, stopped and looked back once in her flight, and then turned
 JORN UHL 51
as though some one had taken her by the shoulders and spun
her around, and ran away home.
He was mad after Lisbeth Junker, and was in fear and
trembling lest some one should come before him in her favor.
And he hadn’t the courage to ask her, for he thought she would
laugh at him, and say, “ No, Jürgen, do you think I’d do that?
Pll never go with you to the king’s dance.” And thus he let
the opportunity slip. A few days before the festival, as he and
shy little Dierk Dierksen were at the schoolhouse for private
lessons, Dominie Peters said: “ Dirk, my lad, I’d like Lisbeth
to take part in the procession the day after to-morrow. Í think
she might walk along with you in it.” Dierk Dierkson got a
cuffing from Jörn Uhl when they were outside; but that didn’t
alter the matter a jot.
And so he was left without a sweetheart, and on the day of
the festival had to walk beside a freckled little Cray, whom
nobody else had cared to ask. His father, who was walking
near the procession, looked at him with contempt, and his three
big brothers laughed at him maliciously. Jorn walked with
lips compressed, and proud face, and remained silent. “The sun
was shining, and a light wind came in puffs from across the
heath. Flecks of bright yellow light pierced through the leafy
linden-trees, gambolling and flitting about the streets, and
playing on the streaming hair of the maidens. And the linden
blossoms fell on them as they passed.
Who has ever taken part in those children’s festivals in St.
Mariendonn? whether he be Uhl or Cray, let him stand up and
say now: Whose hair was it that gleamed and shimmered
brightest? Hair that was dark and fair by turns, according as
the lights fell on it, and her figure in the white dress looked
beautiful and tall, and her face white and red, as though a drop
of blood had fallen into whitest snow. That was Lisbeth
Junker. And she walked in the procession in front of Jürgen
Uhl, and now and again looked around and smiled to him.
And he said: “ There’s ever so many linden blossoms fallen
into your hair, Lisbeth.”
Who is the little brunette, that is such a madcap over there,
so restless and happy —a little too short, though, a little too
broad, a little too wild, a little too noisy? ‘That is Elsbe Uhl,
and she is walking in front of Fiete Cray, and now and again
she looks around, laughing and nodding to him. But to-day
52 JORN UHL
she is not speaking to him; for to-day she is a rich yeoman’s
daughter, and he only a poor man’s son. And by her side walks
her partner, Harro Heinsen, one of the Uhls, too, a big, strap-
ping fellow. He is already over fourteen, and is beginning to
look down a little on the children’s festival. He commences
every sentence with, “ As soon as I’m confirmed,” for at con-
firmation boys are put into long trousers, and their voices have
changed. So Harro entertains his little companion with all sorts
of would-be wise talk.
Who, I say, has ever taken part in those children’s festivals
in St. Mariendonn? Be he Uhl or Cray, let him stand up and
answer, What course did the procession take? — why, it passed
through the lower village street. There is a good marsh soil, and
on both sides of the way stand sturdy young linden-trees, whose
tops almost touch from side to side. And who went on ahead
of the procession? Why! a drummer and a fifer. The whole
country-side knows both men well. For they usually hawk
red-herrings.
Who was that walking by the side of the procession? ‘That
was Dominie Peters, with his white hair, a lank and gaunt and
grave figure. Who were the people walking by the wayside,
under the linden-trees? ‘Those were the grown-up Uhls, with
festive faces red with wine. And if their sins against their
wives and their children and against themselves have been
grave and manifold enough, in this, at least, lies something to
their credit, that if they indulged themselves with frequent fes-
tivals, neither did they begrudge such days to their children.
And who were the people walking on the other side of the road?
Those were the Crays, husbands and wives, all alike proud of
their children.
And who was it that was standing in front of the inn, you
know the old thatch-roofed inn, as the procession came up? It
was Ernst Rapp, the host of the Wheatsheaf, and he was stand-
ing there calling loudly through the door to his son, in a mixture
of Saxon and Low German (for he was not a native of those
parts), “ Fritz! come down-stairs. The farmers are coming!
You must blow ’em a tune!” And out sprang the fat and
stalwart Fritz, and blew a merry melody on his trumpet. So
they all proceeded to the great dancing floor. The children
leading, then came the Uhls, then the Crays.
Up in the corn-loft over the stables the children were in the
 JORN UHL 53
mazes of the dance, and, as happens every year, the girls were
once again a little anxious and frightened; for there has been
a rumor for the last twenty years, at least, that the corn-loft
floor is weak, and may collapse any day.
The two sellers of herrings are hard at it, with drum and fife.
How the feet are going . . . tripp, trapp, trapp. .. .
The lads stamp three times on the floor, with heavy top-boots.
The girls cry out of a sudden, appealing to their partners:
“Don’t you hear it? There’s something cracking. You
mustn’t come down so heavy with your feet.”
How the hands are going . . . klipp, klapp, klapp. .. .
Oh! that’s the Crays, they've got great hobnails and iron
clamps on the soles of their boots. They're shod like horses.
The girls lift up their fingers, and in their innocence don’t
know what they are singing: —

« Laddie, if thou wilt,

Laddie, if thou wilt.”

How the feet are going . . . tripp, trapp, trapp. ...

“ No!” say the girls; “ the lads mustn’t stamp so with their
feet, or else we'll run away. The floor’ll be giving way, and
we shall be falling through on the horses.”
“ Its the Crays who are doing it.”
“We do as we please,” says Fiete Cray. “ What does it
matter to us what the Uhls think? ”
How the feet are going . . . tripp, trapp, trapp. .. .
There is a groaning and cracking all over the building; bits
of mortar fall from the wall.
Lisbeth Junker comes running the whole length of the floor
up to Jorn Uhl. “ Do you think it will give way, Jürgen? ”
“Oh! rubbish!” he says, with a grand air; “come, lets
have a reel.”
Now they dance together, — a good long dance, — and have
neither eyes nor ears for anything else in the room. At last they
get so hot that they have to stop.
“Oh! you can’t think how hot I am,” says she, and fans
herself with her white pocket-handkerchief, and shakes herself,
standing there in her short white dress, and laughing.
“ PIL go and buy you something to drink,” says Jörn.
They go hand in hand through the throngs of dancers to
54 JÖRN UHL
where Fritz Rapp is posted behind all sorts of glasses, and Jörn
buys her a bottle of lemonade, which they share together. In
return she presses a few peppermint drops into his hand, and
eats some herself. And all the while they both keep wiping
their hot faces with their handkerchiefs. But now their hands
were so sticky. “ No,” she said, “that won’t do at all; just
feel them! Our hands almost stick together, and if you put
your arm around me, my dress, too, will get dirty.” She took
her pocket-handkerchief, spat into it with pouting lips, and
scrubbed first his and then her own hands clean. “Then she
showed him how he was to keep the handkerchief under his
hand when he took hold of her. “ Now let us dance again.”
So they again danced with each other till she was quite tired,
and stood still panting and leaning on his arm a little. That
was always the crowning point of good-fellowship.
He looked at her with quiet, deep eyes full of tenderness and
happiness, and said, “ Do you like dancing with me?”
“Yes,” she said, ‘the others I don’t know so well. But I
know you, Jörn, because you always come to grandfather for
extra lessons. You are the sharpest and best of them all.”
He grew red, and said, “ You are the best of them, that I
know for certain.”
“ Look!” she said. “ Do you see Elsbe? Elsbe is so wild,
and that I don’t like.”
“Yes,” he said, “ with Harro Heinsen. That sort of thing
doesn’t suit me at all. Thats why I can always get on so
well with you, Lisbeth, because you’re always so quiet and
sensible.”
So the children go on dancing with one another, till the
grown-up youths come up into the loft, and gradually oust the
others from it. By ten o’clock it was quite dark, and the chil-
dren had retired from the field. Lisbeth had left some time
before with her grandfather. Jörn turns to Fiete Cray.
“Tam going home. Where is Elsbe? ”
“ Where’s Elsbe?” says Fiete, angrily. “ Why, she’s stolen
away somewhere with Harro Heinsen.”
They went through the skittle alley as far as the entrance
to the garden, where all was as dark as pitch, and called her
name; but not a leaf stirred. Then Fiete Cray said, in a low,
but perfectly clear voice, “ If you don’t come at once, Elsbe,
Pll say out aloud that you’re in the garden with Harro Hein-
 JORN UHL 55
sen.” Then stealing footsteps are heard, and a moment after-
ward Elsbe appears, and says, with assumed nonchalance, “ Oh!
Is it you? I thought I heard some one calling.”
“Yes, it’s we, and you must come home with us at once.”
Then Harro Heinsen came out from among the trees.
“ Were coming over to Ringelshérn next Sunday afternoon! ”
says he, threateningly. “ Then you Crays shall get the hammer-
ing that you deserve after to-day’s doings.” Before he disap-
peared he again shouted back his threats through the dark, and
they heard something, too, about “ Keep the ring safe!” Then
he was gone, away along the track behind the house, and the
three others started for home.
“ What! has he given you a ring, then?” asked Fiete Cray.
And then, in a tone of commiseration, “ Let us have a look at
it, Elsbe, dear! Is it silver?”
“ What’s that to do with you?”’ says she, haughtily.
“Oh, but you ought to let me have a look, Elsbe! ”
“Its gold. Do you see?”
“ Oh, sweetie, and such a ring! Do you think it’s real gold,
though? What would you say the thing’s worth? Not much.
Fivepence at most.”
“ There you’re out of it by a long chalk,” said Elsbe. “ Why,
it’s worth ten shillings.”
“ What a donkey, to go giving you a ring. Why, what do
you want with a ring? If he’d given you a pair of rabbits, now,
it would have been something like. I say, Elsbe, have you seen
my two young rabbits? You know, the two gray-blueys?”’ Then
in her fear she runs over to Jérn’s side: “ Jorn! Fiete wants
to swap with me again.”

The whole afternoon, while the children were dancing, the

two clans of the Uhls and the Crays had, according to their
old custom, remained sitting in two separate rooms, which were
divided by a wide door. But when the children had gone home,
and the punch the Uhls had drunk, together with that which
they had sent over to the Crays’ room, began to take effect, the
most venturesome of the Crays took his glass and went over
into the other room where the Uhls were, and sat himself down
among them.
This year Jochen Cray was the first to go. He came in with
high-flushed face, and cast defiant, lordly glances over the Uhls.
56 JORN UHL
Then he sat down mute and stiff by the side of his neighbor
Klaus Uhl, putting his glass down with a bang on the table.
“I am going to sit here a bit!” he said.
The Uhls laughed, and one of them shouted out, “ The first
Cray has taken flight.” One by one the others followed, and
now they were all sitting in sociable confusion, Uhls and Crays
together.
Once a year, on this special night, namely, do the Uhls and
Crays sit side by side, and call each other “ Thou,” and “ mien
lewe Nahwer,” * and love each other like brothers, singing their
old songs together, and even at times embracing. “That will
last some three or four hours.
But then comes a disturbance. Some Cray or other will
begin to give his dear neighbor “ a piece of his mind about him,”
and soon all the Crays are busily engaged, with their glib, sharp
tongues, in rooting up every shady story they can get hold
of about the Uhls; like oxen that mouth about wantonly
among the fresh oat straw put into their mangers. “They ease
their minds of everything that’s happened between them and the
Uhls during the year; and unburden themselves of all their
stored-up grumblings and grievances, which are by no means few
in number. Coarse, subtle, general, particular, their remarks are
everything by turns. “They demand a reckoning from every Uhl
for every shortcoming during the whole year. One they'll gibe
about his wife being a skinflint, who'll haggle two hours about
the price of a heather broom and a reed mat; another they'll
show that he hasn’t driven a single shrewd bargain the whole
year around, either on his farm or at the market; a third theyll
remind of old ridiculous things he’s done, so that the blood flies
into his cheeks with shame; and finally they prophesy the down-
fall and decay of the Uhls and all their belongings. ‘‘ Not a
man of you will end his days on his own farm. You'll squander
and guzzle yourselves out of house and home, as true as our
name is Cray.”
Then the Uhls jump up; the Crays, too, spring from their
seats. Fritz Rapp, seeing the storm brewing, has already put
the glasses and punch-bowls away into a place of safety, and
looks sociably on from his vantage-ground behind the counter
upon the battle.
But what’s the good of it all? Next morning the Crays ask
* My dear neighbor.
 JORN UHL 57
themselves: Where are we to sell our heather-brooms, and
halters, and currycombs? And the same man, who that feast-
night had been so loud-voiced and bitter in his gibes, now stands
once more with most grave and humble face in the wide halls of
the Uhls, and modestly offers them his wares. And although at
first he gets growled at here and there, he is sure to come again.
And gradually the brawl between them is forgotten. Only one
or another, perhaps, will avoid a certain farm for a year or so,
because the owner has struck his fist too hard on the table, and
sworn that, “ If that scoundrel comes here again, by heaven!
he'll fling him, dogs and all, into the old moat.”
 CHAPTER IV.

Ir was Wieten Penn’s voice calling in shrill tones across the

farmyard: “ The children want to go over to Thiess Thiessen’s
again.”
Klaus Uhl, who was sitting in his cart, about to drive into
town (which he did every afternoon), laughed, and said:
“ Let ’em go where they like! If they'd rather be out there
on the hungry moors than here on the fat marsh-land, then let
’em go, Wieten, don’t stop ’em.”
“ Now, children, you can at least wait until I have cut some
bread and butter for you.”
They stood first on one foot, then on the other, they were so
impatient to be off. At last Wieten came in with the bread and
butter.
“ Fiete!” said she, ‘‘come over here to me!” He came up
close to her, and she shook her clenched fist in his face and
said to him, in a whisper: “ You just take care, now, and don’t
go telling the children any of those make-up stories of yours.”
Then she stuck the bread into Jorn’s pocket. “ You’re the most
sensible one, Jorn. When you get there, tell your uncle Thiess
he’s not to go carrying on with you in such a silly way, and
that he’s to send you home in good time.”
“ Well,” said Fiete, “ now we're off at last!” He stuck his
two fingers in his mouth, and gave a shrill whistle to the two
girls who had gone on ahead, and were already on the rise of
the road that goes to Ringelshorn. And one of the girls looked
around and waved her hand, and that was Elsbe Uhl. But the
other went on steadily plodding up the hill, taking care that her
skirt didn’t get dirty, and that. was Lisbeth Junker.
She went to school with the other children, but kept some-
what apart from them, and always spoke High German. Fiete
Cray did not like to have her with them. “ She’s too prim. If
I happen to let out an oath, she'll pout and say, ‘ Fie, for
58
 JORN UHL 59
shame, Fiete, how can you say such things!’ She’s always
frightened lest her hands should get dirty, or the wind should
tousle her hair.”
But Jorn liked her and wanted her with them. She was not
quite so old as Elsbe, and was always getting into some scrape
or other. Then she used to cry out in a shrill but sweet voice
for Jörn to come and help her: more than likely that was the
chief reason why he liked her so well.
“Oh, there you are!” said Elsbe, as the lads came up over
the edge of the hill and stood by her side on the heath. “ Which
way do we go now, Fiete? ”
“Follow your noses, girls,” said Fiete. “ Well make for
that tree yonder.” And he pointed to a tree right away on the
horizon.
It’s a puzzle for them, and it’s Fiete Cray’s great claim to
glory, how they always come out at Thiess Thiessen’s, who lives
somewhere away over there on the moors behind the woods;
and they come out there, no matter what haphazard path they
take across the trackless heath and through the wood, which they
enter just wherever they happen to strike it.
Goodness! what if they should come upon cannibals! or fall
in with one of those robbers’ dens that are still to be found in
the northern part of the wood! ... Twice on his peddling
excursions has Fiete Cray come across such a den, and once, sure
enough, the witch Black Margaret met him. She had caught
sight of him, and had made the sign which should pin him to
the spot where he stood forever. But he had fortunately known
the spell which could cross her power. “ You must say it thrice,”
he said, and he said it thrice. It was a very coarse expression.
“ Fie, for shame, Fiete! ” cried Lisbeth. “ How can you say
such things?”
Fiete made a vague apologetic gesture with his hand.
“The wild woman of the forest then fell into a great rage,
and pelted me with stones. Just come and see! it isn’t far; the
place is just over there! I can show you the stones still lying
there.”
But Lisbeth wouldn’t go with them.
“You can all come. You needn’t be afraid.”
Wide-eyed with fear, they followed him, Lisbeth farthest
behind.
“I’m not going any farther,” said she.
60 TORN URC
Jorn turned back to her, and drew her along by the hand.
“ You twitter like a little bird, Rain-tweet,” said he.
“ I don’t like you at all to-day,” she said, “ I’m going to turn
back.”
“Just stay here, Lisbeth,” he said, “we'll be back in a
moment.”
She sat down on a little mound, and the others went on; and,
just as Fiete had said, half-hidden in the heather they found
a heap of stones, which sun and wind and rain had bleached
for many a day.
“ Well,” said Jorn, “ at any rate, she must have had a pretty
tolerable fist if she could throw those stones.”
Just then there came a gust of wind out of the woods.
“ Away!” cries Fiete, and they all scamper off as fast as they
can go through the heather, and arrive panting at the mound
where Lisbeth Junker is standing half in terror, ready to run,
too. Then they all laugh at Lisbeth, and lie down against the
mound. ;
“ What was that about old Margaret? ” asked Elsbe.
“ Oh, yes,” said Fiete, “it’s a couple of years since then. I
was over to Kuden and Bokholt with my dogs and the cart,
selling brushes and clothes-pegs, and evening came on before I
got back. So I went quite softly along the edge of the pines. I
didn’t venture to go through; for between the tree-trunks
it was all black, it kept going backwards and forwards between
the trunks, as long and thin as crowbars, and as slow as the
minister when he goes up to the altar. So at last I came to the
big sand-pit; you know, not far from Grossenrade, there where
the minister stands.”
“ What’s that? ” asked Elsbe. “ What minister?”
“Oh! do you want to hear that first? Then I’ll just have
to tell the other afterward. . . . Well, the minister in Kuden
was to administer the Last Sacrament to a man in Grossenrade.
But when he’d got as far as the sand-pit, he happened to turn
and look around. From there you can see a great way, as far
as Hamburg. Why, once when it was clear weather I made
out what o’clock it was by the Hamburg church-tower. Well!
the minister looked around, and what do you think he saw?
His house in flames, burning like mad! Now, he’s got books in
his house that can’t be bought anywhere in the wide world. I
dare say you know there are books full of the secrets how men
 JORN UHL 61
can get tremendously wise and rich. The minister had books
like that. There he was, you see! Should he turn back and
save his books, or should he go on and give the dying man the
Sacrament. Well, he thought too much of his books, and
turned back home and saved them, and the man died without
the Sacrament. From that day forth, however, the minister
couldn’t get to sleep any more, and soon died, and went to hell.
But the devil wouldn’t have him there, and put him in the big
sand-pit instead.
“ Well, as I was saying, I came close up. I felt a bit eerie,
I can tell you. First a crow that sat on a pine screamed Ma-rk!
Ma-ark! but I saw nothing special to mark. Then an owl
that sat on a birch, you know, — one of the little ones, — it
cried, shrill and loud, Heed! Heed! But I thought to myself
I must get past somehow. ‘Then a cat cried; it was sitting
on a gate-post, and said Ow! Ow! But I thought to myself,
Let come what will! And right there stood the minister, up
there by the sand-pit. He kept changing feet, and when he
stood on his left leg he looked toward Kuden, and when he
stood on his right leg he looked toward Rade.”
Fiete Cray looked from one to the other.
“ But you were going to tell us about the old woman?”
“Oh! Tl tell you that another time,” he said. < Honor
bright; we must now be off again, else it will be too late
when we get to Haze Farm. But where shall we strike into
the wood? Through we'll have to go. But whereabouts?”
It was always the same thing. Whenever they had to go
through the wood he always managed to work them up to such
a pitch that the girls entered it in terror, and so that even Jorn
was somewhat shaky. Crouching close together, they hurried
through the forest. Fiete Cray’s eyes spied left and right into
the gloom, as though he were every moment expecting a troop
of demons to burst forth. Elsbe had clutched his hand, and kept
looking up at him with frightened eyes. Lisbeth Junker came
so close behind, and kept peering so anxiously around on all
sides, that she several times trod on the heels of those in front.
Jörn came last. He was inclined to distrust the truth of Fiete
Cray’s stories, or at least to look on them as grossly exaggerated.
But he didn’t venture to say so, for he didn’t feel himself
a match for Fiete Cray’s stock of words and experience. But
he wanted to show his disdain, all the same, so he said to Lis-
62 JORN Wis
beth: “ You go in front, Lisbeth! I'll go last.” But he often
looked behind him of a sudden, clearly hearing steps behind him.
At last the light of open fields glimmered through the trees.
“ Now run for it!” said Fiete. And as fast as ever they could
they ran on between the pine trunks, reaching the open track,
saw the Haze Farm lying below in the moorland, and screamed
and shouted and waved their caps and handkerchiefs.
An earthen mound winds like a great snake down between
the fields into the moor. It’s bad walking on it, for clustering
heath and broom and blackberry bushes have grown lush and
thick all over it. But just for that very reason the children
prefer to walk along on top of it, following it down into the
moor. At last, when walking grows too difficult, they risk a
leap into the bushes, and spring down from the mound, — Lis-
beth with Jörn’s help, — and make toward the piles of turf
which lie alongside the broad black ditches. And there in the
grass lies Thiess Thiessen, in the shade of a pile of turf, his
cap over his face and his gun lying beside him.
They steal up to him on tiptoe and stand around him. “ He
has been going to come to meet us,” whispers Elsbe, “ then he
has thought he’d just lie down a few seconds, and has fallen
off to sleep. He’s one of the seven sleepers, and does everything
different from every one else.”
“ Let’s all shout out together of a sudden,” says Jorn, “ then
he’ll get no end of a shock! You just see!”
Holley... oh!"
Like a frightened hare that leaps from its form, Thiess
bounded from the ground.
“ What’s that!” he almost screamed.
“ Thiess!” cried Elsbe, “do try and pull a different face.
‘That one’s too funny.”
Then he picked up his gun, and managed to find his tongue
again. “I was going to come and meet you; but this place
downright invited me into it. ‘Thiess,’ it said, ‘ come and have
a lie down. ‘They won’t be coming yet awhile.” His dry,
shrewd face beamed with smiles, and his little bright eyes
twinkled and glittered. “‘ Fiete, man, it’s just splendid that
you’ve all come.”
“Ts the boat finished, Thiess?”
“ She’s all ready,” said he, “ and right as a trivet. . . . There
was once a time when I thought I was cut out for a sailor,
 ORRIN UP Hil 63
children. But I got seasick from merely standing on the Dikes
and looking at the Elbe. Then I went as ’prentice-boy to
Klausen, the shipwright, in Brunsbüttel, and everything would
have gone splendidly, and I would have had a shipyard of my
own and been a rich man by this if it hadn’t been for these
dash’d sleeping-fits. Don’t you be laughing, now, Fiete, you’re
too stupid to know what I mean. I can quite understand that
story about the Sleeping Beauty, how all of them fell asleep
for a hundred years; I can sing you a song about it, too. And,
besides, in those years I didn’t grow gradually, as a youth ought
to, but shot up, lanky and slim, for all the world like a crow-
bar, as if my sole object was to touch the ceiling. As long as
we were laying the keel we got on tolerably well, and I managed
to keep awake. But as soon as the first plank was laid, when
the plank made that curve, you know, Fiete, it seemed to me
as though it were laying itself out so invitingly, just for my
sake, and saying to me, ‘Come and have a lie down, ‘Thiess
Thiessen.” In a word, I was no good for a shipwright, I mean
in those particular years, not the slightest! I have still the
document at home, children, Master Klausen’s certificate: ‘On
account of chronic sleeping-fits, etc.,’ that’s how it runs. So I
was sent home, and before I reached this old thatch-cottage, I
slept over there in the Haze Wood thirteen hours at a stretch
beneath the blackberry bushes. Later on I thought I’d like to
go to the grammar school; for, by hook or by crook, I wanted
to see the world. And I thought to myself, ‘A good scholar
has the whole world open to him;’ if you go to school you'll
learn Latin, and that’s as handy as learning to swim. Done,
then! Not quite so fast, though! First came the private les-
sons from the old minister. That went fine. For he knew my
failing, and put the lessons between six and eight of a morning
and four and six of an evening, when I was least sleepy. I
really learnt something, as you know. ‘There’s many a Latin
word I can still say.”
“ Adsum,”’ said Fiete Cray, “ that’s I.”
“ There’s no need for you to poke fun, Fiete. Do you mean
to say that’s the only Latin word I know, then? ... But
afterward, at school. You children never knew old Professor
Chalybeas, did you? Chalybeas means iron, Fiete. Many a
time he’d say to us, ‘ There’s no gumption in you Ditmarshers,’
he’d say. But when he came to talk about me, Fiete, he’s say,
64 JÖRN UHL.
‘Oh, there’s gumption enough in Thiess Thiessen. It’s all
dormant, though.’ Well, to make a long matter short, children,
it wouldn’t do at all. I tell you, people have got quite a wrong
idea about book-learning and all that. They think it’s a—
what shall I call it? — a kind of road where the farther you
go the more light you get. Nothing of the sort. Just the
opposite, in fact. It seemed to me a kind of underground tunnel,
a kind of fox’s burrow. You go in like a ferret, but you don’t
know where you’ll come out, or, indeed, whether you'll come
out at all. So I beat a hasty retreat. ‘ It’s so much less weight
to carry,’ as the fox said, when he left his hind leg in the trap
and limped away on three feet. I got another document that
time; I still have it. It’s pretty well blank, I may say.
“There I was, then, back at Haze Farm again, and some days
I used to stand in the kitchen doorway, and others I used to
dream away under the east wall, planning voyages around the
world and through strange lands; but my father had had
enough of it. He took me by the back of the neck and put a
flail in my hand, and set me by the side of our old farm-hand,
Klaus Suhm, who was just setting about the threshing of the
long oat sheaves that had grown in the moor paddock; and
whenever I spoke of travels after that, my father held his
clenched fist before my nose. “That was the end of my plans
for travel then, and I, a man who would fain have made a
tour through Russia on foot to Bangkok by way of China, have
sat here all my life on Haze Farm, and haven’t yet seen Ham-
burg; I haven’t even seen Rendsburg. I made up for it, as far
as possible, with reading. I bought a big atlas and Fenimore
Cooper’s and Gertstacker’s novels, and all sorts of books on
travel, and mapped out on the whitewashed walls of my bed-
room all my imaginary voyages. You have seen it, haven’t you,
children, he? ” ;
“Now just leave off talking, uncle!” said Elsbe, “ and let’s
go over to the fox-hole.”
“ Oh, the fox-hole! Well, hurry up, children! we haven’t
much time, though. Trina must have dinner ready by this.
‘There’s dumplings and pig’s-head.”
In the embankment Thiess found the two fox-holes, half-
hidden in the heather, burrowed into the yellowish sand.
“Shoot right into it,” said Elsbe.
“ That’s throwing powder away, child 1»
 TORN TORIL 65
“Its all the same,” she said, and looked at him angrily;
“shoot into it, I tell you!”
Thiess Thiessen, I am sorry to say, had always to do what
little Elsbe bade him. Twenty years before he had stood at the
bidding of her mother in just the same fashion. So he put
the muzzle of the gun into the hole. They all stood and watched
the yellow sand, anxiously waiting for the shot. Lisbeth drew
back a little. Jörn, who always kept an eye on her doings,
teased her, ran over to her, seized her hands and tried to pull
her back to the others. But she, thinking to divert him from
his intention, laid her arms beggingly around his neck with a
pretty little gesture, and kept quite still and held him fast. He
didn’t know what to do, feeling her bosom pressed so close to
him. He laid his arms awkwardly about her and looked at her.
Often in the playground at school, when boys had caught
hold of her, she had screamed and torn herself away in fear.
He had never yet touched her in that way.
“ When we're here with Thiess, you’re always so different,”
she said, nodding her head at him; “at home you're often so
grave and surly, but here you’re in good spirits. I do like you,
though, to-day.”
She pressed close against him. He didn’t use his whole
strength by a long way; but he wondered that she had so much
force in those delicate limbs of hers, and he was embarrassed at
her approaches, and held her firm and gently, and said: “ I am
always going to call you Rain-tweet now!”
“ Why? ” she asked.
“ Because you've such a high, tweety voice, like the bird we
call Rain-tweet, you know — some people call it plover. ‘That’s
the way you go, tweet-tweet.”
They were still holding each other fast and smiling, when
a titmouse on a neighboring tree suddenly began to whistle.
It whistled with such a shrill, terrified note, that they all heard
it and began searching for it. It was sitting on the topmost
branch of a small fir, jerking its head up and down, and eyeing
something on the ground. And when they looked in that direc-
tion they saw a brownish-yellow mass crouching in the dry,
light-colored grass. Two burning eyes were gazing, with a
look of infinite cunning, out of that three-cornered head upon
the fox-hunters who were standing there open-mouthed. ‘Thhiess
held the gun away from him with a stiff arm and his face
66 TORN WHE <
all pursed up, and fired wildly into the sand-hole. Fiete Cray
pulled off one of his heavy iron-clamped boots and flung it after
the fox with all his might.
“By Jove!” said Thiess, “ that fellow had a mighty tail!”
Elsbe slapped her hands together. “ And you say that now,
uncle! But that’s always the way when we're here; every-
thing you lay hands to, goes wrong.”
“ Come, children,” said he, “ we'll be off! Dinner must be
ready by this.”

The house in which Thiess Thiessen had spent almost his

whole life, and the head which Thiess Thiessen had on his
shoulders, bore an undeniable likeness to each other. It must
remain an open question for all time, which of the two had
taken after the other, whether Thiess’s head had in the course
of years grown like the dear old house, or whether the house had
taken after Thiess a little.
Thiess Thiessen’s house was long and narrow; the high, dark
thatch roof hung deep down over the little blinking windows;
in front there was a small audacious kind of gable. ‘Thiess
Thiessen’s head was very long and narrow, and the long, dark
hair hung deep down over his ears and forehead almost into his
shining, blinking eyes. His nose was small, and though not
exactly audacious looking, was at least a little perky —a deli-
cate arched nose it was, in the middle of a little, weather-beaten,
dried and wrinkled face.
Elsbe often used to say to him:
“ Uncle, your face is just like your house.”
“ It can’t very well be otherwise,” he would answer. “ Weve
been more than forty years together now, the old house and I,
and have always been by ourselves.”
‘They were all seated at the round table in the big room with
the white tiles on the walls, the room where twenty years hence
they were to spend a Christmas Eve of such sorrow and re-
joicing.
“Children,” Thiess said, “ there’s nothing to beat a walk on
the heath, and then home to Dittmarsh, dumplings, and pig’s-
head; I tell you, it’s the best thing in the world.”
He laid the first piece on Elsbe’s plate, nodding and smiling.
“ That’s only your idea,” said Elsbe. “ But Dominie Peters
 JORN UHL 67
knows better than that. He says the best thing in the world
is love; and I believe it is, too.”
Thiess Thiessen’s fork remained poised in the air; his little
eyes opened wide with astonishment, and his eyebrows vanished
under his long front hair. He thought to himself: That’s
exactly what her mother used to say, when she was twelve;
she, too, had her ideas about love. And love has cost her dear.
wee Love?” said he. “ Love ‘of:whom?.”
Elsbe hadn’t thought of anything definite. But, sharp as a
needle, she at once answered, “ The love of God.”
He was quite nonplussed. “ Yes! yes!” he said, rocking his
head backwards and forwards, “ I am afraid, Elsbe, you can’t
make much out of that. Love of God? How would you set
about it? Do you think He’s sitting here beside you?”
“ The meaning’s plain enough,” said Elsbe. “ We must love
what’s good. Thats what it means.”
“This pig’s-head is good, Elsbe,” he said, “I quite agree
with you.” As he spoke his eyes had an honest look in them,
like small, clean, shiny windows in the morning sun.
“ Jorn,” he said, “ tell us what you think about it. Fiete Cray
has nothing to say, because pig’s-heads and heath-brooms and old
witches that throw stones are the only things that interest him.
But you, Jorn, you’re a brooder, a thinker. Yes, you’re a
brooder, Jörn. Not exactly, perhaps, to such an extent as the
Indian fakirs who sit in a corner and gaze at their stomachs until
they see all sorts of mad visions. Speak, Jörn.”
“ The best thing in the world is work,” said Jorn.
Thiess let his fork sink, and looked uneasy.
“ Jürgen Uhl!” he said, “ that was the last thing I should
have expected you to say. Work? .. . why, what does the
second page of the Bible say? I mean after they had been driven
out of paradise. What was the doom that overtook these two
poor wretches like flashes of lightning? ‘Thou shalt eat thy
bread in the sweat of thy brow.’ Is that a blessing, Jorn, or
a curse? Work, Jörn, work is a curse. And you say it’s the
best thing in the world. I have all my life wished for nothing
more ardently than that I had been born on the Pesander
Islands, or on Surnaci, away in the Molucca Seas, where work
is simply forbidden. Prohibited, Jorn! Because otherwise too
many bananas would grow there. And I thank God every day
that I’ve got Haze Farm, and that I can manage, so to speak,
68 JORN UHL
to escape the curse; but of course when the hay-making is on
and when we are baking turf, I have to lend a hand, too. And
then you go talking about work being the best thing in the
world.”
They none of them had a word to say, now that he began
quoting Scripture at them.
But presently Thiess Thiessen grew more venturesome, and
left the firm soil for marshy ground. “ Children,” he said,
“as long as I can remember, I have read the Itzehoer News.
Do you know what makes me so curious every time that Peter
Siemssen comes around the corner, and opens the door, and
cries ‘Paper’? Well, it’s because I’m so anxious to see if
there’s less work being done, or if work is going to stop alto-
gether, or if there’s a chance of us getting rid of the curse of
work once for all! Thats what I’m curious about now.”
“ Oh!” said Jorn, laying his hand on the table, “ that would
be a nice state of affairs! But go on, though.”
“ Just think of all the inventions there’s been. And every
invention has made work less. ‘Think of the spinning-jenny.
I can still see my old mother, how she used to sit through the
long winter days behind her spinning-wheel. And the thresh-
ing-machine, too. I tell you, Klaus Suhm and I have beaten the
floor in with our flails. And it’s no exaggeration to say that
Klaus Suhm must have smashed at least a score of threshing-
floors in his time. Now the machine comes along for a day, and
thrashes and winnows the whole crop, and it’s done with. And
then railways and telegraphs. A few years ago it used to be,
‘Where are my top-boots, Liza?’ ‘ Put the horses in the cart,
Patrick!’ I tell you for a fact, work’s growing less, children.
Klaus Suhm used to get up at two in winter, and used to knock
at my window at three. Where does that happen nowadays?
But I can’t help wondering sometimes; it’s a real puzzle to me
how it is that work doesn’t grow less and less and die out alto-
gether.”
“ Well, and what then?” said Jörn, bending forward. “ Sup-
posing it did grow less, what would you do in your spare time? ”
“ Every one could arrange about that as he pleased,” said
Thiess Thiessen; “ for my part, I’d vote for a good long sleep,
in the shade of a stack of turf.”
y S Oh, would you? ” said Jörn; “and others,” said he,
others” — he hesitated and was a little embarrassed — “would
 JORN UHL 69
lie about all day in the public-house.” He shook his head. “ But
you're too stupid for anything, Thiess. Do you think that
Adam and Eve never used to work before the fall? ‘They
tilled the Garden of Eden,’ it says in the Bible, and played
with each other. We'd work, too, and have grand games to-
gether, wouldn’t we, Lisbeth? But the fact is that many people
are wicked and bad, and so we have all got to go to school, and
later on to work. And as for you, Thiess, you ought to go
right away and put the bay gelding into another paddock. Up
there by the pines there’s no grass left for him.”
This conversation had been above little Lisbeth. While it
was going on she had kept tapping Jorn’s shoulder with the tips
of her fingers. “ See his eyes!” she said, “ how foxy they look,
and his hair’s all standing on end like the quills on a porcu-
pine!” And she came running up to him from behind and laid
her head close to his. And her hair matched his for fairness.
“Come,” said Elsbe, “just be quiet, uncle; I’ve had quite
enough of your speechifying.”
“Tt always does me good when you children come, Fiete.
It’s like getting a push from behind. We really must go and
bring the gelding down from the pine paddock. But first of all
I must show you what a splendid journey I’ve been making
these last few weeks.”
They followed him to his bedroom, a big, bare room with
whitewashed walls, in which there was nothing but Thiess
Thiessen’s bed, a clothes-chest, and a couple of chairs. The
walls were covered with heavy lines in blue pencil, represent-
ing the five continents and the two hemispheres. A pile of
books lay upon the chairs. It was here that Thiess Thiessen
undertook his long voyages and stilled his yearning for strange
lands. He told them how in the past week he had sat by many
a bivouac-fire on a journey through Central Africa, along with
Livingstone, and what trouble they’d had in getting dried goat’s
flesh to eat. He took up the book and read out to them a most
thrilling passage, where the English missionary and explorer
concludes a treaty of peace with a fierce and barbarous negro
king.
But it was of no use. Elsbe’s thoughts were off again. “If
we stay here gabbling like this,” she said, scornfully, “ we won’t
get a thing done all day!” ;
They went out and brought the bay horse down into the
Jo JORN UHL
lower paddock. No sooner was that done than they were on
tenterhooks to see Thiess’s new boat.
“ Its a fine boat, children. She’s the best and biggest craft
I’ve ever built.” There she lay on the brownish moor-water,
made fast with cables to the shore as though she were a three-
decker; she bore, it must be confessed, a distant resemblance
to a pig’s trough, and you could smell the pitch that had been
poured into her seams ten paces off. In the middle a mast
soared aloft, flying a streamer of yellow silk that had been cut
out of granny’s shawl, and on the deck stood four cannon made
of old rifle-barrels soldered together by the village smith, and
with polished touch-holes.
It was simply splendid! And they all praised Thiess, and
said that this time he’d really done something worth talking
about. Jörn was overjoyed, and was for going on board
immediately. Little Lisbeth was the only one to eye the gay,
many-patched thing with distrust, craning her neck from a safe
distance, and assuring them she wouldn’t venture into it.
Jorn was going to catch hold of her once more, feeling as if
he wanted to have her hands in his again, but she stepped back,
and shook her head with such a grave and pretty gesture that
he at once desisted. By this Thiess was again in high glee with
himself. He wasn’t going to let his glory be diminished in any
way, and so he said he was going to make the first trip by
himself. He stepped rather gingerly into the crazy vessel, and
seated himself cautiously in the stern, so that his outstretched
legs rested under the deck about midships.
Elsbe was perched on a willow stump that hung over the
water, and began to poke fun at him. “ What if you should
tip over, uncle? There you'll hang, head downwards, and your
feet will stick in the boat.”
“No fear, not I!”
“I say, Thiess, she’s all lopsided! ”
“"Thiess, you know what an unlucky beggar you are.”
“Lopsided? ‘There’s nothing lopsided about her!” He
searched in his waistcoat pocket, and laid three black-looking
matches on the deck in front of him.
“ Now, Thiess, don’t be trying to show off! Youre sure to
come to grief if you do!”
Thiess raised himself a little from his seat. There was a
sticky, glutinous sound. ‘The children burst out laughing, cast-
 JORN UHL J1
ing roguish glances at each other. Fiete Cray, who clearly fore-
saw the approaching catastrophe, was bent double with laughter.
“ Thiess, you’ll capsize as sure as a gun.”
With two cautious thrusts Thiess pushed safely off from the
bank into the darkish water. He laid the oar very deliberately
down in front of him, and stretched out his hand for the
matches. The boat gave a slight roll, as though inclined to
settle down into a different position. Thiess tried to strike the
matches on the main deck, but they would not light, and then,
as was his wont, he raised his leg in order to awake the slumber-
ing fire, in the correct and accustomed spot. The trough gave
another roll. The match blazed up. To the touch-hole with it!
Another roll.
“ Children, this was the way we fought at Eckenförde on the
sth of April.” There was a flash and a bang, and the boat
lurched terribly as he tried to jerk himself out of the way of
the muzzles. But the pitch held him fast. Another bang and
a lurch, and in the midst of smoke and the smell of sulphur
and powder the boat turned over, and Thiess Thiessen with it.
Jörn Uhl stood up to his knees in water watching the spot.
Fiete Cray said, “It’s still fizzling.” Elsbe said, “What luck! ”
and Lisbeth ran away crying. For a moment there was not a
sound; the moor, and all of them held their breath. Then the
water began to boil and bubble and whirl. Out of the depths
came a something, all slimy and black, like the back of an
immense fish. Sputtering and groaning, and panting and cough-
ing, it crept ashore on all fours.
Thiess tried to clear his eyes. He shook himself and stamped,
and pitched his coat and boots aside, the children standing
around him with big, anxious eyes. Fiete was rolling on the
ground, screaming with laughter. Lisbeth, who had just stopped
in her fright, ran still farther off.
“Well, well,” said Thiess, spluttering, “ this is a thing that
happens to the best of ships: a capsize under normal conditions
with the whole crew providentially saved. Besides, she was
built on quite a new plan, Jorn. She must have been a bit
narrow in the beam, though. Well, at any rate, we’ve seen
and experienced and learnt something fresh to-day.”
“Td like to know what you’ve seen!” said Elsbe.
He looked toward the water where the boat lay floating like
a great turtle.
72 JÖRN UHL
“You're quite right there, Elsbe,” hè said, still spitting.
“Its frightful down below there. Everything quite dark, and
I lost my bearings completely. I had to think pretty hard
before I found which was the way to the top, I can tell you.
You must bear in mind that I had all four elements to contend
with, first fire, sulphur, and pitch, and then earth and water.
All these were present in too great abundance. And, lastly, air,
and of that there wasn’t enough. Otherwise, of course, I
wouldn’t have come up so quickly, for you can’t imagine what
strange contortions I had to go through down below in order
to get free from the boat.” And thereupon he spat once more,
and went home to change his clothes. When he had disappeared
through the kitchen door, Jorn said, “It’s always the same,
whenever we come, something funny’s sure to happen.” ‘Then
he caught up with Lisbeth, seized her by the hand, and talked
about all sorts of amusing things, till he made her laugh again.
But she still felt afraid, and wanted to go home, so he took
her back to the others, and told them.
“Thats always the way,” said Elsbe, “ Lisbeth always wants
to go home too early.”
“She mustn’t come with us any more,” said Fiete. “I’m
always telling you that. She’s too little and too prim. But you
will always bring her.” Lisbeth stood by Jorn’s side crying.
“T’m going home with her,” said Jorn, “ straight away. You
others can do as you like.”
But they made up their minds that they would rather all go
back together. So they waited till Thiess returned, and he
escorted them through the wood to the edge of the heath. For
a long time he stood gazing after them, shading his eyes with
his hand, till at last the setting sun, whose light had been soft-
ened by clouds and mist, came out and dazzled his eyes. The
children no longer turned to look back at him; in silence they
hurried on over the heath, toward Ringelshorn,
 CHAPTER V.

Kraus Uun was in the habit of prating to every one about his
youngest boy. His boy was to be a scholar, he said. “ Jörn
shall go to the University; faith, and that’s the end of it.” And
when he was half-tipsy and in his best vein and beginning to
brag, the old grand ideas about Jérn’s future would return to
his mind. “ He shall be Provost some day,” he’d say; and the
farmers and dealers sitting with him at the table would laugh
and exclaim: “ He'll turn out a grand fellow like Provost
Lornsen von Sylt. That’s the sort of man he must be! Provost!
Here’s to the health of Jorn Uhl, the Provost.”
All this had been repeated many a time, and it had become
a matter of honor with Klaus Uhl. But although he often met
teachers from the High School at the inn in town, he never
asked them for counsel or direction. For his conscience failed
him. He feared to hear that a clever, shrewd head was wanted
for such a life, and that the lad would have to go to school at
once; and he feared lest there should be other unpleasant ques-
tions to solve. He didn’t want to be disturbed in his loose
living and easy-going ways. Only on one occasion, and even
then in the most casual fashion, did he mention the matter to
Dominie Peters, with the characteristic indifference of the
peasant. And when the latter offered to give the lad a little
extra teaching and prepare him for the High School, the offer
was accepted, and Klaus Uhl was glad that for the present he
was relieved of this unpleasant responsibility.
So we find Jérn Uhl, with his short-cropped, stiff, fair hair,
sitting by old Dominie Peters on the sofa. His deep-set eyes
peered like foxes from their holes into the English book in front
of him, eagerly devouring the wisdom they found there. For it
was Dominie Peters’s creed that an acquaintance with English
is the stepping-stone to all knowledge and to every high dis-
tinction in life. Sometimes, when they had a few moments to
73
74 JÖRN UHL
spare, they would do a little Latin, but™this practice was soon
discontinued.
It was a beautiful summer’s day. The village street lay silent
in the white sunlight, shimmering with heat between the lines of
green trees. The lindens along the footpath cast their shadows
upon the windows. The room was full of a quiet dark-reddish
light.
“ Jürgen,” said the old man, “I must just pop out and see
what the bees are up to. Go on translating by yourself a little,
laddie; I'll be back in a minute.”
So Jürgen went on with his translating awhile. A bee came
in through the open window, buzzed about the room, saw that
it had made a mistake, buzzed more and more angrily, till at
last it found the window and flew out again, taking the boy’s
thoughts with it. Lost in day-dreams he gazed into the green
shadow and air of the garden. Jörn was now at a time of life
when the wonder of the world filled him with its mystery and
aroused an intense spirit of curiosity in his mind. His love of
books increased, especially of such as give a clear, firm con-
ception of things, and later on he took to those, too, that soberly
and demurely speculate upon life and its problems. He used
to say to Fiete in those days, “ I want to understand the whole
world.” And in the course of his life he really came to under-
stand a good deal of it. Fiete Cray used to reply, “ For my
part, I'll be content when I have twenty thousand pounds, then
I'll buy the Uhl for myself and live there till I die.” And now
they were both trying to realize their dreams. Fiete Cray, who
had been confirmed, and was in service at the Uhl as stable-
boy, pulled hair out of the horses’ tails in the stable and sold it
for good money; he carried on a small trade besides on his
own account in currycombs and whip-lashes. Jiirgen Uhl, how-
ever, pored over his English book and wondered mightily how
human beings could speak such a queer tonguie.
The windows were wide open. Birds were singing in the
lindens, and bees were humming in the golden, shadowy air
between the lindens and the window. Light steps were heard,
as of some one walking on tiptoe along by the house wall, and
AN Junker’s fair, flaxen head appeared above the window-
sill.
“Is that where you are?” she said. “ Come out here.”
“What are you doing, Lisbeth? Fishing?”
 JORN UHL 75
“Tve caught ten big, fat fellows already. They've just
bitten the worm off. Do come! Grandfather has forgotten
you long ago.”
“ What a look your hair has!” says he.
“What? Is it rough?” She wondered at his finding fault
with her, but suddenly she understood his meaning. “ Oh, you
mean with the sunlight on it.” She turned her head around
quickly. “ Do you see, Jorn? There’s a little sunbeam coming
through the linden and making straight for my head as if it
wants to shoot me. Do you see? But it’s pretty rough, too.
I can see it in the window. I’ve scrambled through the hedge
three times this afternoon.”
“Td have thought you’d been scrambling through the sun.”
“You needn’t mind coming out, Jörn. You'll easily learn
that little bit another time. It can’t be as difficult as all that
to become Provost.”
So he left his book and went out to her. He was always
happy to do her bidding, and could refuse her nothing, for she
seemed to him so refined and ladylike and cleverness itself. In
his dealings with her he was gentle and considerate, as every
good and sensible man is when he has a comrade he feels to
be better than himself. He was so anxious lest he should dis-
please her, that he had never again ventured to call her “ Rain-
tweet,” although it struck him over and over again as something
peculiarly sweet about her that she had such a full, clear voice.
It sounded like pure silver to him. A rather loud and vulgar
tone prevailed at that time among the village children, and in
his father’s house he heard much that was rude and coarse. It
was specially fortunate for him that he was brought into con-
tact with this child in those critical years of his life. For she
awakened and strengthened everything that was good and fine
in him.
They crept through the fence and down to the pond. Now
that he was thirteen, he was properly too old to go fishing for
sticklebacks, but she took things as such a matter of course that
he could never say no. And he was always happy, too, when
he did anything that gave her pleasure. And everything that
gave her pleasure and everything that she asked of him, he could
do with a good conscience. Although she sometimes wanted
things that required a slight sacrifice of his boyish dignity, her re-
quests were never at all silly, which could not be said of Elsbe’s.
76 JORN UHL
They were sitting side by side in the grass under a bush, talk-
ing softly together. She was asking him about Elsbe and Fiete.
“ What is Fiete going to be, Jörn? will he be a hawker like
his father and the other Crays? ”
“ No, he doesn’t want to.”
“ What, then?”
“ Oh, sometimes he thinks of going to the California diggings,
and sometimes he thinks he’d like to be coachman to the Provost,
I think.”
“ You mean your coachman. He had much better do that
than go gold-digging. . . . It’s frightfully hot to-day.”
For a long time they were silent. “The sun shone and the
birds sang, and gradually, gradually, her rod slipped deeper
and deeper into the water, her head nodded and sank on to his
shoulder, overpowered with coming sleep.
It seemed as though a spell of enchantment was over every-
thing. As though those were not real houses whose walls and
doorways peeped out here and there between the lindens, as
though they were not real lindens at all, with their deep shadowy
green and silent leaves, but as if houses and trees and the sur-
face of the pond, and the children with their rods along its
banks, all belonged to some wonderful painting where one ought
to keep as still as a mouse. For it is not customary for people
to move about in a picture. And it was all clearly and finely
and most lovingly painted, with a touch of plain, rustic honesty
and rough, hearty fruitfulness in it, and it hung in God’s best
chamber.
The fishing-rod lay deep in the water, and the maiden rested
upon his shoulder, and the boy gazed with thoughtful eyes far
into the picture of which he himself was a part, and felt her
hair upon his cheek and her light, beautiful breathing, and did
not stir.
From far off a light vehicle was approaching along the village
street, and stopped in front of the schoolhouse. The slumbering
maiden was wakened by it.. Dominie Peters came hurrying
from somewhere among the trees in the garden and went up
wonderingly to a gray-haired, bent old man who was already
standing in the gateway, and said:
“Will you come inside, sir?”
“I think we might remain in the garden,” said the Provost,
“and walk up and down a little, I have a message for you
 ORIN 8 HL 77
from my wife. She would like some more of the winter apples
that we had from you last year.”
They talked awhile about this matter, then the visitor sud-
denly changed his chatty tone and said, in a low, grave voice,
“ But my coming has another object. I have known you now
for many years, and can rely on your judgment of people and
things. You judge discreetly, like a man who is by nature of
a sober and quiet disposition, and who, pursuing his vocation
in contact with the people, has gathered a great deal of expe-
rience and a little property in the course of years.” He smiled
softly. “ The latter I take to be a fact of some importance,”
said he. “ I wouldn’t care about having the advice of a man in
economic affairs, who has not himself a small stock of self-con-
densed diligence, i. e. money out at interest. I would like to ask
you about the marsh-farmers here — I mean the Uhls.”’
The old schoolmaster, a little excited by the honor done him,
and delighted at the chance of being able to do a good work,
gave his information in a reserved voice. “Klaus Uhl is the
worst of them. He sets an example which corrupts many of
the others. In spite of a benevolent and peaceable nature, he
is a fool out of sheer arrogance. The children on the playground
imitate his way of looking the people of the poorer families up
and down. ‘Don’t act the grand like Klaus Uhl,’ they say,
when any one’s proud. And it’s said that he always pays poor
folk their wages out of his waistcoat pocket, even when it’s
hundreds of marks.”
So the two men walked up and down the garden path, con-
tinuing their talk.
“ What can the farms produce, then, if the owners live in such
a fashion? Everything is only half-done. The servants sleep
and dawdle away their time, the animals are neglected, and the
soil becomes impoverished. But the worst of it is that the
children, who are growing up, witness the dissolute life of their
parents, and take this slovenly management to be the proper
state of affairs, and rush into poverty as hungry calves rush
against a wall.”
“ And the women, what about them?”
“There are some who urge their husbands, as soon as he gets
a little tired of it, to return to his wild life, and take part in it
themselves. There is one woman, mother of eight children,
who told me without a blush that seven times, night after night
78 TORN WHEL
last week, she was at parties until daybreak; and I know another
who drove through the farmyard and had her six-year-old child
lifted up into the cart to her, saying in the presence of the farm-
hand, veiling her braggadocio under the form of regrets, ‘I
haven’t seen the poor little brat for eight days. In the morning
when I get up he’s already off to school, and of an evening when
he comes home his mother has flown away again. What’s one
to do, though? One invitation after another!’ As you well
know, sir, when women once give way to foolishness, their
foolishness knows no bounds. Of course there are other women,
too, who sit at home, silent and worried, doing their work and
looking after the farm, full of forebodings for the future.”
“ There’s one thing more I want you to tell me! Unfortu-
nately I can’t prevent a man from bringing himself and his fam-
ily to misery. But I’ve learned from private information that
several investors or agents, of doubtful reputation, have been
attracted by the ill odor of this parish, and are here trying to
decoy our people into ‘ Ultimo gambling.’ ”
The old schoolmaster looked thoughtfully on the ground.
“ I recollect now that Klaus Uhl at our last savings-bank meet-
ing had a conversation with Karsten Rievedl about a number of
different kinds of scrip, and that the word ultimo was men-
tioned. What is this ‘ ultimo,’ Provost? ”
“ Well! when a farmer begins speculating, he soon loses his
money, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, invariably! Jochen Mill lost one hundred and fifty
thousand marks in three weeks.”
“There you are! And the point is that when a man plays
Ultimo he can afterward say quite exactly when he lost his
money, that’s the only difference. But what’s that you said
about Jochen Mill? In three weeks, did you say?”
“Yes. He sold his farm and went to Hamburg. In three
years he said he would be ten times richer than he was already.
He fell an easy prey to them. All the sharks that infest the
exchange after one single stupid peasant! They used to stand
outside in crowds waiting for him, and help him down from
his horse, for he was far too grand to go on foot. Every time
he came, it’s said, there was quite a fuss made over him. Some
overdid it, taking off their coats and offering to lay them on
the steps, so that his feet shouldn’t touch the earth as he en-
tered the hall. But he didn’t see through all this mockery.
 JORN UHL 79
He thought only of ‘ the honor! — the honor of it!’ At the
end of eight weeks he was without a penny. His relatives
bought him a small public-house near Hamburg, where he now
sells ‘ half and half,’ as they call it.”
“ Come,” said the Provost, “ now we will go into the orchard
and feast our eyes for awhile.”
“ There’s not much to see this year, sir; the codlin-moth has
made great ravages among the apples.”
“Well, well! . . . And yet it soothes one to get away from
them and their mistakes and come into contact with Nature; to
see how bravely and unostentatiously she undergoes misfortune
and fights against it, just like some honest, energetic soul who
fights his way manfully through life up to the very last.”
They went down into the orchard.
“Well,” said Jörn, as he laid the rod aside, “ it’s time for
me to go in now and finish my lessons. ‘There’s a fearfully
difficult bit in that piece of English.” He forced his way back
through the bushes, went into the room, and opened his book
again. Soon afterward the carriage drove away, and the old
schoolmaster came in again.
“What! are you still here, Jorn? Have you been here all
the time at the open window? Did you hear us talking?”
“No, I’ve been sitting with Lisbeth.”
“ Where, then?”
“ Down by the pond. Weve been fishing for sticklebacks.”
“Oh, that’s what you’ve been doing!”
He walked up and down, looked out of the window and came
back again.
“Jorn, do you know what? A lad must be able to hold his
tongue else he’ll never make a man.”
“ I know how to hold my tongue, too, if need be,” said Jörn
Uhl, staring with hard eyes into space.
“And, Jorn, . .. since it just occurs to me I'll tell you
something. It can do you no harm to hear it. When I was
a boy, old people who’ve been sleeping in their graves this many
a year have told me how your great-grandfather used to leap
over the ditches with a great ditch-pole he had, and come straight
across the fields to church. He was a tall, gaunt man with bent
shoulders, and used to wear a high black hat, as was the custom
in those days. He was the Jorn Uhl who entertained the then
80 TORN UHL
King of Prussia for two days as his guest: Have you ever heard
the story?”
“Yes, I have heard about it from Wieten.”
“ Not from your father? Did your father never speak of it?
Well, the king and Jorn Uhl stayed up half the night discussing
the state of the district, and Jorn Uhl is said to have made use
of some very hard expressions. ‘ Sirrah,’ said the king, ‘ you
forget that you are speaking with your sovereign.’ Jörn Uhl,
however, answered in a loud voice, ‘If you were a true sov-
ereign you would uncloak all such frauds and not suffer such
worthless fellows to be in your service.’ The king defended him-
self, saying, ‘ The kingdom is too big, Uhl, I can’t look after
everything.’ But the old man replied, ‘ The summer dikes are
big, too, and yet I know every drift and channel of them, and
every ox that grazes on them.’ In short, next day there was
an inspection of the Civil Service arrangements of the dis-
trict, and three officials, who had used their office for their own
ends and grown wealthy, were hunted out in dire disgrace.
Your great-grandfather was given supervision of the matter.
It was on the occasion of this visit, too, that he persuaded the
king to undertake the construction of new dikes, and advanced
him thirty thousand thalers. For his Majesty had no money
of his own for the purpose. That all happened exactly as I’ve
told you, Jorn.
“ After a few years, this hard-working, good king died, and
the next that came to the helm didn’t take his duties as ruler
nearly so seriously. “The state fell behind, and to make matters
worse a long war ensued. ‘Thus it came about that your great-
grandfather got no interest on his money, and soon remarked,
for he was a shrewd, level-headed man, that his capital was also
in danger. So he quickly made up his mind, and set out for the
city where the king lived.
“Now what follows I am not quite clear about: I can only
tell you the story as the old people here used to tell it to me.
Your great-grand father — his hair was already quite white with
age— goes to the king’s castle and asks to see the king. ‘The
servant looked at him rather disparagingly, and told him the
king wasn’t to be seen; but he replied that his name was Jorn
Uhl of Wentorf, and demanded that he should be announced.
But the servant still showing no signs of haste, the old man
gave a few tremendous puffs from his meerschaum pipe, and
 JORN UHL 81
lifted his stick, and at last found himself before the door of the
king’s chamber, and was announced to his Majesty. While he
was putting his pipe and stick away in a corner and preparing
to enter, he saw the king coming toward him, dressed in a new-
fangled thing called a dressing-gown, and holding the big
shiny star of some order in his hand and smiling benignly. In
a trice Jorn Uhl had turned around and was gathering up his
things from the corner. But when the king followed him in
spite of that, he held his pipe and stick up before him as if in
self-defence, crying, ‘It’s my money, not decorations, that I
want, and made off down the stairs as fast as he could go.
Then he went to the king’s ministers. He lost a good deal of
the money, for the whole state was bankrupt, but he didn’t lose
nearly as much as many another.
“ His son, then, your grandfather. ... H’m! ... Well,
a good-humored, kindly sort of man he was. But that’s all
you can say about him, Jorn. And it’s not much, is it? It’s
a bad state of affairs when you can’t say anything to a man’s
credit except that he was good-humored. His speech was soft
enough and didn’t go very deep, and the same could be said
of his ploughing. I used to know him well.
“ And then your father got the farm. . . . Well . . . your
lather oz
The lad suddenly raised his head and looked the old man
straight in the face, as though to say: “I know well enough
what you’ve got in mind. But I am not going to let you see
that I believe it.”
But the old man did not continue after seeing the boy’s
glance. He kept passing his fingers through his long gray
beard, as though he were going to pull those venerable thickets
away by the roots. At last, resuming the stiff, loud tone of
the schoolmaster, he said: “ What does the great poet Goethe,
the herald of the century we are living in, say? ‘ All that a
man inherits from his father must be earned afresh by him if he
means to possess it. . . . Now go home, Jörn. I must be off.
I’ve got a savings-bank meeting to attend.”

Early next morning, just after the stars had vanished from
the blue-gray sky, the lad got up and went singing and whistling
and banging doors through the whole house, and came into the
82 JORN UHL
stables. Wieten was standing in the passage with the milk-pails
in her hand.
“ Laddie, what’s come into your head?” she asked. “ Why,
it’s not four o’clock yet.”
He laughed, and said ingenuously that he didn’t want to stay
in bed, it was too hot for him. ‘‘ Where’s Fiete? ” he asked.
“Tye managed to get him to turn out,” said she. “I’ve still
power over him, at least.”
He went whistling up and down the dairy, and then went
back to Wieten Penn and asked where the milkmaids were.
“I am afraid, laddie, the hussies are still in bed. You're
not going to go and wake them, are you? ”
“ You’ve got the management of the house, haven’t you?
Why don’t you bid them get up?”
“ That’s easier said than done,” said she. “ They’re on too
intimate terms with Alick and Hinnerk, so they sleep it out a
bit longer, and I can say nothing.”
He went along the passage to the servants’ quarters, and as
he passed flung a few pieces of wood that were lying near the
kitchen against the door of the girls’ bedroom, and sang and
whistled so that his fresh boyish voice rang through the early
stillness of the house. He sang like a thrush that sings in the
orchard when the day is young, proud of its song, and at the
same time very shy.
Then he went out so as to pass along under the windows,
and to his astonishment saw his brother Hans, who had been
confirmed three years before, coming over the fields from toward
the village. He went to meet him, his whole face beaming,
and called gaily to his brother, “ Hans, old chap, I thought
you were still in bed. Have you been to the mill so early, or
was it to the smith?”
His brother came up to him and struck him. “ You young
lout!” he said, with thick, drunken voice, striking him a blow
on the chest and driving him into the stable. He tried to repeat
the blow, but missed, and had to lean against a horse. It grew
restive and began to stamp the ground. Fiete came running out
from among the horses with the currycomb in his hand.
“ What’s going on here? You've been hitting Jorn. Don’t
touch him, I’d advise you, or I tell you the two of us will give
you such a hammering that you won’t be able to stand.”
That afternoon, as the farmer was preparing to drive into
 JORN UHL 83
town as usual, Jörn offered to harness the horses and bring
them around to the front door. He did his task quickly and
correctly, and came smartly trotting around the corner of the
house with the two spruce bays; then he jumped down and
stood in front of the horses, holding the leader by the reins
and tipping him on the nose now and again, and each time he
did so he hummed the words, “ Ultimo is madness.”
Klaus Uhl, who was in the big room, said: “ Do you hear
the little sneak, Wieten? What’s he got in his head now?”
and he laughed.
“ He’s been singing all the morning,” she said.
And he was still singing away, “ Ultimo is madness.”
“What are you singing there? ” shouted Klaus Uhl.
“ Oh!” he said, complacently, “ the Provost was at Dominie
Peters’s house yesterday, and I chanced to hear him say, ‘ All
who play Ultimo go bankrupt.’ ”
“ Do they, really?” He got into the cart, laughing heartily.
“ I say, youngster,” said he, “‘ my advice to you is, then, never
to play Ultimo.”
Jorn burst into loud laughter and his father drove away.
You still heard that hearty young laughter of his that welled
forth so free and joyous. Although at this time he was growing
so fast, and getting up early was such a difficult thing for him,
he got Fiete Cray to wake him every morning, and went, as it
were by chance, through kitchen, stables, and fields, becoming
a sort of restless, wandering conscience for the others.
Once when two horse-dealers were standing in the stable,
and, in the absence of his father, bargaining with Alick, the
eldest son, he stood by and listened. One of the dealers said,
“I say, my lad, just go to the yard and see if our horses are
all right.” And he went. Afterward the one said to the other,
“Strange how the eyes of that youngster disturbed me. He
looked at me as if I were a horse-thief.” “The other laughed.
“Tt struck me, too, he held us with his glance. I had to keep
looking at him. Just watch it, he’s the only one of Klaus Uhl’s
boys that’ll come to anything. He’s a shrewd customer.”
And another time, when the brothers were weighing out some
loads of hay for a purchaser, he was again there, and at last
pointed out a mistake in the weight. ‘‘ He’s getting too much,”
he said. The brothers, who were tipsy, and the purchaser, who
had a shrewd relish for a joke, laughed; but when the latter
84 JORN UHL
noticed that the lad was in earnest, he complained in a tone of
offended dignity that he couldn’t put up with such remarks,
especially from a raw youngster; such a thing had never hap-
pened to him before. Then the brothers got into a rage, and
hunted him from the barn with their hay-forks. He went into
the fields and walked for hours and hours beside Fiete Cray,
who was ploughing.
That autumn Elsbe and Lisbeth Junker had sewing lessons
together, and a little French from old Grandmother Peters.
She was a kindly old woman who, for more than forty years,
had shared her husband’s joys and sorrows, but in the matter
of foreign languages the two had never been able to come to
an understanding. In her youth the wife had learnt French
and praised and taught this language.. Her husband, however,
had got on so far in English that he could read a not over-
difficult book in that tongue, and then, besides, he had now and
again a chance of speaking with English sailors. Each of the
old people had tried to learn the other’s language into the
bargain, but had had to give it up. And so one might often see
this kindly old couple, sitting each in a window nook, plodding
away at French or English, and interrupting and teasing each
other at times in Low German, each anathematizing the other’s
language and the people who spoke it.
Elsbe Uhl, who had cost her mother her life, was full of
excessive vigor and jollity, as is often the case with people who,
though born of tall, strong parents, have themselves remained
short of statue. She was small for her eleven years, but she
was full of sap and strength and lithe as a young ash. Her
elder brothers took no notice of her whatever, but she was hand
and glove with her brother Jürgen and Fiete Cray. Often
when she was on her way from the village over the meadows of
an afternoon, the two would stand by the stable door and look
out for her. And she would raise her school-bag high above her
head and wave with it, and sometimes, when the fancy took her,
she would make a haughty face at them and turn her head aside,
out of mischief. She called that the “ side-face view,” for Fiete
had said she looked better from the side, especially from the
left side, than she did from the front. The whole of her tiny
person was in motion, her feet slipping and sliding, her dress
beating against knees and hips, her arms swinging as though
she was fighting her way through the high reeds instead of
 JORN UHL 85
through the blustering wind. And when she came to the plank
over the ditch she would shout through the roar and swish of the
wind in the trees, “ Shall I walk nicely, or shall I jump it?”
“Jump it!” the boys shout back.
The kitchen window would fly open and Wieten would cry,
“Don’t let those stupid boys be leading you into mischief,
Elsbe! ”
“ Does it worry you when I jump, Wieten? ”
“No, not at all, God forbid! Do as you like,” and she slams
the window.
The books fly over first, then follows Elsbe with a short,
swift run. She would jump it, but her knees would give way
a little. Then she’d cry, “ Wasn’t that a fine jump, now?”
Fiete nodded with a sly wink, and sent Jörn away to the
kitchen to fetch their supper. When he was gone he whistled
softly to himself, gazing into space. “ Do you know what,
Elsbe, many a time I’ve carried you along this path in my arms,
when you were so big.”
“That’s a lie, Fiete! ”
“ But if I tell you you’ve caught a nice old cold and have
got both your feet soaking wet, there’ll be no lie about that.”
She laughed. “ Don’t tell Wieten. Wait, I'll be back in a
minute.”
After awhile she returned. “ I’ve got the stockings all right
without her noticing it. Il put them on here in a jiffy.”
She went into an empty horse-stall, changed her stockings,
and came out again. “ Now keep your eyes open,” she said.
She took a wild run as she had done before at the ditch and
leapt into his outstretched arms, hanging around his neck and
dangling hands and feet, and shouting with laughter. And he
held her fast.
“ Lassie, little Whitey,” he said, “you’re just for all the
world like a wild bee.”
“Sst! let me go, Jorn’s coming.”
He quickly let go of her, and when Jérn came along the path
with the slices of bread they looked as if nothing had happened.
It was a good thing for this lusty, lively girl that the first
pride of nascent manhood awoke next year in her friend, Fiete
Cray, and that he held the child, “ little Whitey,” as he called
her, somewhat at a distance, and gave his heart to the maid
that worked under Wieten in the kitchen, a spruce, red-cheeked
86 JORN UHL
girl who was of the same age as himself, and returned his
affection. He was a rogue, being a Cray, and didn’t altogether
break with little Elsbe.
About All Saints’ Day, she one day came back from her
sewing lesson, and found Fiete and Jörn in the stable.
“ Dominie Peters, who pokes his nose into everything, was
saying to-day that it was hard times for many people just now,
because they have to pay interest that’s due now. I’m just
wondering whether any one’ll come to us and bring father
interest.”
Jorn’s eyes shyly scanned the faces of his companions. Fiete
whistled.
A few minutes later, when they had finished their supper,
a little, old man, quite straight and stiff, with short, iron-gray
hair and a shrewd, clean-shaven face, came across the courtyard
up to the trio, and asked whether the farmer was at home. Elsbe
said that he had gone to. the village and would soon be back.
“I want to see him,” said the old man. The three looked at
him, and as he seemed tired, Fiete said, good-humoredly, “ Go
inside for a little, till the master comes back.”
The two children accompanied him across the hall and were
about to show him into the parlor when Hinnerk and Hans
came out of the kitchen.
“ Who have you got there?” asked Hinnerk, and they -
looked at the stiff little man disdainfully. He had on a long
blue coat of home-made stuff, such as people wear to-day on
the Geest. His boots were gray with sand, and he had his
supper tied up in a red-checked handkerchief.
The children said that the man wanted to see their father.
“Well,” said the two elder ones, “ that’s no reason why you
should take him into the good room. Let him go into Fiete
Cray’s little room.”
The old man went with the two children into the servants’
room, sat down there, and asked, in a kindly tone, “ Are you
Klaus Uhl’s two youngest children?” “Yes,” said Elsbe;
“Tm twelve and Jérn’s fourteen.”
“You’re kind children,” he said; “ your brothers judged by
my coat, and saw that I’m a Geester. I always fetch my supper
with me from home, then I don’t need to go to the inn and
squander money.”
 JORN UHL 87
Jörn said, with great earnestness, “ We two, Elsbe and I, are
always quite homely, and don’t intend ever to go to the inn.”
“But when there’s a ball we will,” said Elsbe.
“I never shall,” said Jorn; “not as long as I live.”
“ That’s right,” said the old man, smiling, “ then you won’t
need to live in poverty in your old age, and you can live in
peace on your interest.”
Jorn became suddenly silent, turned around and left the
room. He ran like a hunted hare across the hall, and knocked
against his father, who had just come home with flushed and
jovial face.
“'There’s a little man from the Geest here who wants to
speak to you. He’s in the servants’ room.”
“What? In the servants’ room?” He crossed the hall
hastily toward the room. As Hans got in his way he gave him
a cuff on the ear that sent him staggering against the wall; then
he stepped into the little room. It was years since he had
been there: for what did his servants or what Fiete Cray
concern him? ‘There sat the old man, and Elsbe was standing
close in front of him, and they were just telling each other
stories about Thiess Thiessen, whom they both knew well.
“ Get out of this!” said Klaus Uhl. “I’m sorry, Martens,
that these stupid youngsters should have brought you in here.”
The old man waved his hand as if to say it didn’t matter.
“I haven’t come here in order to be made a fuss over, but
to give you notice that I’m going to call in my eighty thousand
marks. My daughter’s going to get married.”
Jürgen had run back across the hall and come into the
kitchen, and was standing near Wieten, who was about to wash
up. He had caught hold of her apron as little children are
wont to do, till at last she said, “ Laddie, what are you think-
ing about? Run away from here.” But he looked at her in
such a way that she said no more, but stroked his fair hair and
said, “ Yes, it’s a good thing, laddie, that your mother’s no
longer alive.”
She said this or something like it every time anything un-
usual happened in the house. He didn’t quite understand it,
but he felt that his mother was opposed to the spirit that pre-
vailed in the house, and although it gave no distinct picture of
his mother, and he himself was but scantily endowed with
88 JORN UHL
imagination, it distinctly seemed to him as though his mother
passed through the house with dead face full of grief.
He pictured her to himself big and tall, while she was in
reality short and rather stout, just as Elsbe was later on.
This evening when his father returned to the Uhl, earlier
than usual but also more tipsy, Jürgen met him in the hall in
his shirt-sleeves, with a hay-fork in his hand, — he had just come
from the stables, — and said, in a faltering voice, “ Father, if
we have so many debts, I suppose we'll soon have to sell the
farm,” and burst out crying. But his father struck him and
drove him away. He ran into the servants’ bedroom, and slept
there with Fiete Cray.
From this day forward he went away by himself whenever
he heard his father’s careless laugh. And when he didn’t
know where else to go to, he would creep into the barns and
into the gardens which lay near the big paddock; and they found
him sometimes poring over his English book or the school read-
ing-book, leaning up against some corner, or sitting on a tree or
a beam. He persuaded Wieten to let him continue to sleep in
Fiete Cray’s room, which looked out on the apple-orchard.
In that room he dwelt for the next eleven years, that is to
say, till his marriage, not counting the two years which he
served as a soldier, and the year that he was in the field fighting
against the French.
 CHAPTER VI.

Near the foals’ stall, not far from the stable door, there stood
a big old-fashioned chest that was now in use as a chaff-bin.
It was made of oak, and the front was ornamented with designs,
carved in a strangely noble and simple style, representing scenes
from the life of the Prodigal Son. On the left the youth, richly
clad and with a heavy purse in his hand, is in the act of taking
leave of his father, who stands in the doorway; on the right,
he is returning home clad in rags and tatters. Above these
scenes, and divided into two parts by the iron lock-plate, stood
the words, “ The blessing of the Lord maketh rich without
labor.” And below them, “ Klawes Uhl: 1624.”
Three hundred years ago, this chest had been the proudest
and most highly prized piece of furniture in Klawes Uhl’s
household. But times had grown better and taste worse. It
had had so many coats of paint, one on top of the other, that
the delicate finish and expression of the figures had gradually
become blurred and lost. At last it had fallen completely into
disrepute, and had been turned into a feed-box. In this humble
capacity it was never repainted, and, little by little, the thick
layer of color had come off till the solid wood became visible
again. Nobody, however, had any idea of its worth.
If only this old chest had been able to speak! It must have
had a heart, for it had lived so long among men and had seen
so much of the world. But, alas! it had no mouth! It was on
this box that the Wentorf children used to sit, forging mighty
plans for their future careers, during the two years Fiete Cray
spent in service at the Uhl after his confirmation. ‘Their voices
and laughter rang through the stables clear as the strokes of the
smith’s hammer on the anvil.
“ Fiete, come here,” cried Elsbe, “ here’s Jörn with the sup-
per.” Jörn laid his book on the chest, and, after putting the
pile of bread beside it, sat down himself. Elsbe was perched
89
90 JÖRN UHL
up there already, dangling her feet impatiently. Fiete put his
stable-bucket away and came with a bound and seated himself
beside them.
“ All right!” he said, using an English expression that he
had picked up somewhere.
“Well, that’s all settled, then,” said Jorn. “If I leave home
now, you’re to stay here and look after things on the farm,
else I’d have to give up all idea of being Provost.”
“Yes, yes,” said Fiete Cray, in deep, masculine tones, and
with the greatest deliberation; “it has been a hard job for me
to make up my mind, but I’ll promise to do it. Pl stay. When
I was young, why, I dare say I had ali sorts of schemes in my
head, and was particularly keen on California, for instance; but
we get wiser as we grow older. So I’m going to stay here.”
“ Yes, you'll have to stay on here as stableman for a year
or so,” said Jorn, “ and by that time your father will be getting
pretty old. Then you'll go and live at home and choose a wife
for yourself, and come over here every day to work, and manage
the whole estate for us. It won’t do for you to go about selling
brushes and brooms as your father does. You must just give
up your whole time to the farm and only work for us. Have
you made up your mind about a wife yet?”
“Oh, there’s no hurry about that! ‘Theres women-folk
enough in the world.”
They munched their bread in silence for awhile, drinking the
fresh buttermilk by turns out of the big brown dish that stood
between them.
“ Its not so sure yet, Jorn, whether they’ll accept you at the
school; you have to know such a lot before they’ll take you,”
said Elsbe.
“Oh! PI manage that all right,” said Jörn, with a de-
termined look. “TI can’t tell you how I’m looking forward
to it. I don’t want to be a farmer at any price. But I
wouldn’t mind working at books forever and ever. There’s
only the one great drawback, the thought that things may not
be going right here, and that’s why Fiete must stay.”
Fiete wiped his mouth, and set the empty bowl down em-
phatically on the chest.
“You can go and be made Provost without the least fear;
I'll stay here and look after the whole business for you. Make
your mind easy on that score,”
 JORN UHL g1
Jörn took up his books and walked away into the garden,
deep in thought.
“ Now were by ourselves, Fiete,” said Elsbe, “and what do
you think! I’ve seen Harro Heinsen. Hes still in the third
class. He hasn’t been put up, so he says he won’t go to school
any more. We walked a bit of the way together, and you can’t
think what a lot of things he told me. He knows a thing or
two, I can tell you.”
“ Don’t you have too much to do with him,” said Fiete, “ you
know how things stand between you and me? Don’t you?”
“ Oh, yes, of course I do.”
“Don’t you believe it'll ever come to anything, then. See,
Jörn will be Provost, and will be out of our way. Alick’s
soon going to get married, and then he'll live on some other
farm. Hinnerk is a soldier already, and next year Hans will
have to put on the red coat and join his regiment, and every-
body says, besides, that when the old king dies, there’ll be war.
Then it’s safe to reckon that one of them will be shot, and
the other will be sure to start farming somewhere else. And
just tell me who’ll be left then, little Whitey? Who'll be left,
eh? Only you, not another soul. By that time I’ll be overseer
on the Uhl, and your father will be old, and he'll say to us:
‘Children, you must marry, so that I may have peace in my
old age.’ Thats my plan, and it’ll come true, you'll see.”
She nodded absent-mindedly, and began talking about Harro
Heinsen again.
“ His sister’s engaged already, and she’s only eighteen. When
I’m six years older, I want to be engaged, too; if you’re not
ready to marry me by then, I’ll take some one else.”
“Don’t go listening to all the yarns that Harro Heinsen
likes to tell you, Elsbe; he’s a regular blockhead.”
“Oh,” she said, stretching her limbs and yawning, “Id
rather you'd talk to me about something interesting. Harro
Heinsen always has such heaps of things to tell me, all about
grown-up people and the things they do. Just fancy, Lischen
Wiederhold danced at the ball on market-day, and she’s not
sixteen yet. When I’m old enough, I really believe Ill dance
myself to death. I’ll dance till I drop. When we're husband
and wife, Fiete, you'll have to take me to every single dance.”
“ Of course I will,” said Fiete Cray; “ you needn’t trouble
yourself on that head.
39

91492
92 JORN UHL
“ First we'll put the children to bed, and then we'll go it.”
“My word! Won’t we?”
She laughed and drummed with her feet against the old chest,
rocking herself to and fro. “What a life of it we'll have,”
she said.
“ Now, run away, little Whitey,” said Fiete Cray. “I’ve
got a lot to do yet. Pll have to look smart about my work
so that I may soon be head-man here.”
As soon as Elsbe had disappeared, he went, whistling softly
to himself, into the chaff-room, which was lit by means of a
small, high window. ‘There he sought out a comfortable seat
and thought to himself, “ Little Elsbe shall be my wife, as true
as I’m sitting here, but catch me staying here a single day after
I’ve got her. I’ll either start a big business or I'll take her
and her money with me and go out into the world — to Ham-
burg, perhaps — and IIl buy an hotel or something like that for
myself. When one’s got money, everything’s possible. The
silly little lass! But she’s not as bad as Jorn, for all that. A
pretty notion, for me to have to work all the days of my life
on the Uhl, here, as his man!”
He shook his head, got up and took down from the window-
sill a thick, well-thumbed volume that some farm-hand or other
had left behind, years ago, in the servants’ room. He sat down
again, in the soft chaff, and read what the book had to tell about
storms and floods, and the ancient Germans, and the Black
Death, and wars, and all sorts of supernatural occurrences. For
it was a thorough-going, honest old book, and dealt with a
multitude of questions. The cover had got lost, but the title-
page still remained, and on it was written, “ The Gnomon, by
Klaus Harms.”
The animals in the stables were now beginning to grow
restive, and the calves were crying out for food. ... Fiete
Cray had laid his book aside, and was sitting, crouched in a
heap, running his fingers through his light, red hair, turning
over weighty thoughts in his mind, muttering to himself as
he racked his brains to know how he might carry out one or
another of his many deep-laid schemes.

Klaus Uhl spent most of his time at the inn, or at the houses
of his boon companions, cracking jokes, talking politics, and
playing cards,
 JORN UHL 93
The few hours he spent at home were passed in jesting, or
in roaming restlessly over the homestead, and in a constant
hankering after the scene of his carousings. He had taken
no interest whatever in the education of his youngest son, and
had no idea how he would fare in his entrance examination.
He shunned the mere thought of it. For he dreaded nothing
more than the fear of putting himself into a ridiculous position.
He lived in such an atmosphere of self-deception that it gave
him a shock when Jörn, one day, said to him: “ Dominie Peters
got a letter to-day to say that I’m to be examined the day after
to-morrow. But the school doesn’t begin till after Easter. Can
I go with you to town the day after to-morrow, then?” Klaus
Uhl looked very doubtful for a minute, but suddenly his face
brightened up. “ Do you know, youngster, what I’ve been
thinking? I’ve been thinking that Thiess Thiessen might drive
you in. Hell enjoy it immensely.”
Two days afterward Thiess Thiessen drove up to the farm
in his lumbering old cart. It had two seats in it. “ Jörn,” he
said, “ you must sit on the back seat, so that you can meditate
a bit on the way. Have you got all your book-learning and
that in shipshape order? We’ll drive around by the sand-road,
so that none of it may get spilt. I always go that way myself
when I’m carting dry turf to market.”
“ Now’s no time for talking nonsense,” said Wieten, curtly;
,

“when a man’s fifty, it’s high time he had some sense in his
head.”
Thiess said no more, but looked at his horses, whilst Jorn
climbed up behind him on to the back seat and laid his books
on one side of him, and on the other two pots of butter that
Wieten handed up to him.
“It’s a burning shame,” said Wieten, “that his father him-
self doesn’t go with the boy. I know well enough why he
doesn’t.”
Jorn knew, too. He keenly felt the difficulty and serious-
ness of his whole position and the mortification it entailed. It
seemed natural enough to him that his father, this grand man
with his gay manners, should not wish to associate himself
with him. Later on in life, when he was a man, he thought
differently about his father’s absence. Even when he was a
man of forty, he blushed for his father, when he remembered
this hour and its disgrace.
94 JORN UHL,
He sat, silent and dejected, just behind Thiess. Trina Kühl,
Fiete Cray’s sweetheart, was standing at the kitchen door, and
the two dairymaids came out and laughed at Thiess. Looking
at Jörn, they said to each other, “ He'll get on right enough.”
They all liked him in spite of his stiff, taciturn way, admiring
his love for books, and considering him something of a genius.
Fiete Cray was standing at the stable door, brandishing a hay-
fork in the air, and shouting, “ Good luck to you!” Elsbe
stood at the cart, laughing at the tall dark brown top-hat that
Thiess was wearing, and saying: “ Thiess, you do everything
wrong. People only wear a hat like that to funerals.”
“ And in the Provost’s honor, too, child. I tell you, in this
hat I am the owner of the old original form of all the funeral
hats in all the shops and cupboards between the Elbe and Kings-
mead. Where other hats are round, this one’s real circular,
and where others are angular, this one’s right-angular. My
head’s a trifle oblong, that’s why I wear a piece of elastic under
my chin.”
“ Now just stop,” said Elsbe, “ you’re beginning with your
bragging again.”
“Yes,” said Wieten, “ you’d better be off, so that the hubbub
may stop, and let us get back to work again. . . . Good luck
to you, Jörn, laddie! I have a feeling as though to-day has
something good in store for you... . But I don’t know...
there’s something in it, though.”
Just below Ringelshorn, as they were turning up to the soft
sand-road, they saw Lisbeth Junker making a short cut across
the heath from Ringelshérn, and waving to them. “ Thiess,
stop! stop for a moment, Thiess! ”
“ What’s the matter, then, little Princess?”
“I only wanted to give Jörn something,” she said. “It’s
nothing to do with you.” She sprang daintily up on the step
and pressed a big rosy apple into the pensive Jérn’s hand.
“ That’s the last apple in the whole house,” she said; “ I always
get it, but this time you shall have it.” She sprang quickly
down again, and stepped away into the heath on the left,
raising her hand threateningly, with a somewhat confused
though roguish look. “ Now, just wait till you’re Provost,
Jorn. . . . Oha! . . . Good-by, Thiess! ”
They drove in a slow trot through the deep sand of the heath.
It was by no means a triumphal procession. In front sat Thiess
 SORN UHL 95
gazing at the backs of the horses. In his shrewd little eyes,
and in his little thin face beneath the tall, stiff undertaker’s
hat, beamed and smiled the sort of wisdom which says to sor-
row, “I will softly laugh at you,” and to joy, “I will softly
weep over you;” the sort of wisdom which confesses that the
life of man is a mystery not to be unravelled. “ Stoop your
head to the storm, little bird, but have no fear, for everything
is in the hand of a great God.” And behind sat Jörn in all
the freshness of his youth, and in the midst of his riches, pots
of butter to the left, and knowledge to the right, and looked
as serious and meditative as though he were going to have this
dark brown undertaker’s hat in front of him till the very end
of his life. Gradually the old church ahead of them got higher
and higher, then came the wooden bridge over the Winder-
bergerau, and then came the multitudes of houses, ever so thick,
with their pointed, bright red tile roofs.
The inn where the turf-farmers, with their home-made blue
and gray coats, always put up, Thiess found closed for repairs;
so they had to drive into the lower town, and came to an inn
which only the wealthy marsh farmers frequented. ‘The two
of them had to wait a couple of weary hours in the big empty
barroom. Jörn stood and looked out of the window; ‘Thiess
walked up and down, sipping now and then at a penn’orth of
schnapps that he had ordered, and twice filled his pipe out of
the tobacco-box which, according to an old custom, stood upon
the counter for the free use of the guests. “Then they went
through the little, silent, winding streets to the High School.
It was Thiess’s custom, out of sheer modesty, never to go
into a house by the chief entrance, but always to find out some
side door, that generally brought him into a kitchen or a stable.
So on this occasion, too, he made a shy détour past the big
school entrance with its staircase, and found a little side door,
which fortunately brought him into the basement where the
school-attendant had his rooms. ‘This man was a cobbler, and
was sitting at his bench, and in front of him stood his morning
coffee, and the morning sun touched up his iron tools with its
glimmer, and made the glass balls sparkle that hung from the
ceiling, and gleamed on every grain of the fresh white sand
with which the white boards of the little room were strewn.
A pleasant fresh smell of pitch, leather, and coffee filled the
room and rejoiced Thiess Thiessen’s lonely soul.
96 JORN UHL `

“ I have brought a recruit for you,” he said, in a friendly tone.

“ Dominie Peters, master of the art of reckoning at Wentorf,
has coached him. The English language he has already mas-
tered, as well as his native German. Everything else that’s
necessary, the other foreign lingoes and style in general, he
wants to learn here: for he’s got the provostship in his eye.”
The cobbler looked at Thiess over his spectacles, and said:
“ TIl take him up to the rector at once; they’ve already begun.”
“ Well, Jorn, laddie; I wish you good luck. You know what
good things dumplings and pig’s-head are, especially when you
have a good serviceable suit for summer and winter, and a solid
rain-proof roof over your head. Those are all good things, Jörn,
and they'll all be yours as long as you live, if you become
Provost.”
The two went up-stairs, and Thiess shifted his chair into the
sunlight, laid his hat carefully on his knees, and waited, hoping
to have a pleasant crack with the cobbler. The latter soon
returned, put his coffee aside, and began to work.
“Just tell me, Meister, how long does it take for a lad to
get through the school course, till he’s finished?”
“ont It all depends whether he’s got to begin ae
down in ae school! or whether he can skip a few a
“I think,” said Thiess, “he'll skip a few; for in the first
place he’s had two years’ teaching with Dominie Peters, and
in the second place he’s the son of Klaus Uhl.”
“ Klaus Uhl of Wentorf? ”
“Yes, him. The teachers will guess that he won’t be par-
ticular as to a few glasses of grog and a few flitches of bacon.
And I myself, though it’s neither here nor there, won’t mind
bringing a load of good black turf in, now and again. My
name’s Thiess Thiessen. People generally call me ‘ Thiess
behind the Haze.’ What’s your idea on the matter?”
“ Well, you see, Thiessen, the thing’s this way. Just lately
when my cousin, the youngest son of my mother’s brother . . .
Her maiden name was Ehnerwéilsen, she’s from Wentorf, you
know, one of the Crays of Suderdonn.”
“I know,” said Thiess, “old Heinrich Cray! His second
wife was deaf of both ears and heard nothing that she didn’t
want to.”
“Right, that’s the one I mean. My cousin used to be a
cobbler, but now he’s a coachman. Well, there were four
 JORN UHL 97
cobblers at the christening. And how many of them, do you
think, have stuck to the shoemaking? ”
“Well?”
“Why, not one of the four. They gave it up, and took
another trade, and every one o’ them’s doing well. . . . Now
that’s just the way with the High School. Of every five that
enter, not more than one of them ever brings it to anything.”
“ Jorn Uhl will go through with it,” said Thiess; “ he sits
all day up to his eyes in books, and neither hears nor sees a
thing. He's got it into his head that he’s going to be Provost.”
— There stood Jörn in the doorway, his long, narrow face a
little pale and his fair hair standing straight up, as if every
individual hair were anxious to see how astonished Thiess would
look.
“Irs all one to me, Thiess, whether I’m Provost or not.
But I mean to learn something! ”
In his amazement Thiess was holding his hat gripped with
both hands, as though expecting some one to put a penny in it.
“Do you mean to say they can’t teach you anything more
here?” he cried. “Are you going straight away for the
provostship ? ”
Jorn shook his head, so that the sunlight glittered in his hair.
“Its all been wrong. I ought to have been learning Latin
all this time. . . . How old are the boys in the lowest class? ”
“ You'll be the biggest of them,” said the cobbler.
“ Do you see, Thiess? The lankiest boy in the lowest class!
Thats what comes of it! He’s been driving into town every
day, but he’s never once asked whether it was Latin or English
I needed. But IIl be Provost in spite of it. Ive told them
up-stairs that I’m coming back after Easter.”
“ Jorn, laddie, what will Lisbeth say, and Fiete Cray, too?”
“Its all the same! It’s all the same to me! I’m coming
back after Easter, when school opens. I'll begin at the bottom
and sit among the youngsters. Let’s be off, Thiess.”
Thiess stood up slowly, shaking his head.
“ Jorn, laddie, it’s a bad business; Elsbe will be saying again
that everything I touch goes wrong, and your brothers will
grin at us. But what’s the good of talking? You can’t make
English into Latin. So come, Jörn.”
They went down the street and entered the inn again. Thiess
emptied the glass of schnapps that was still standing on the
98 JORN UHL
`

counter. Then he filled his pipe, for the third time, from the
tobacco-jar, put his tall hat on with great deliberation, and
asked how much he owed. But the landlord, who was half-
angry, half-amused at the small quantity of liquor and the large
quantity of tobacco he had consumed, said, “ You’ve smoked
yourself free, Thiessen,” and refused to accept any payment.
So they drove back over the heath, scatheless, at least, as far as
their pockets were concerned. But this time they sat close
together, side by side. They had little to say, except that Jorn
would now and then remark, “ It’s all the same, I’ll do it yet.”
As they turned around the bend out of the alder-lane and
drove up to the farm, Elsbe came out of the kitchen door, her
eyes all red with crying, weeping so violently that her breast
and shoulders heaved with her sobs.
When Thiess Thiessen saw any one in misfortune he became
excited, his eyes opened- wide, and his arms and legs began to
work. Least of all could he bear to see Elsbe shedding tears.
“ Come, tell me, little Whitey, what’s the matter? Who's been
ill-treating you?”’ But she couldn’t speak for sobbing.
Presently Wieten came around the corner and said: “ Just
think, her father happened to go into the stable, and there he
sees Elsbe and Fiete Cray, sitting arm in arm, on the feed-box,
and the rascal was telling her how he’d marry her, and how
he’d then become master at the Uhl. And while the lad was
in the middle of his speech, Klaus Uhl caught him by the collar
and gave him a thrashing and then flung him out of the stable
door. Just at present he’s sitting in his bedroom, gathering his
odds and ends together, and Trina, the maid, is howling.”
Jörn stared down at Wieten with open mouth.
“Will Fiete have to leave the farm now?”
“Of course he will,” said Wieten, “and that at once, the
impertinent young rascal. Where he gets hold-of such notions,
I can’t think.”
Just at this moment Fiete Cray came out of the stable door,
his Sunday suit wrapped in a check cloth beneath his arm. “I
got them from you,” he said, bellowing; all manliness had
forsaken him. “And now I must be turned off like this,
with hardly a stitch on my back, and go to Hamburg, and I
don’t even know which direction the town lies in. You’ve
always been telling me your stories about ‘Hans in Luck’ and
about chests of gold and the brushmaker who became king.”
 JORN UHL 99
Thiess had got out of the cart. “ Come down, Jörn, what
are you sitting up there for? Come, Elsbe, come; cheer up,
little lass.”
But she tore herself away and ran down the road after Fiete
Cray, and caught hold of his arm, crying, “ He sha’n’t go away!
I’m so fond of him! He sha’n’t go away!”
But Fiete Cray pushed her away from him, and roared and
whined. “ You'll see, all of you... . . PI come back some day,
and live on the Uhl in spite of you, I will! PIl start a big
brush-binding factory there, and have it worked by steam!” The
little bundle had slipped from his arm. He stooped and picked
it up, and then went across the road into his father’s house.
Wieten Klook was dumfounded at the youth’s words. She
clasped her hands together, turned around and went into her
room and sat down to work, full of rage and shame. In many
a twilight hour she had told these stories to wondering children,
with hushed voice, as the wisdom of a world which, though
hid from others, had been to her partially revealed. She had
thought that these olden things were worthy of being repeated
in order to fill the soul with fear and horror, love and joy. But
this lad had made use of them as spade and cleaver-staff, and
shouted them out in broad daylight across the farmyard. She
let her sewing sink into her lap, and gazed vacantly at the table;
and while she sat there so motionless, an invisible hand laid one
picture after another before her, and the pictures spoke of travail
and misery and death among the people she had once known;
and each picture was sadder than the last. And then she saw
Fiete Cray going out into the world, without guidance and full
of these motley thoughts. Then she looked around her in the
room, and when she saw that she was alone, she hid her face in
her hands and quietly wept.

When it was dark, Fiete Cray came out of his father’s house,
his bundle with his work-day clothes under his arm. His
mother sat behind the stove crying. “ Fiete,” she called after
him, ‘‘you’re only seventeen. It’s too far for you to go.”
She thought of the other Crays who had flown away so far that
they had never come home again, to America, and God alone
knows what lands besides. She had been among the last pupils
of old Stiibel, who had had a certain reputation as a trousers-
100 JORN UHL
cutter, but not as a teacher. And then she had always had a
hard, stubborn head. j
“ Not if it were as far as the end of the world,” answered
Fiete Cray. “ He struck me with his dog-whip, the miserable
hound.” He began to weep aloud again with rage, clenching
his fist at the big old house, and shaking it at the high barns
whose mighty straw roofs lay so dark and silent in the midst of
the high poplars and ash-trees.
If Klaus Uhl had witnessed this weeping and rage, he would
have burst into loud and hearty laughter, and would have
pranked the story out a bit and told it with his own additions
in all the inns of the neighborhood.
Jasper Cray had come with his son as far as the door. “It
doesn’t matter a straw where you go to,” said he, “ so you can’t
lose your way, and that’s something in itself, — not to be able
to lose one’s way, — neither have you much of a bundle to
carry; if need be you can cut straight across country, and that’s
another advantage. Look to it that you turn out a good man;
if you go to the bad, don’t show your face here again; but
when you've done something for yourself in the world, then
come back and see how we're getting on.”
He was already on his way, and almost hidden in the dusk.
“You can depend upon it, father, I’ll come back again.”
As he was turning around again to proceed on his journey,
he saw Jörn Uhl standing in front of him.
“Thiess is waiting with his cart up there by the pines,” Jorn
said, in a low voice; “to-night you are to sleep at his place
at the Haze.”
They walked together along the foot of the hills, till they
came to a little gully on the left, covered with heath and
bracken. It led up steep between the two hills, and was broad
and deep enough for a good-sized farmer’s house to have stood
in it. “Toward the top it grew shallower and narrower, till it
at last ran out on the Heidefeld.
Fiete Cray went on ahead, walking in silence, except for a
sob from time to time that shook his whole body.
Half-way up the gully, hid between low oak-scrub, and not
far from the narrow track which led to the top, lay a circular
pond, not much bigger than a cart-wheel, and filled to the brim
with fresh, clear water. That was the Goldsoot. A spring
from somewhere in the hills above kept it always full, and the
 JORN UHL 101
overflow waters disappeared with much soft whispering and
murmuring into the undergrowth below. Two or three stars
that stood above it in the sky lay reflected there, and two or
three leafless branches that hung over the edge were mirrored
in it like sharp, slanting spears defending the entrance to the
waters. A wind came up from the sea and passed away rustling
through thickets, where the ground was covered with last year’s
crisp, dry leaves. “There was a constant murmur as of soft
voices below and above and around it on every side.
Fiete stood still, gazing meditatively at the water. “ I should
like to know,” he said, his voice broken with an involuntary sob,
“what the bottom’s like, and what sort of a feel it has.”
Jorn tried to comfort him, and said, by way of faint en-
couragement: “ Won’t you go and try the Steinberg by the
Haze, that you were always telling us about? You said there
were heaps of gold there, some of the pieces as big as children’s
heads.”
Fiete Cray shook his head emphatically; for these children’s
heads were creations of his own fancy; he had considerably
widened the field that Wieten had so diligently labored at many
an evening in the lamplight, and he had done so with such
intense delight in his inventions, and with such warmth of
imagination, that often he could not tell how much of the story
was due to Wieten and how much to his own fancy. But this
night there was a sifting asunder of truth and fiction, and the
lumps of gold as big as children’s heads were classed among the
fiction. Goldsoot, on the other hand, belonged to what was true.
He gazed into the water yet awhile; then he went on slowly
up the hill. At the top, on the brink of the Heidefeld, he said
to Jörn:
“ Now, go back home. I want to walk on alone.”
Then Jörn turned around and went away, without handshake
or good-by, back over the heath.
Fiete Cray, however, remained standing up there in the dry
heather. Jörn looked around after awhile, and saw him stand-
ing like a dark post against the horizon.
Fiete Cray turned slowly around and went down into the
gully again; laying his bundle down near the water, and draw-
ing off his coat, he stretched himself full length in the grass, and
reached as deep as he could into the water. In this way he
searched around the margin, but found nothing. He then un-
102 JORNVYUBL
a

dressed hastily, and when he was stripped caught hold of some

overhanging branches, and let himself cautiously into the cold
water, and found bottom. It reached up to his breast. He
stepped guardedly about, but felt no trace of anything hard. It
was all soft sand and decayed leaves. Then he dived three times,
and searched along the edges, but there was nothing there but
the smooth clayey sides, overgrown with water-weeds.
Then he gave it up. He drew himself out of the water and
remained standing awhile, before beginning to dress. He stood
erect and motionless, feeling nothing of the cutting cold that
was scourging him as with thin icy rods. He stood looking into
the water, and the water looked back at him with a calm, sad
eye, as though it sorrowfully held its secret fast.

Gossamer and spider-webs go flying all over the land, and

thistledown and scent of flowers are carried into every neighbor’s
garden. And at times a shrewd and meditative eye may chance
to see Fate, great and beautiful and terrible, sitting upon the
everlasting stone, with head on hand and frowning brow, tracing
in the sand that labyrinth of lines and confusion of paths that
we mortals have then to tread. Fiete Cray had his adventure
that April night, by the lonely Goldsoot, not for himself alone.
It happened about this time that there was a certain young
girl in the village, a farmer’s daughter. She was tall and good-
looking, and much courted by the young folk thereabouts,
but up to her twentieth year she had refused all their advances.
Seldom was she seen at a dance; and when she went, it some-
times happened that she would leave the room, scowling, after
the first dance, put her horse in the cart, and drive home alone
through the darkness. Among the younger girls she had no
close friends; she had, however, this winter, attached herself
to a young, newly married woman, who had charmed her with
her fresh and simple grace. She had come there with her
husband, a stranger like herself, and purchased a house in the
village, and was now expecting the birth of her first child.
Sometimes she would come and sit with the young wife in the
quiet hours of twilight; and one day she asked, with the greatest
delicacy, how her friend could have brought herself to be a
man’s wife, and to give herself so entirely up to him. When
the other, surprised and embarrassed by this question, could
give no immediate reply, she said, with tears, that she had in
 FOR NeeL 103
her heart an affection for some one, but that she could not
conquer her disinclination to respond to his love. She had, she
said, an invincible reticence in this matter; being a farmer’s
daughter, and having grown up in the country, she well knew
what marriage entailed. The young wife comforted her with
gentle, hesitating words, and tried to convince her that love,
when it is real, causes everything painful to be forgotten. But
in spite of this conversation no change took place in her de-
meanor when alone. She wept and bewailed her unhappy
nature, which had made of her neither a nun nor a real woman,
and which had caused her lover, and, through him, herself, to
be so unhappy.
After some time had elapsed, it happened that on that very
April evening when Fiete Cray left the Uhl, a ball was again
being given in the town. It was just past new moon. For
several days she had been low-spirited, but as she now felt her-
self quite well and fresh again, on the day before the ball she
thought she would take advantage of this happy, almost gay,
frame of mind, so as to banish her disinclination. She therefore
made up her mind to drive in to the dance. She made up her
mind to be friendly toward all who were there, to suppress her
aversion to dancing, and to be particularly friendly to her lover
if he happened to dance with her.
When she entered the room she at once saw him standing
near the window. He seemed to have been waiting for her; his
frank and honest eyes beamed with love as he looked at her.
They both belonged to the better class of farmers, and both
were naturally distinguished by a chaste and loyal soul. With
a deep feeling of gladness she noted his bright, neat looks, and
resolved afresh to show him that she was deeply attached to
him.
But when the music began and a troop of young suitors
hastened toward the row of maidens, and, beneath her lowered
eyelids, she rather felt than saw that her lover was approaching,
she conquered her feelings so far as to consent to dance with
him. But when he spoke to her in the interval between the
dances, he saw that her face was pale, her lips trembling, and
her cold, haughty glance was fixed straight before her, so that
her beautiful young face seemed as though suddenly frozen.
Deeply hurt, he led her silently back to her seat; she left the
room immediately afterward and drove home.
104 JÖRN UHL
On the way, alone in her trap, in the fàr silence of Nature
and the night, her face at first wore the same look as it had
done in the ballroom. On both sides of the road there ran low
embankments, and the flat fields of humble heath stretched out
mile on mile. She was high above Nature. She sat upright in
her seat, and showed by her imperious expression how proud
she was that she alone of all these maidens possessed this high
chastity.
While the vehicle was driving on so noiselessly through the
deep sand away into the night, she suddenly heard a bird in
the distance wailingly call to his mate. The approaching wheels
must have frightened it out of its deep sleep. Immediately
afterward there came from close at hand a comforting cry in
response. Closely following each other the two birds flew
whirring over the roadway, uttering a tender note.
As the girl turned her eyes from the birds back to the road,
she seemed for the first time to notice how terribly desolate the
landscape was, and the air seemed full of a dead, empty dark-
ness.
Her solitariness, of which she had been so proud till now,
made her shudder with fear. She felt how much easier it was
to act like her sisters than to set her face against what Nature
urged upon her, with such a smiling and anon such a grave
and almost threatening mien. Giving herself up to this feel-
ing, she bowed her head and began softly to weep. Her fall
was deeper because her pride before had been so high. The
image of her lover, which her previous haughtiness had robbed
of every charm, had now, once more, those kindly, honest
features. His noble nature, which found expression in his whole
demeanor and in each dignified movement, now possessed her
whole heart; and her heart cried aloud for him. With knitted
brow she began to brood over what manner she should adopt
to overcome her shyness toward him whom she loved so well.
She turned over all sorts of strange plans in her mind as to
how she could, so to say, outwit herself. At last she hit upon
the idea of waiting in front of his gateway till the approach of
dawn. His farm lay isolated enough for such a purpose. Nor
was it impossible that he might return home soon after she had
left the room, and then, when he came up, — he usually went
on foot, — she would go to him in spite of herself and speak to
him. She would ask him to forgive her for being so shy, and
 ao RON CLL 105
tell him she loved him more than everything in the whole world.
With this resolution she drove forward on her way, intending
really to carry out her purpose.
But she had not gone far, whilst still trying to think out
more clearly the position she would be in, before she remarked
that her old spirit of defiance and aversion was again coming
over her. She tried in vain to wrestle with it, and was on the
point of entirely succumbing to it. The brightness in her beau-
tiful eyes had already died out, when she suddenly came to that
part of the road that overlooks the little gully, where, not twenty
steps below her, the Goldsoot lay directly beneath her. There,
in the half-light of the little valley, near the silvery disc of the
water, she saw the white figure of a man. He was standing
motionless, gazing into the water. In her fright she jerked
the reins, thinking to rouse the fiery young mare with the accus-
tomed call into a sharp trot. But her heart was in her throat
and her voice failed her, and so the mare understood this mute
jerk of the reins as an order to stand, and kept just as motion-
less as the gleaming figure of the youth by the mirror of the
pool and as the panting maiden on her seat.
Then like a revelation there came over her the brave, en-
lightening thought that this apparition was not there by mere
chance, but in order that she might be healed by a return to
Nature. She saw the lithe, proud, strong frame, how as in some
harmonious temple one part stood free and strong upon the
other, rising to the knees, then growing broader in strong and
youthful power to the hips, then strong and rushing, like a cry
of delight, up to the breast and the head, which was bowed down
in thought; and as she looked only for a moment, her inmost
soul told her that here pure truth had her dwelling, here, where
God and Nature are housed together in sweet, pure union. She
felt that the man there was the comrade of her innermost being,
with whom in giving and taking, each with his especial gifts,
would round off his own incomplete nature to a nature full
and whole. A feeling of deepest gladness streamed through
her limbs. Her eyes filled with tears so that she saw nothing
more. And noticing her tears, she could not help laughing
softly to herself. The mare started on at the sound, and the
youth by the pool started up in fear. But another, too, had
heard the laughter— one who was walking along the road be-
r06 JORN UHL
hind the vehicle, and who had so far gone along with eyes fixed
on the ground, for his thoughts were full of melancholy.
He heard the sound of laughter and immediately recognized
it. He walked quicker, and soon caught up with the vehicle.
“You are driving very slowly,” he said.
She laughed again softly, and said, roguishly, “1 wanted to
drive slowly, so that you might catch up with me. Of course
you had to put on your coat.”
He did not pay any closer heed to her remark. He thought
that as she had left the room she had seen him getting ready to
fetch his overcoat; but he clearly heard from her voice that
now at last her hour was come, and was more than rejoiced,
and his heart laughed within him.
He laid his hand upon the railing of the cart and walked
beside her, and said, “ Why did you drive off so early? ”
“ Guess!” she said.
“ I think it was so that we might meet here.”
“Tf that’s what you think, you’re a clever fellow, and you
mustn’t keep on walking beside me any longer. Come, spring
up.
She pulled in the mare and he unfastened the leather rug
that was over her knees. But before jumping in, it occurred
to him that it would be good for him to show a little pride.
This was the opportune moment for such a thing, he considered,
if he wanted to prevent her coy nature from afterward being
dashed by the thought that her lover had never had dignity
enough to check her for her frequently repulsive demeanor.
So he said, very calmly and deliberately, as though speaking
of a matter of course:
“ I don’t wish to see the face again that you showed me in the
ballroom to-night. If you promise to be good, then I'll drive
with you.”
She nodded and smiled. ‘‘ Get up into the cart,” she said,
“and you shall be treated as you deserve, dear friend.” And
she laid her hand on his shoulder.
With that he got up, and took the reins into his hands. She
submitted, and leaned back in the cart, and said, “ Drive slowly.”
“ Why? ” he asked.
“ Are you so shrewd, and yet don’t know that much? ”
“I know,” said he, “it is so that we may be a long time
together on our way.”
 JORN UHL 107
And then he laid his arm around her and kissed her, and
from that hour forth she was his good wife. He held the reins;
se she told him when she wished that he should drive slower
or faster.

The poor youth by the pool had hastily put on his clothes,
and had quickly climbed up to the edge of the heath, where
the vehicle with these two happy young lovers had just vanished
into the dark. He turned once more and looked toward the
village. The wide sand-downs, that his ancestors had hollowed
out and under which they had lived, gleamed faint in the dis-
tance. He didn’t turn again, but walked straight across the
heath in the direction of the two oaks that stood, broad and
squat, near the cross-ways. Under one of them stood Trina
Kuhl, the milkmaid. She had a bundle under her arm, like
him, and in her black confirmation dress, that was now too short
for her, was waiting for him. “Where have you been?” she
said.
He didn’t answer, but straightway asked, “ Do you really
and truly want to go with me?”
“Yes,” she said, “ why not? Klaus Uhl is charity officer,
and so he either keeps my wages in his pocket, or puts them into
the parish poor-box, because I grew up in the workhouse. And
then they expect me to be grateful into the bargain. If you'll
take me with you, Fiete, I’ll go and look for a place for myself
in Hamburg. But I don’t know yet where it lies. I must pack
my things a little better, though.”
She knelt down, untied the bundle, and laid her working
dress and the three chemises and the three pairs of stockings
and a pair of leather slippers neatly together. ‘Then they
walked on side by side over the rise. The wind came driving
up behind them, and sand and withered oak-leaves flew whirling
around them.
On the other side of the rise, where it was sheltered from
the wind, they found Thiess Thiessen’s old cart waiting. “Thiess
had taken the winkers off the horses, and they were browsing
along by the embankment below; their master was sitting,
doubled up, on the high, comfortable seat, fast asleep.
“ Thiess,” said Fiete Cray, “ wake up! Trina Kühl is here,
too, and wants to go with me. Don’t go talking to us about
108 JORN UHL
things, Thiess; what’s the use! Just wait till we get to Ham-
burg and see how we get on.”

Some days after Easter, shortly before school recommenced,

Hinnerk Uhl, who was the smartest of the brothers, and there-
fore his father’s favorite, said:
“ I say, father, that youngster, Jorn, talks the strangest stuff
you can imagine. It seems he doesn’t want to go to school,
but thinks of staying here at home with us. It won’t do at
all for him to turn farmer, too. Where will you get farms for
us all? You'll have to have a talk with him.”
Jorn was summoned before his father, and at once said he
wanted to stay at home and work. His father scolded and
stormed, and at last struck him with the whip; but he could
not alter him. Jörn did not say what were his reasons. But
that evening, as he lay in bed in the little room which Fiete
Cray had once shared with him, Wieten Klook came in to
comfort him, and asked him to tell her what had made him
change his mind, after having been so terribly eager for book-
learning. At first she could not get a word out of him, so
violently did he weep. But after awhile he unburdened his
heart to her. It was what she had already divined: “ There
would have been no one,” he sobbed, “ who would have looked
after the foals this week if he himself had not done it. And
the groom would make all the horses wild and spoil them with
kicking them, if he didn’t go into the stable now and again.
The bay cob had a wound on the knee already. Even Fiete
Cray had often not looked after things properly, but after he
had gone away, if he (Jörn) were to go away, too, everything
would go to rack and ruin.” When she tried to soothe him,
and stroked his bristly hair, saying, “ Now, it’s all right, laddie;
don’t take on so about it, dearie,” his weeping burst forth afresh,
and between his sobs she heard, “ Do you think ... that I
like . . . doing it, Wieten? . . . Now I can’t learn anything
at all. I’ll never have time to take a book in my hand. And
Ill be as stupid as all the rest.”
Next morning, when he rose, Jorn Uhl put on the blue
linen stable-jacket that Fiete Cray had thrown aside.
Thus it was that this whirlwind came upon the Wentorf
children, tearing away the one that wanted to stay, and thrust-
ing him out into the world; slamming the door in the face
 OREN Ur Hy 109
of the one that wanted to depart; setting the laborer’s son down
upon the bald, desolate heath, and filling his vivid fancy with
pictures in the shadowy distance, of all the treasures of the
world and the glory of them, and then disdainfully casting an
old blue stable-coat before the rich man’s son.
 CHAPTER VII.

Next morning Jörn Uhl had put on the stable-jacket that

Fiete Cray in his rage had flung against the wall.
From this hour forth he had no longer any inclination for
the school, for it had nothing to offer him. The instruction
he got in religious dogma in the confirmation class bored him,
because he could not understand it. These doctrines of sin
and grace were incomprehensible to a hard-headed, practical
mind like his, whose whole world of interest lay centred in
the Uhl and its village. -Sin came to him too late, and for
grace he was not yet ready. For sin only began with robbing,
thieving, and killing, while grace came much too soon, namely,
when any one liked “to cast his sin upon the Lord.” God
seemed to him to be a kind of unpractical bookkeeper, who kept
his accounts in good enough order in his own office, but was
grossly deceived by his servants abroad.
As for Jörn, the farm-hands liked him, regarding him as
their equal. A difficulty, however, arose when he began to
show that he meant to be above them. He wanted them to
willingly respect him, and to be a little more diligent about
their work when they knew he was looking at them. Thus
it came about that while they liked him well enough for
sharing their lot and their work, they looked askance when they
saw him eying a ploughman resting at the end of a furrow
in some distant field, or a milkmaid that had forgot her milking
as she sat in the cow-stall gossiping with some neighbor. Then
he'd come striding straight across the field with some laughing
remark, as though it were some chance errand that had brought
him that way. Then they would refer to him among them-
selves as the Provost, and others again called him “the field-spy.”
But he paid no heed to their raillery. It troubled him not a
jot so long as the land and the cattle on the Uhl got fair
treatment. He had no cares and no interests beside that, and
110
 JORN UHL TII
this concentration of his will and soul upon one great object in
early youth was a gain for his whole life.
It was for this reason, too, that in the two years following
his confirmation the old farmer, Wilhelm Dreyer, held such
a high place in his eyes. Long years ago this man had begun
with little or nothing, had led a diligent, thrifty life for two
score years, and was now, a man of over seventy, living in a
fine old house of his own in the village street under the lindens.
For many a year he had been estranged from Klaus Uhl, and
had neither glance nor greeting for the elder sons of that family.
He had always observed the world with keen, shrewd eyes, and
well knew that the life they were leeding, with its stupidity
and frivolity, its cowardice and its evil conscience, at last ends
in poverty, wickedness, and despair. But when the old man
saw this lanky Jorn working in the fields, he’d come leaping
and limping over the ditches with his shrewd, clean-shaven face
and his long, iron-gray hair, and stand by the youth at his work,
asking him questions and imparting to him all sorts of farm-
lore that he had gathered in the experience of his long life. And
Jorn would listen as seldom a man listens to his minister in
church. In those years it was like a gospel for him. To work
hard, and to be sober, and to manage his farm with shrewdness
and thrift, those were the “ good tidings” that the old evan-
gelist Dreyer had preached to him.
When, long years afterward, his way once led him past the
fields of the Uhl, and one of his sons was walking by his side,
he raised his stick and pointed to a piece of ploughed land.
“ See, laddie,” he said, “ there, in the third land from the end,
that’s where old Dreyer taught me to turn the head of a fur-
row.” And another time, “ See, laddie, down there, where the
beans are in blossom, that’s where I cut my first swath of corn;
and not far from there, by the ditch, I learnt from old Dreyer
how to sharpen a scythe. I wasn’t quite seventeen then. The
wheat was ready to fall from the ear, and hands were not to
be had to reap it. The old man came over to the Uhl, and
said: ‘ Jörn, you must just tackle it yourself.’ And as soon as I
had started he came over himself with his scythe, — which
was rusty, I remember, — and we mowed together till the
sun went down. By then his scythe was bright enough, PI
warrant you. Afterward he laughed, and said, ‘I didn’t
want to let thee beat me, laddie? And I laughed back and
112 JORN UHL
said, ‘And I didn’t want you to beat me.’ I have never since
slept so sound as I did that night.” `
Jörn grew more and more disliked by his brothers. He was
a sort of evil conscience haunting them. That uncertain judg-
ment with which boys of sixteen regard the grown-up members
of their family prevented him from showing them any manifest
contempt. He rather held himself shyly aloof from them,
answering not a word when they railed at him, and blushing
when they found him doing a task that they had neglected.
He blushed both for himself and for them. But it was just
this modesty and stillness in his demeanor that exasperated them
the more. It was as if they felt in it some tacit condemnation
of their conduct.
Sometimes when he went backwards and forwards between
the house and the stables, with his gray-blue working blouse
flapping around his gaunt limbs, his father, sitting in his cart
ready to drive into town, would raise his whip and point out
his youngest son to the elder brothers, crying out with his
full, soft, jocund voice, “’There’s a bright specimen for you!
Gad! what a Provost he would have made! I wouldn’t let
the fellow ride beside me into town for a five-pun’ note. Do
you mean to tell me that he’s been bred on the Uhl?”
After his father had driven off, Hans would say: “TI say,
youngster, I am going to do my best to be the master here
by and by. You don’t like girls, and will run all your life in
single harness. You're cut out for a lackey and a drudge. So
just stay here with me on the farm! Pll see you have every-
thing you want, and will look after you when you’ve worked
yourself stiff.”
But Hinnerk said straight out, “ We want to do without a
stableman next year, so that we can have his wages to have a
good swill with.”
Of an evening Jörn and Elsbe sat with Wieten in the room
by the middle passage. In these last years Wieten had grown
quieter and more pensive, especially since that day when Fiete
Cray shouted his reproaches to her across the farmyard. She
had such a retentive memory and such power of imagination
that all the events which she had ever heard or seen in her
past life seemed present to her, and stood around her like pic-
tures that never paled or lost their vividness. Earlier, when
she was still young, the courage of youth had helped her to get
 JGRN UHL 113
the mastery over these pictures that thronged her imagination,
and to put aside the gloomy and sad ones, and bring forward
the brighter and kindlier ones. But gradually, with approach-
ing age, the darker pictures haunted her more and more per-
sistently. She would sometimes gaze mutely before her for
hours at a time, with still, sad face. In such hours her fancy
moved through the days of the past, from picture to picture,
seeing now some tragic deed that in a single day had wrecked
some family’s happiness, anon some heavy sorrow weighing for
years and years upon a house, anon bright, loving eyes wet with
idle tears, anon some stern, hard face, flushed wild with rage.
So she was drawn on from image to image, against her will.
Much later, when she had grown very old, and lived in serene
peace of mind upon Haze Farm, the pictures grew faint, ana
her worry from them ceased.
Of an evening Jérn used to sit there, almost inanimate, dead
tired after his heavy work. He would say little, and go early
to bed.
That was bad company for the sprightly little Elsbe, in whom
the thought was growing stronger, warmer, and clearer, that
she had once uttered when a child, “I must have something
to love.”
Now and again the big brothers had company in the front
part of the house. Girls were found willing to share in their
festivity. And whenever the loud shouts of the revellers or
the suppressed sound of girls’ laughter was heard coming across
the great corridor to the little room in which the silent Wieten
and Jorn sat, Elsbe would raise her fair dark head with its
mass of hair and its soft, fresh lines of budding womanhood,
and look restlessly toward the door. And Jörn would noisily
change his posture, and say something to divert his sister’s
thoughts from the door. But she would get up restlessly and
go toward the window or the door. Sometimes she would open
the door and look out. Then she would hear two anxious
voices calling from the table: “ Elsbe, stay here!” “ Elsbe,
shut the door!” And she would return sullenly to the table,
saying to herself, “ Oh! if I were only grown up! Oh! if I
were only grown up!”
During the whole Sunday forenoon Jörn used to work in the
stables, and look every now and again where his sister was.
Not till evening, when she went to see some girl friends of her
114 JORN TURE
own age, did he get three or four hours entirely to himself. “Then
he would either sit quietly in his own reom, or go over the
way to Jasper Cray’s humble cottage. Jörn Uhl! who was it
that shaped thy mind and character in those days, when the
heart of man is soft as wax beneath the seal? Who was thy
guide in the days when parents can no longer hold us, and other
folk will not touch the reins that trail behind us in our mad
career down that road that leads to the Vanity Fair of life,
to that great market-place where Fate asks solemnly of each
of us, “ What art thou worth?” For thus it is, at all times
in our life we have our special advisers and guides, parents,
school, and laws, experience, wives, trials, and sorrows; but
in those years when one spring gale after the other comes
rushing over the tops of the young and all too slender trees,
we are left unsupported and helpless. Ho! how the branches
cracked! how the leaves whirled and flew! We have scars
to show yet on our souls from those wild storms of spring.
Old Dreyer was Jorn’s teacher in all practical knowledge;
but it was Jasper Cray who led him out into the broad, path-
less fields of the wisdom of life. Klaus Uhl sat in the inn,
talking his shrewd things, for what was there he did not know
and understand? His son had to go over to little curly-headed
Jasper Cray, and there, under the little thatch roof, he was
first led to think for himself, and there got his first knowledge
of life. The importance of those hours was the greater as
manhood and boyhood were here met together; and as each
thought highly of the other, it came to many a warm, straight-
forward argument between them. Where did we learn most?
In the schools, and in the auditoriums of universities? We
learnt most, I say, when we went abroad into the fields for
ourselves, and tried to soar as best we might.
Like all the Crays, Jasper, too, had an interesting past. He
had been down south in Germany in those tumultuous years
when the German people so vehemently demanded a larger
share in the government of their land. Jasper Cray of Wentorf
had not been able to remain a silent spectator. It is not in
the nature of a Cray to be neutral. A little hot in the face, a
little out of breath, a little discomposed — in short, like one
who has been violently thrown out of a dancing-room, and
looks about him and then goes on his way as if nothing had
happened; that’s the way he came back to Wentorf.
 JORN UHL 115
If he had not taken a wife, or if he had postponed his mar-
riage, he would probably have left home again and would have
undertaken this and that, and would perhaps have grown rich;
but while still under the nightmare of his miserable home-
coming, he determined to marry, and in his hasty, unclear desire
to put bit and bridle on his inclinations, he chanced upon a
girl of the most modest wits imaginable, and one who, besides,
grew homesick as soon as she could no longer see the chimney-
pots of her parents’ house. Children came, and sickness, and
all the daily worries of poor folk. He was a day-laborer at
the Uhl, and had known now for many a day that he would
never be anything better. In winter, when there was no work,
he made heather-brooms, brushes, and currycombs; as far as
appearance went he seemed exactly like his comrades.
But sometimes his old restlessness broke forth afresh. At
each annual festival of the children, toward midnight, when
he had given his neighbor Klaus Uhl a “ piece of his mind,”
and prophesied the decay and downfall of him, he would begin
singing the old song he had once sung behind the barricades
at Frankfurt; and in still later years, when the time of the
parliamentary elections came around, he would hover about
seven or eight houses where politically ignorant or indifferent
people lived, and teach and rouse them.
To outward view he was like the rest of them; but in his
heart there still slumbered the fantastic thoughts and dreams
of old. And as these dreams were in such striking contrast
with the modest, anxious reality, he had the choice of either
looking at the world as one whose life had been embittered,
and thus embittering it still more for himself and others, or
of bantering himself good-humoredly for his errors, and riding
over the fields of his neighbors, telling each landholder how
badly his farm was managed.
Sitting under the eaves of the humble cottage many a Sun-
day evening Jörn and he talked about the world and its ways.
His wife sat inside behind the open window; the children
returned from their games on the Ringelshérn and went quietly
to bed. The eldest, Gottfried, who was slow of speech and
very backward at school, sat on a chair by the door in the
midst of numbers of fine white shavings, cutting clothes-pegs,
a business he drove on his own account. He had his mother’s
limited intelligence, and showed no interest for the things his
116 JORN UHL
father used to discuss with Jörn Uhl. Since his confirmation
he had never been to church, nor had he é@ver looked at a book
or a newspaper. His intellectual life was bounded by what he
had received from his ancestors, and by what he heard and
saw along the country-side as a hawker. But although thus
sparing of mental effort, and although his single concern was
for what lay around about him and happened within a radius
of ten miles or so, while everything else, religion, politics, news,
remained a matter of indifference to him, he nevertheless slowly
acquired a shrewd insight into what would further his modest
ends, and bravely supported himself and his family later on;
and without becoming wicked or godless, outflew many of his
comrades at school, who had learnt a great deal, but scattered
their energy by running after every novelty that was mentioned
in the newspaper or in the village street.
“ Jorn,” said Jasper Cray, “ what does it say in the New
Testament? Of course, you don’t know! No; you Uhls
don’t know. It says that every fifty years all property must
be divided and allotted afresh. You Uhls have been too long
there on that land of yours; we Crays ought to have a turn
on your broad, flat acres. I tell you, we would manage matters
a bit better on your farms than you would if you had our
sand to deal with. You Uhls ought to become sand farmers
for awhile, Jörn; just picture to yourself how your father
would look driving his little cart, drawn by dogs. Why, he
couldn’t do it to save his life! ‘Then he’d come to me. ‘ Mr.
Cray, one moment! Mr. Cray, how do you do this?’ Then
Pd look him up and down a bit haughtily, and say, ‘ I’ve got
no time to spare, Uhl, for such things. Go to my wife.’ ”
His wife cried out from her room, “ You're just skiting,
Jasper!”
“ Whisht, Trina! . . . Look, Jorn, if you open your mouth to
the west wind and gulp in as much as you want to live on,
there’s not a soul will say to you, ‘ Hey, be off, there, that’s
my wind.’ But if you set yourself down somewhere or other,
and in the sweat of your brow begin turning over as much
land as you need in order to fill the bellies of yourself and
your children, then men will say, ‘Be off from there, that’s
my land!’ Both lungs and stomach, Jorn, have got from God
the right to be filled. So when you’ve enough to eat, and
clothes to put on, be content. And if any one is clever and
 JORN UHL 117
hard-working enough to accomplish more for himself, nobody
should hinder him, say I.”
é That’s too hard a matter for me to think out,” said Jörn.
Too hard? You don’t say so! and yet you’ve got such
a long, meditative nose, too. Look you. Isn’t there land
enough in the world, and isn’t the government a strong man?
How much land is there badly ploughed here in Schleswig-
Holstein alone? Why, it would bring in twice as much if it
were in the workmen’s hands! ”
“ Don’t make too sure about that,” said Jörn; “all workmen
wouldn’t be such hard workers and so sober and thrifty as you
think. Have you forgotten how you treated your twelve hun-
dred marks, then? ”
“ Laddie, who’s talking about old times? ”
“T am,” said Jorn, and slapped his long hand on his knee.
“Tf I were to get ten thousand marks to-morrow, do you think
I'd waste a single penny of it in spite of my seventeen years?”
“Just be still, Jorn,” said Jasper Cray, “and talk about
something else.”
A muffled, threatening sound, like the mutter of a thunder-
storm toward evening, came from the direction of the bed in
the little room, and Trina Cray appeared, leaning out of the
window in her bedroom jacket. “I'll tell you exactly how it
was, Jorn.”
“ Now you'll hear something,” said Jasper Cray, with a wink.
“Well, when Aunt Stina died, she left us twelve hundred
marks. Her sister, old Trina, is still alive. We went and
drew the money ourselves from the procurator. I remember it
all as if it happened yesterday; Jasper had tied up the bright
gold pieces and the silver crowns in a handkerchief. Near
Gudendorf we sat down in the heath and counted it over
again, for when the man counted it out to us at the office it
was all of a dazzle to us.
“ Well, at first he was quite sensible, but after a few days I
saw that he was losing his appetite, and he’d leave his work
half-done and come home and tear the drawer open so as to
count the money again. And of a night he couldn’t sleep.
“That lasted eight days or so, and he kept getting worse.
He’d sit up in bed for hours at a time, at last he’d get up
and sit on the drawer that held the money. Id fall asleep
again, but when day began to dawn and I opened my eyes,
118 JORN UHL
there he would be sitting half-dressed, and had got the big axe
between his knees.
“ You can picture to yourself what a fright I’d get. I was
afraid he was going crazy, and persuaded him to take the money
to the savings-bank. ‘Then he would no longer need to worry
about it. I told him they had an iron chest there with seven-
teen locks to it, and I don’t know what else besides. At first
he wouldn’t hear of it, but at last he took it to them and got a
sort of little yellow book for it.
“ But now things grew even worse than before. What I had
to put up with from that man, Jorn! He was everlastingly
reading in his bank-book, and saying that one sentence spat in
the face of the other. The whole thing was clearly a swindle,
he said, and if they’d been decent, honest people the book ought
to have been at least five times as thick, something like a psalter
— not such a rag of a thing as it was. At last, one night, when
he got up to look for the book and couldn’t find it immediately,
what did he do but turn on me and say I had stolen it. So
I advised him to draw his money out again, which he did.
“ Now, Jorn, what do you think? He began drinking, Jörn.
He gambled, he brawled, he quarrelled with me, with Uhl, and
with Dominie Peters about the children. There was nothing
but a constant hubbub in the house. Do you remember how
you stood on the dung-heap at the Uhl brandishing the fork
and shouting at the top of your voice, ‘I’m Jasper Cray of
Wentorf’? Yet nobody had touched him. And do you re-
member how you came back from town, bringing a chest of
wine, and wanting to hold political meetings? Fancy us and
wine and politics! And do you remember how you stood over
there, striking the post with your purse, and crying, ‘ Jasper
Cray has money’? ‘That was a year, Jorn! While it lasted
no one was so wretched as I. Afterward, when the money was
all gone, and he had no longer any anxiety about it, and knew
that he had to go to work again, he looked after his wife and
children like a Christian once more, and I got on all right with
him again. Fiete was five years old then; oh, dear, oh, dear, I
wonder where Fiete is now?” |
She shut the window.
“TIl bet you,” said Jasper Cray, “ that if any one said to
her, here’s twelve hundred marks, and here’s the story of the
 JÖRN UHL 119
twelve hundred marks, take your choice, she’d choose the story.
Sometimes I’m a bit hoity-toity, Jörn, and I can’t say I think
much of my wife Trina Cray’s brain power, but when I think
of this story, and especially when she freshens it up in my mind,
Pm a humble man. That money came too sudden. And there
was too much of it—twelve hundred marks. I wasn’t
prepared for it. When the other aunt dies, and she’s about
eighty now, then you'll see how fine I can take care of money.”
“ Just you wait,” said Jorn, “ then you'll be worried out of
your life again by it, and you'll never rest till you’ve drunk
yourself poor again.”
“ Wha-at!” said Jasper Cray, looking at Jörn with wide,
reproachful eyes; “do you mean to say that a man doesn’t
get sense into his head in his old days? ”
“ Many do,” said Jorn, “ but not all, by a long chalk.” With
dark thoughts in his mind he glanced over toward the Uhl
which lay in the shadow of the poplars and ashes on the other
side of the road.
Many an evening they talked together. “They were like an
ill-matched pair of hounds crossing a field. Jasper Cray always
ahead, his nose everywhere, yelping loudly; Jörn Uhl behind,
growling, and constantly exhorted to caution and circumspection
by the rashness of the other; and cautious and circumspect
Jorn Uhl remained throughout his life.
Then when it grew dusk the head-servant used to come
from over the way, bringing the two girls with him. His
name was Harke Sim. He became a railway porter in later
days, and was the man who prevented the accident near Ham-
burg by running toward the train with his coat on fire, so that
the engine-driver pulled up just before he came to the broken
rail. This Harke Sim used to bring his concertina under his
arm, and they always made room for him on the bench under
the eaves, although he hadn’t too much elbow-room there. The
girls sat down in the green grass by the roadside, and Harke Sim
would play, and beat time with his head so stolidly, and looking
so stupid with his half-shut eyes the while, that no one would
ever have given him credit for an act requiring swift resolution
and presence of mind.
After that they spoke about neighbor So-and-so’s corn, and
neighbor What-d’you-call-him’s daughter. After that, about the
120 JÖRN UHL
village schoolmaster and the minister; after that about Ham-
burg; after that about the king, and last of all about Death.
By this, the moon hung low among the`poplars, and a weasel
would cross the road from time to time.

At the same hour one evening in a high street in Hamburg,

close to St. Peters Church, a young man was sitting in a
bookseller’s shop, waiting there as senior apprentice to serve
any late customer that might drop in. He was the son of a
clergyman somewhere on the edge of the Lüneberger Heath,
and, having grown up in the open air, had come to logger-
heads with Latin at an early stage in his career. But despite
this distaste for Latin, he liked reading books in his own lan-
guage, and the more fantastic they were the better they pleased
him. So his father had got him a place in this shop beneath
St. Peters Church, where he was surrounded by books to his
heart’s content. He was delighted to get the situation; but it
soon turned out that he had by no means obtained his ideal of
life as yet. There were plenty of books there, and he might
peer into them, and even now and again take one that pleased
him home with him to read. But he felt that these books wanted
a different setting, so to say — the great wide heath and the hay-
stacks full of shady places and the old sand-pit; and poignant
homesickness filled the young ’prentice’s heart.
So he was sitting that evening in the back part of the shop
in the little recess under the staircase, reading a book called
“ The Chronicles of Sparrow Alley,” written by a certain Wil-
helm Raabe, and he read, and read, and was no longer in Ham-
burg, but was far away from St. Peter’s Church, playing near
the straw-thatched manse again, and climbing the birch-tree by
the old wall, and looking out over the wide land for the nearest
church spire. Suddenly the shop door opened, and a young
workman about his own age, a sturdy, thick-set youth in a gray
jumper and with a round, fresh face and enterprising eyes and
reddish hair, stood at the counter looking at him. And as the
Lineberger slowly got up, the customer laid a little pile of
silver on the counter, and said, “I want to buy some books
with this.”
“ Books? ”
“Yes, books! Have you ever heard whether a certain
Theodor Storm has written a book?”
 JORN TUHL 121
“Storm? I should think he had. Hes written a host of
little novels.”
“Novels? I don’t know what that is; but it doesn’t sound
the right thing. I'll tell you straight what I mean. I carry
out parcels for a business here in Herman Strasse, and I’ve
waited till I got a chance to speak to you alone. It’s like this.
On our farm at home we had an old servant who was properly
called Penn, but she was so mighty shrewd that people always
called her Wieten Klook. Well, this Wieten Klook used to
make out that a certain Theodor Storm and a man named
Müllenhoff were going to write a book together. She herself
hadn’t much of an opinion of them and their projects; but if
they by any chance really have written a book, I’d like to have
it; and there’s the money, six Prussian dollars.”
The ’prentice in the shop under St. Peter’s sat on the ac-
countant’s stool looking at this strange customer with eyes
wide with astonishment. “ Storm and Müllenhoff! What’s
the book about, then?”
“Well... to put it short.. . about how a man is to
grow wise and rich. Thats what I want to know.”
Then the ’prentice from the Liineberger Heath stood up
and said, emphatically: “ There’s no such book to be had.
Bless me, anything else but that! What! get wise by reading
a book! I tell you you can grow stupid from many a book;
and there’s books’ll drive you crazy. Others’l! make you sad,
and some’ll make you laugh, perhaps. And others may teach
you this and that, it’s true, but as for making you wise and
rich — tush! ‘There are no such books. ... You ask what
Storm’s written? Just wait a moment. . . . See, here’s one.
This is a book he wrote. ‘There are stories in it about good
and deep-natured men and all sorts of dreamers. He’s one of
our greatest poets.”
The purchaser shook his head, biting his teeth together,
and gazing at the counter. “Then Wieten must have been
right after all when she said he’d come to no good.”
The youth from the Liineberger Heath pushed aside the
books that lay before him. “ My opinion’s this. Look, now,
these books, from the lowest to the topmost shelf, row above
row
— you can read ’em all through, and be as stupid and even
stupider after it than you were before. One doesn’t grow wise
122 JORN UHL
from books, but from the life one lives. Do you come from
the Liineberger Heath?”’
“No, from Dittmarsh.” `
“Its all the same. If I wanted to give you a piece of advice,
I'd say: ‘If you wish to grow wise and rich, then go to some
place where there are no books.’ . . . Books, indeed! why, if
I hadn’t my father, and if mother wouldn’t cry her eyes
out, I’d go straight to America. By George! I would. And
woe betide the man who put a book under my nose after that.”
“So that’s your idea,” said Fiete Cray, reflectively, as he
picked up his money and put it back in his pocket. “ My father
and mother don’t trouble a scrap about me. I’ve made up my
mind to be rich. It’s all the same how. I’ve heard both good
and bad of America. Never of a cross between the two. I
believe I’ll do it.”
“Do it, man; and if you’ve time and inclination, and if
you get on, just write a line to the senior ’prentice in Herrold’s
bookshop. What’s your name?”
“ Fiete Cray of Wentorf.”
 CHAPTER VIII.
Tue harvest had been gathered in and the lindens were full
of yellow blossoms, when Jörn, one summer’s day, walked past
the old schoolhouse, carrying a ploughshare over his shoulder,
on his way to the smith’s. Suddenly a gooseberry flew out
of the garden and struck his cap. Turning around he saw
Lisbeth’s fair head peeping out from among the bushes. He
could do nothing but stand there and stare at her, and he felt
not a little embarrassed when he saw her quickly making her
way through the shrubs. She stood at the fence, and called
over to him in a shy voice, “ Jürgen, come here for a moment.”
He glanced hastily around to see if any one were looking at
him; but it was noon, and it seemed as if the village street,
and all the houses in it, were fast asleep. So he took off his
cap and walked over to her. During the last year he had but
seldom seen Lisbeth, and had always passed her by with a
brief “Good day.” He had been hard at work; but she had
been at school in the town. He had been ploughing all day
long for months in the lonely fields, plodding through the loose
soil, while she had been tripping daintily along the smooth and
narrow footpaths of the town. He had changed for the worse
and had grown cloddish and rough; while she had grown more
refined in appearance, as well as in character and knowledge. He
had felt all this in a vague way, and had shunned meeting her.
And to make matters worse Dame Nature had been playing
her old, everlasting game with them. In the school orchard
and on Ringelshorn the two children had been playmates and
comrades, but she had loosed their hands and led them far
apart from each other into new, strange lands, and had conjured
up for each the most diverse and magic dreams, looking upon
them the while with her wise, sweet smile. ‘That is always
her way. Afterward, after long years, when in solitude and
silence she has brought them to the flowering season, she leads
123
124 JÖRN UHL
her children together again, no longer as playmates, but as
representatives of their sex. . . . Jörn Uhl and Lisbeth meet
to-day once more, but it will be a merè outward and unhappy
meeting, for they are both still immature, no longer boy and
girl and not yet man and woman, and each is still dwelling
in his own strange land.
Leaning against the fence she told him with a wise air what
long holidays she had this time. ‘The town school, she said,
was to be broken up, and it would take a long time before
another would be established. And did he know that she was
going to be a governess?
No; he didn’t know. He had never even heard that there
were such people as governesses. He asked shyly whether she
would soon be coming to visit Elsbe.
“ Oh,” she said, with a toss of her head, “ Elsbe is a year
older than I am. They are all quite different from me. There
isn’t a soul I can be friends with. It’s dreadfully dreary.”
He said that she really should come. It would give Elsbe
so much pleasure.
“ Do you really mean it?” she said, doubtingly. “ I thought
Elsbe didn’t care about me any more. Just fancy, one evening
when it was already dusk — it’s not so long ago—she was
standing near my window, and I heard her say to some one
that I didn’t understand a thing yet, and was just like a child.
Will you be there, Jorn, if I come and call at the Uhl?”
“No,” he said. “I have to work all day, and you mustn’t
come in the evening, or Elsbe will be taking you home after-
ward, and that doesn’t do.”
She bent her head as if she were meditating something. Pres-
ently she said, “ Then, couldn’t you come over to us, some-
times? ”
He got a shock to think that such a thing should be expected
of him. “No,” he said, “ I can’t do that.”
“But you don’t need to come into the house, only into the
garden. You can go around the back way. Grandfather and
grandmother will be inside reading.”
He took a quick glance at her. She seerned to him so un-
speakably charming and refined. It was wonderful to think
that there could be anything so dainty and neat in the world.
But he didn’t see how he could possibly feel comfortable talk-
ing to her. He certainly had a strong inclination to be with
 JÖRN UHL 125
her, but against that he knew that it would make him infinitely
uncomfortable. But she insisted upon his coming, and took it
as such a matter of course, and seemed so eager about it all, that
he had to agree to it.
The whole afternoon he wondered how things would go
with him that evening. He thought it not impossible that she
might find him tedious and send him away again. And it
almost seemed to him that among the many possibilities this
was the most attractive. But again he thought that it might
not be altogether out of the question that he might by chance
be able to entertain her and win some approval in her eyes.
The idea struck him that he might think out beforehand a
subject to discuss with her, and he went over certain topics.
He said to himself that a girl like Lisbeth would set most store
by learning, and tried to remember certain conversations that
Dominie Peters had had with the minister when he had been sit-
ting by at his books. His range of knowledge was small, but he
managed to get together a few subjects that he fancied might
come in handy. He thought he would begin by speaking about
a new line of steamers to Denmark, and afterward about agri-
cultural schools that were just starting at that time, then about
a newly invented incubator, and last of all, if the worst came
to the worst, he could say a word or two about the practice
of burning widows in India. He had read something on this
subject in a piece of newspaper that a shopman in town had
wrapped some goods in. His idea was to broach one of these
subjects in some such casual way as — perhaps she had read . . .
or what did she think about . . . or did she know anything
about . . . and then he would unfold the treasures of his
wisdom.
He started an hour too early, and went wandering along
beside all the ditches and peering into them as though he were
seeking a stray sheep, and at last reached the neighborhood of
the orchard. There was a ditch there, full of clear, running
water, and over it slanted a short willow-stump whose thick
poll bristled with short, straight twigs, like hair. She was
sitting on the tree-trunk almost hidden by these rods, and was
dangling her feet over the water. She was looking very grave,
and gave him a pensive nod as he politely raised his cap.
His heart was thumping so, that instead of clearing the
ditch at a bound as he had intended, he half-stepped across it
126 JORN UHL
with a long and very clumsy stride, and nearly got stuck in
the boggy soil. He took a hasty look at her, and was almost
certain that there was a smile in her eyes, but her face imme-
diately resumed its grave look, so that the Indian widows in-
voluntarily occurred to him, and he had luck with them. She
told him she had just been reading about very serious things,
and he asked hesitatingly was it necessary that she should do so.
He thought she ought rather to read something amusing.
“Oh, no,” she said, “ one must know something about the
sad side of life, too.”
Then she inquired as to the exact shape of the funeral pyre,
and whether the women took their ornaments with them when
they went to be burned. She considered it, on the whole, a
good thing, and declared that she would be quite willing to
be burned if her husband should die, because she would only
marry for love. And then she began to talk about jewelry
again, and, as chance would have it, she had a brooch and a
watch-chain in her pocket, and a watch had been promised her
for Christmas.
So far, all had gone well beyond expectation, but somehow
or other the conversation now began to flag. They gazed
into the running water and said nothing. She felt unfriendly
and defiant toward him, and thought to herself, “ He’s a down-
right yokel.”
For his part, he was wishing he was a hundred miles away.
He tortured himself to find something to say; but not an
idea occurred to him that he thought would do. She was
just as much a stranger to him as if she spoke a different
language, and were quite another kind of being.
Finally he began telling her in a diffident voice about the
two foals that had been born at the Uhl a few days before.
But she had no desire to hear anything about them.
“ What’s that got to do with me?” she said, laughing, and
her face had suddenly become quite girlish and happy and
natural. Her lips parted and showed her teeth, her hair hung
down over her ears, and all at once he recognized “ Rain-
tweet.” ;
“ Just so,” he said, “ but what shall we talk about, then?”
So she told him what her schoolmates talked of.
“ To begin with, we discuss the teachers and the girls who
don’t happen to be by, and often we talk about boys. I don’t,
 JORN UHL 127
though. I don’t think it’s becoming at all. But see, Jörn,
your foot’s in the water.”
He pulled it out with a jerk as if he had been burnt. But all
at once she saw how unhappy he was sitting there.
“ Come,” she said, “lets get up and go for a little walk.
That’s another thing they do in town. Some of them go for
walks with the big boys, even.”
He got up as she had bidden him, and watched her making
her preparations. First she gave him her gold brooch and chain,
and then the book. Next she put her dress right, though it
seemed to him quite unnecessary, and then she said, “ Shall I
jump into your arms?”
“Thats what you did that time when we wanted to catch
the fox.” He placed himself with arms outstretched and feet
apart, as if to catch a runaway horse.
She laughed at him merrily. “ I don’t think I will, after all,”
she said; “ you might crush me to death.” And she got down
decorously, and was extremely careful about the hem of her
dress.
They walked up and down the narrow path under the low
branches of the apple-trees. “ Do you remember how you
wouldn’t go to the Children’s Festival with me? ”
“Tf your grandfather had only said to me, ‘ You'll have to
walk with Lisbeth,’ I'd have gone with you willingly, but I
didn’t venture to ask you yourself.” He drew a deep breath
when he had said it, and looked at her expectantly.
“ Just tell me, supposing there was a dance now, would you
dance with me?”
“ Wouldn’t I? From start to finish!” he said, and glanced
at her, and in his eyes lay all his frank, simple-hearted ad-
miration for her.
“Well!” she said, “ now I’ll tell you something. This time
it’s I who won’t dance with you.”
He hung his head and was silent. He found it quite natural
that she shouldn’t wish to dance with him.
Then her mood changed again, like April weather, and she
laughed and said, winningly, “I didn’t mean it so seriously,
you know. I believe I would dance with you, after all, but you
would have to hold me quite loosely, as they do in town,
where they’re so polite. But now you must go away again.
TIl come with you as far as the willow and we'll say good-by
128 JORN UHL
there. And come again on Sunday. Ill be sitting on the
tree waiting for you.” `
When he reached the meadow on the other side of the water-
course, they said good-by to each other and separated.
And this was how his little playmate crossed his path again.
With her kindly help it seemed as if Jörn Uhl’s transition from
boyhood to youth was to be completed in the most natural and
loveliest way. It seemed as if his life, as far as love was in
question, was to run a smooth and even course. If only the
sand-carting hadn’t come eight days later.
But for the sand-carting Jörn Uhl would have been able to
say when he came to die, “ The sins of youth? What are
they? Work and Want I have known in my youth, but never
Sin.” He would never have had to knit his brow in remem-
brance of the faults of his youth, like Jasper Cray and every
one else. But as if it were a thing inevitable, as if every mortal,
even the best, must needs get dust on his boots and spots on his
coat, this sand-carting came, and Jörn’s fair robe of honesty
got a mighty rent in it.
Unsuspicious of any danger, he was driving with his sand-
cart, toward evening, along below Ringelshörn. A fresh sea-
breeze was blowing; the sky was full of driving clouds, gray and
white and blue all mingled together. It was the sort of weather
to take in great, deep breaths, and rejoice that one is alive to do
it. Jörn Uhl did so, too. He sat on the foot-board of his cart,
dangling his legs, humming a tune into the wind, and looking
dreamily across the silent, level fields, and was just the very
picture of a peaceful, contemplative farmer’s lad. No one
would have thought it possible that this long-limbed, long-faced
fellow should this very evening, trembling in all his limbs, look
Nature herself in her beautiful and terrible eyes with their dark
and bottomless depths.
When he had driven around Ringelshérn, he saw Telse
Dierk, whom people thereabouts called the Sand-lass, standing
not far from her house on the edge of her sand-pit. She was
gazing after a loaded cart which was just going around the
curve of the road, and was leaning lightly on the long-handled
shovel, with which she had been helping to load the sand.
When she heard the rattling and creaking of Jérn’s cart, she
turned around and called to him: “So late, Jörn Uhl; but
come along. It just suits me that you’ve come. I’ve not the
 JORN UHL 129
slightest inclination to knock off work yet awhile.” She stood
in front of the yellowish-white sand-bank, which reached high
above her head, her intelligent eyes sparkling. She was bare-
footed, and her cheeks looked as rosy as though she had just
arisen from a refreshing sleep. For ten years she had looked
just the same; she stood there slim and lithe of body, full-
breasted and bright-eyed, with fresh, untiring vigor in her
whole bearing.
Ten years ago, when she was quite a young thing, she had
had a bosom friend, the only daughter of a neighbor who had
his little farm up at the top of the valley in which the Goldsoot
lay, not far from the edge of the plateau. One day this friend
of hers became engaged to a young farmer from the Geest.
The two young people, as often happens among the Geest folk,
had been “ cobbled together,” as they say; that is, their parents
and some aunt or other, with a bent for match-making, had
persuaded them that they ought to marry, pointing out how
wonderfully well suited they were for each other in person and
age and circumstances.
The bridegroom-elect let them have their own way. He was
still a young man, his heart still untouched and fancy free.
So when they introduced his bride to him at the next village
fair, he took it as a matter of course, and found her quite
passable. What weighed most with him was the consideration
that his brother, to whom he was deeply attached, would now
be able to take over their father’s farm without their dividing
it, which would not have been the case if he himself had
married a portionless wife. And a division of the farm was
hardly feasible, seeing how small it was and how poor its soil.
It was the mysterious will of Fate that Telse Dierk, dwell-
ing by her sand-pit down in the marsh, should never have met
the man her friend was engaged to before the wedding. ‘The
young bride to be, however, would often come down through
the Goldsoot valley and talk to her about her lover’s looks
and ways, and about his eyes and his hair and his walk, and
how he held this or that opinion which pleased or displeased
her. Telse Dierk liked to listen, and once said in jest, “It’s a
pity that I never knew him. I believe he’d just have been the
very man for me.”
“Oh,” said her friend, “isn’t that strange? I’ve often
thought exactly the same thing. Hes so like you in lots of
130 JORN UHE
ways, and often has ideas strangely like yours. Hes always
wanting to get to the bottom of things, you know, just as you
are. Hell talk as long and as earnestly about a hen’s egg as
about Holy Baptism.”
Fate willed it, too, that this fresh, hearty girl, who had
never been ill in her life, had to remain at home with a severe
cold during the days of the wedding; but on the ninth day
after the wedding she went up the valley to visit the young
wife in her new happiness. The two then saw each other
for the first time. They were both tall and stalwart figures,
such as are often seen in that part of the country —he of a
dark, sun-browned complexion, with dark, curly hair; she quite
fair, with hair as yellow as corn. They now looked upon each
other for the first time, and started as if they had seen a ghost.
The young bride had a great deal to talk about, and prattled
and gossiped about the wedding. These two, however, had
not a word to say.
When the twilight came and the sky began to fill with
clouds and rain, Telse’s friend, proud of having such a husband
to do her bidding, asked him to escort her friend into the
valley. Without a word he took down his cap and followed
the guest out-of-doors. As they went down the hollow, the
rain fell in streams. “They had almost reached the Goldsoot,
he walking behind her along the narrow, clayey path, when she
slipped and almost fell backwards; and he caught and held
her. And, as each believed that the darkness mufHed and hid
everything, they now gazed frank and full into each other’s
faces. But there were rents in the driving clouds, and the
moon and the stars had suddenly appeared, throwing their
spears of light from eye to eye, so that each saw the unveiled
soul of the other; and in that moment both knew that they
were fated to love each other, and no one else in the world, as
long as ever they lived. Then they parted and fled, because
they feared each other.
Years went by. It was a time of bitter anguish.
She worked from morning till night ‘in the house, and would
often of her own free will help to load the carts with sand, so
as to tire herself out and have rest. And of an evening she
would sit by her window behind her pinks and geraniums and
look out into the marsh, in the direction where Ringelshérn
could not be seen. She had refused one offer of marriage, and
 HORN “UH 131
treated the young men who would fain have spoken a word
with her so harshly and coldly that they ceased once for all to
trouble her.
But he, like her, was famishing for love. His wife had been
brought up as an only child by foolish parents. Her every
word had been gaped at and admired, and so, despite her
shallow mind, she had acquired a certain pertness of speech.
Her husband, on the contrary, was a clear-headed, thoughtful
man, and carefully weighed everything he said; he therefore
found it the more irksome that his wife should have so much
to say about everybody and everything. After they had been
married some years she bore a child. She never recovered from
the great strain this put upon her weakly frame. All her
youthful bloom fled, and thenceforth she was constantly ailing.
Ere long the child died, and the marriage remained barren.
Years went by. ‘The two lovers had tacitly resolved to
avoid each other’s house, and even to shun each other if they
should by chance meet anywhere. But when they actually
happened to meet, each thought to himself that no one would
begrudge them the poor satisfaction of a swift, shy glance at
the other’s face. There slumbered, however, in both their
breasts the unuttered hope that they would one day belong
to each other. Neither of them dreamed, however, that this
thought was in the other’s mind; they hardly realized that it
was in their own. Yet it was this hope that kept their passion
within bounds.
Telse Dierk’s father had fallen on the field of battle, and
now her mother, too, died. Her mother had been a strong,
capable woman in her time, but after her sudden bereavement
her mind had always been subject to fits of restlessness, and
this grew worse with her as she neared the fifties. Sometimes
she would wander aimlessly around and around the house and
about the fields. She liked to listen to the wind howling; and
when her headaches got very bad she used to go up to Ringels-
horn, and, standing there, on the bleak edge of the plateau,
would find relief in exposing herself to the keen, cruel blast.
Some weeks after her mother’s death, the lover came down
to her one morning in broad daylight. He had first looked out
from the hillside to see that no sand-carters were coming. She
came out and confronted him on the threshold of her house,
asking him harshly what he wanted there. It was an autumn
132 JORN UHL
day with a fresh wind blowing. He asked what was to be-
come of them both. Still keeping her outward calmness, she
said in an even voice that things must remain as they were, for
she could not trample God’s commandments under foot, as
though they did not exist, and she hoped he could not, either.
She took up a basket of washing, and stepped forward with
dark, resolute face, and he was obliged to give way and go out-
side again. But he told her that he could not think that God’s
will was to crush him and all his joy to death with His com-
mandments. He had begged his wife to sell their property,
and move somewhere else; but she must have guessed his reasons,
and had laughed at him and mocked him.
She looked at him darkly, as though it roused some deep
repugnance in her to have to listen to what he was muttering
there. Without getting another word from her, he had to turn
back home.
Some time afterward he again spoke to her, as she was pull-
ing up the bean-sticks in-her garden and tying them in bundles.
He spoke beseechingly, saying he could no longer bear it;
begging her even to go away from Ringelshérn, since he could
not. Then she had begun to weep bitterly. After this meeting,
he found it easier to contrive to meet her every evening toward
dusk near the Goldsoot. They both came to the pool with
buckets in their hands, looked at each other long and earnestly,
spoke a few words with each other — commonplace werds, or
sometimes even shy, burning words of affection; but they did
not touch hands, but separated and went their ways again. He
deceived himself into thinking he would be satisfied with these
nightly meetings, and had besides put iron bands upon his
desire; but she saw clearly that every day, with every look and
movement, he was drawing her nearer to him. It seemed to
her as though some irresistible Fate were dragging her toward
him, and she felt her resistance growing feebler and feebler. A
thousand persuasive voices spoke within her. She was in terror
like a man whom some voluptuous madness is urging toward
the brink of an abyss; her fear was such that she often trem-
bled as though smitten by fever.. Her single resource, the hard
work that brought fatigue and sleep, now failed her. In her
distress she hit upon a device which was as strange as it was
dangerous; she determined to try if she could not deceive her
 JORN UHL 133
heart and her senses with some other lover, to whom she could
belong without sin.
For several years she had taken no part in the social gather-
ings of the farmers around about. Young men seeking wives
avoided her, despite her healthy beauty. For in the farmyards
a report had got about that she was on too intimate a footing
with the husband of her friend. Whilst she was fighting against
this passion of hers, for which there were so many excuses, as
bravely as any one in the land, men’s tongues had already found
her guilty and passed summary and cruel judgment.
About this time Jorn Uhl came four or five times of an
evening, after farm work was over, to get sand, and it pleased
her to see him so grave and silent. He looked at her as though
to say, “ You are just as lonely and as full of cares as I.”
Gradually she got to think more and more about him, and at
last persuaded herself that she loved this fresh-cheeked youth.
And she was glad of her delight in him, and of an evening
would laugh aloud and say to herself, “ Now you are rid of
the other one, and have a bonnie young lover out of the every-
day run of men.” And when he, in his shy, uncertain way,
grew a little brighter and looked at her with kindly eyes, and
now and then ventured a jest, she laughed in her heart and
thought: “It’s a quiet and seemly way of being loved; with-
out danger, but with a charm of its own for all that.”
When he came the fourth evening, and they had both filled
the cart, she invited him, in her fulness of heart, to come into
the cottage and have a chat for awhile. She took a seat oppo-
site him at the table just as she was, with her dress loose at
the neck and with sleeves tucked up, leaning on her elbow.
Smiling kindly upon him, she asked him about one thing and
another, and appeared to be delighted and full of curiosity as
to whether his quiet nature would thaw a little. And when
he didn’t answer she made things worse by saying, with a merry
gleam in her gray eyes, “ You’re a bonnie lad, Jörn. You have
such thoughtful eyes, as if you were always seeking for things
that are hidden away; and you have such a strong-willed face,
as though you were always determined to get your own way.
That’s what girls like. When you're three years older or so,
you can pick out whoever you like for a sweetheart, and be
sure she won’t say you nay.”
He could say nothing, but only looked at her.
134 JORN UHL
She began afresh, asking: “ What’ll she be like, the girl
you'll love — eh, Jörn?Pas
Then he stood up, and she got up, too. And thinking that
he was offended — her own feminine vanity was hurt, too —
she came up to him and said, quietly, and with a smile on her
lips: “ So in me you can find nothing to admire — I’m not even
worth an answer, am I? Must you go away in a mood like
that? Won’t you take just one kiss from me along with you
on your way?”
His heart stood still with the shock of her words, and he
did not move. A moment afterward, however, he caught her
to his breast with such a billow of wild passion that, in spite
of her terror, she tore herself away from him with the greatest
effort. She had wished to awaken a soft, mild flame, and had
stirred up a furious blaze. She pushed him violently away and
bade him go.
On the following evening, toward midnight, he stood at her
window and knocked, begging her to let him in. She pre-
tended not to hear him. She lay quite still, her hands beneath
her head and tears running down her cheeks. She felt herself
the unhappiest of women. Three or four nights he came in
this way.
 CHAPTER IX.

ABOUT this time the farmers’ sons had arranged to have the
so-called “ bachelors’ ball,” and Jörn, too, received the usual
invitation. Had it come fourteen days earlier, he would have
put it aside as a thing that had no meaning for him. Why
should he go to a ball? He would only have made himself
ridiculous in his own eyes. But the experiences of these last
eight days had stirred his soul to its depths. ‘These eight days
had played havoc in his young blood. It was like a garden
that lies still at eventide — not a leaf moving, every branch
covered thick in fairest leaf, and all the pathways clean — till
toward midnight a storm sweeps over it, and rages till break of
day. And next morning everything lies there dishevelled, dis-
ordered, and desolate. Rest and peace had turned into misery
and cruel disquiet. His brothers laughed and jeered at him
when they heard that he was going to the ball. But Elsbe
greeted the news with a shout. “I’m glad,” she said, “ that
you're getting a little life into you at last. You were such a
tiresome fellow, Jorn. And you’ve got a nice new suit, too.
You can dance with me first, so as to break the ice. And then
afterward youll have to dance with Lisbeth, won’t you?”
She wagged her head roguishly at him, and had a dance around
the table by way of rehearsal; she danced so long for him, in
fact, that at last she fell against the door and slipped upon her
knees and burst out laughing. He looked at her and thought:
“Faith, she’s a pretty little thing, all fire and life; and she’s
always straightforward and truthful and kind.” He went to
the dance by himself, shyly, as though he were going on some
evil errand.
He got away into a corner near the counter, and stood there
for hours. Many who were present didn’t know him at all,
for he had never yet been in a public-house. “They were puz-
zled, and asked who he was. And when they heard that he
135
136 JORN UHL
was Klaus Uhl’s youngest son, they wondered, and said:
“ That’s the one that’s said to be a dreamer.” Some of the
girls made up their minds to dance with him. They said to
themselves, ‘‘ Heigh, heigh! but he’s a bonnie lad. How serious
he looks with those eyes of his. How fine they'll look when
they’re laughing.”
He stood there, unable to shake off his heavy thoughts. He
felt vexed at times, and looked in the faces of the passers-by
to see if they were observing him. And when any one looked
at him for a moment he imagined to himself what he must
be like in their eyes — a lank, ungainly figure; or, again, he
thought he could read in some faces that his intimacy with the
Sand-lass was known to them. ‘Then, again, his glance grew
proud when he thought, “If you only knew that that braw,
lithe-limbed lass has kissed me!” He had often heard his
brothers and Elsbe criticizing and discussing girls, but he had
never taken the slightest interest in such conversations. Within
the last eight days all that was changed. He now remembered
all these expressions of theirs, and attentively observed the girls
dancing past him, finding one handsome and another the reverse.
As he stood there doing nothing, his own room flitted before
his imagination, looking just as he was wont to see it when he
was in bed. And he imagined himself there, lying in bed
again, with that feeling he had so often had, of being so young
and yet so full of cares and anxiety. Then he saw the girls,
in all their fresh bloom, go dancing past him again, saw the
beautiful movements of their limbs and their happy faces. His
eyes sought among the crowd for Lisbeth, and he made up his
mind to win her. And this thought now drove out all others. _
He pictured to himself how he would take her home, then
under the silent lindens he would take her in his arms, just as
he had taken the Sand-lass. She shouldn’t escape from him
as she had done recently in the orchard. Then he caught sight
of Lisbeth coming across the room. She sat down near Elsbe,
who had gone bounding toward her. He gazed and gazed at
her. It seemed to him that he had never really seen her before,
such a difference had these few days worked in his nature. His
eyes followed the blue bow she was wearing on the left shoulder
of her white dress as she danced. He bent forward so as to
see her whole figure, and the wish grew more and more ardent
within him to clasp her to his breast to-night. But something
 JORN UAL 137
held him back, a feeling that he must not venture to approach
her in this fashion, and he could not summon up courage enough
to ask her to dance with him.
Some of the couples were already passing him on their way
to the front rooms to drink wine together. They greeted each
other, and teased each other, and talked over which room they
were going to sit in, and walked by holding each other’s hands.
He saw Elsbe among them, coming his way. She let go the
hand of a young farmer, and came up to him. Her girlish
face was lit with pleasure, and her heavy dark hair had fallen
over her dress. Her full little figure was all agog with the
excitement of the dance. “I say, Jorn, Harro Heinsen isn’t
here. He couldn’t get leave of absence. I’m with Hans Jarren.
He’s still almost a mere boy, but that’s no matter. Were going
to have a bottle of wine between us. Go and get Lisbeth, and
come and join us.”
He answered, moodily, “I don’t want to dance,”
“That’s because you haven’t enough pluck, my boy. Drink
a few glasses of punch; that'll cure you.”
She was off; and for a wonder he did as she advised, ordering
a glass of schnapps for himself, and then another, and yet an-
other; and when he had drunk four glasses of the fiery liquor,
he found courage to go over and speak to Lisbeth.
She had not danced much as yet. She had such a graceful,
dainty bearing, and was wont to speak so few words, and so
quietly, in her high, sweet-toned voice, and look as she spoke
at the person she addressed with such strange wondering eyes,
that most of the young men held aloof from her, being at a
loss to know what to talk to her about. Her hair was ex-
ceedingly fair, and lay smooth and glossy, like raw silk, about
her dainty head. Her dress was fresh and delicate as white
blossoms, and seemed, like her face, to have the delicate hue
of flowers. She looked so virginal, so pure and dewy, like a
sunny, peaceful Sunday morning, when one’s mind is free from
care.
He felt out of place by her side. Eight days ago, despite his
awkwardness, he could have stood there proudly, but now he
was no longer a comrade for her. When they began dancing,
and he found it difficult to get into the measure of the dance,
he looked at her with a peculiar laugh, and when she hesi-
tatingly asked, “ What’s the matter with you, Jörn? ” he said,
138 | TORN UER
“I can’t see any good in dancing. It’s a stupid, humming-top
sort of business. Lets go in with the others and have some
wine. You must learn that, too.” =
She drew back in terror of him, and said, “ I never do that!”
“ Oh, don’t be so prudish.” He tried to drag her away with
him by the arm, but she tore herself free with eyes full of fear.
“ Well, stay where you are,” he said, “ you little ninny.”
Some who stood by saw and heard this, and laughed. He
left her standing where she was, and went back to the counter,
and sat down again and drank and gave himself up to a feeling
of sullen defiance, gazing contemptuously on all around him.
Some who were by nature indifferent to feminine society,
and indulged the other passion, that of drink, and others who,
like him, had had their requests refused, came and joined him;
and soon he was the centre of a wild group, shouting and sing-
ing. He sat silent among them, scowling before him. ‘Then he
would laugh mockingly to himself and drink again. His brother
Hans, who was already drunk, and only looked truth honestly
in the face when he was in this condition, — when sober he
was a great braggart and self-deceiver, — this fellow came up,
threw himself into a chair by his brother’s side, and began to
weep aloud.
“ I thought you would remain a sober and honest man, Jorn.
I’ve always been proud of you, though I have behaved as if I
despised you. But now I see you’re a good-for-nothing like me
and our brothers, and our father, too.” Then the younger
brother started up as though he had been lying behind a hedge
waiting for the word “ good-for-nothing.” He struck his fist
on the table, drank and shouted at the top of his voice, and was
the worst of the whole company at the table. “ All Uhls are
good-for-nothings,’ he said. “It’s no good fighting against
nature. The son of Klaus Uhl can’t help but be a drunkard.”
Then he would strike the table again, and cry, “ Who can beat
the Uhls?” and try to join in a drinking-song that had been
started, but of which he knew neither the words nor the tune.
A group of the more sensible ones, who were just then com-
ing by, noticed the noise, and one of them said, “ Isn’t that
Jorn Uhl? Up to this he has always been a Simple Simon, and
couldn’t say boo to a goose, and now he’s grown the worst
of the lot.” But one man was there, Otto Lindemann was
his name— the same man who afterward fought at Gravelotte,
 JORN UHL 139
He has been police magistrate now for many a day, and is a
member of Parliament. Even in those days he was a good
judge of character, and took a keen interest in all he saw. He
gave Jörn a slap on the shoulder, and said, “ No, Jorn Uhl, you
can shout as loud as you like. You’re not cut out for a good-
for-nothing. Any one can see you’re out of your element here.
You’ve got the makings of a good man in you yet, Jorn Uhl,”
and he shook him by the shoulder so that the glasses danced on
the table.
Toward morning he staggered home to the Uhl, and slept
on till midday.
Wieten came to his bedside, and looked at him with eyes
full of sorrow. “For your sake and for Elsbe’s,” she said,
sadly, “I have stayed on here all these years. For Elsbe I
have always been in fear and trembling, but I had set my hopes
on you, Jorn.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and
began to cry. “I have had nothing but misfortune all my
life,” she said. “ When I was but a mere child, I saw the whole
house I lived in go to rack and ruin around me. I might well
have hoped after that that I had had sorrow enough to bear
for one life. But now when I’m growing gray, I have to wade
through all this cummer and grief, and am fated to be a woman
who has no hope left on earth. I shall leave the world with
empty hands, and nothing to show for my life’s work. I will
have to hold out my empty hands to God, and say, ‘ Dear God,
all that I loved has been lost to me on the road, and has fallen
into the dirt? ” And so she went on wailing, wringing her
hands in her lap, and crying bitterly.
He listened with closed eyes, and by and by she went out
again. He remained in bed till toward evening, keeping his
eyes shut for very shame. When it got dusk he got up and
walked up and down the room. And when night came, he
stole out and walked hastily toward Ringelshérn, to the house
of the Sand-lass. He went to her window and called her name.
For a long time there was no answer, and he stood there wait-
ing. And suddenly the remembrance of his conduct flashed
through his mind and broke down his dogged restraint of shame
and defiance. The thought of the misery of the whole affair
overwhelmed him, and he cried and sobbed like a boy that has
been thrashed. At the sound of his sobbing, she got up and
opened the window, and accused herself with hard and bitter
140 JÖRN UHL
words. “I have heard how you carried on last night, Jörn. I
am an unlucky and wretched being. Everything I touch turns
to misfortune, and so I am going to Rave this place. “To-day
I have sold my house and what is in it, and to-morrow at dawn
I am going away and will never return.”
“Oh! take me with you! I cannot go back home again;
I cannot. I can never show my face to the servants on the
farm again. Pll rather drown myself. No, you must take me
with you.”
She tried to soothe him, begging him to remember that he
was still a youth, and that what had happened would soon be
forgotten. He would be astonished, she told him, how fast
wounds heal that people get when they are so young. Just those
very people who had seen him so noisy and drunken must be
shown that he had something better in him. It was wretched
enough that she should have to leave her home and go among
strangers. But he was stubborn, and maintained that he already
could hear his father’s laughter and his brothers’ jeers; and
that Wieten despised him, and everybody was saying that Klaus
Uhl and all his family were going to the bad, and that he, the
youngest, was the worst of them all. And therefore he would
do the same as Fiete Cray had done, and go off into some
foreign country.
She comforted him with all sorts of good advice, and spoke
of her own misfortune, which he would make unbearable if
he did himself any wanton injury or left his home on her
account. But he persisted in wishing to go with her, and she
gave way so far as to say he might wait for her on the
top of Ringelshorn, early to-morrow morning, before daybreak.
“And you shall come with me as far as the Haze and there
we'll say good-by.”
It was a sad night for both of them. In the light of her
little lamp she went to and fro in the house, packing the few
things together that were to be sent after her, and standing
still at times as though distracted, and then returning sorrow-
fully to her work again, while big tears ran down her cheeks.
Jorn had gone home and put on his Sunday clothes and tied
up his work-day things in a cloth, and then sat silent by the
dark window, trying in vain to grasp the meaning of these
hours. At one moment he would be making plans for the
future, the next he would feel inclined to go into Wieten
 JORN UHL i41
Klook’s room and tell her what he was going to do, and cry
his heart out at her bedside, and hear her say, “ Stay here,
laddie, everything’ll come right again with time.”
Before daybreak he went out by the back door, across the
foals’ meadow and up over the heath, and sat waiting on a
wayside stone till she came. She came with a firm, fresh step,
and her eyes were bright and full of quiet happiness.
“That’s right,” she said. “I’ve got over everything else,
and left it all behind me.” She pointed to where the house
of her lover lay, at the end of the heath. “ And now it’s your
turn, Jorn, and I sha’n’t find that such a hard job as the other.
But Im not going to send you away just yet. I’m going to
give myself the pleasure of being with you a little longer.”
She spoke so decidedly and with such gay serenity that he didn’t
dare to contradict her. But he made up his mind to go with
her, all the same, if it were to the very ends of the earth.
Up to the present he had had nothing he could reverence.
His teacher had not understood how to make religion a real
thing to him. It was religion that had painted over the fresh,
gracious, noble figure of the Saviour, and spoilt it in his eyes.
And he had no mother. ‘Thus it came about that this warm-
hearted lad had no one to love. But when a youth is of a
quick, emotional nature, he will seek after an ideal, just as a
man who has a good gun in his hand and likes shooting will
seek for something to aim at. Then this girl came in his way,
one who possessed everything that appeared desirable to one
of his age — before all courage and a sound judgment, moral
purity and great goodness of heart. In addition to this, there
came the dark, mysterious spell which woman in her full
bloom casts upon youth — a feeling in which something of ado-
ration mingles with healthy young sensuousness.
She spoke kindly to him, just as she had done the evening
before, looking at him and nodding to him pleasantly. “ I’m
glad that you’re coming with me as far as Haze Wood, so
that I can have one more good look at you. You'll make a fine
man yet, Jorn, see if you don’t. Don’t be afraid that you'll
fall into your brothers’ evil ways. You've such a firm mouth
and such deep, grave eyes, and you're already tall and lithe.
“When I look at you I picture to myself what you'll be as a
man. It’s a pity. If you were five years older I’d say, “Come
with me!’ but that won’t do now. For if you went with me
142 JORN UHL
now, and afterward came to full manhood and had manly
thoughts, then you’d think me too motherly, and wouldn’t like
to have me at your side. Probably -you’d even think, ‘She
had her wits about her that time at Ringelshérn, when she took
me with her. She wanted to have a young husband as long
as she could.’ One thought’s as dreadful as the other. But
you don’t understand all this now, but you will believe me, for
you are fond of me and know that I speak the truth.”
Haze Farm lay still, a black mass beneath the dark gray
sunless sky. But gradually the clouds were tipped with pale
red from far-off hidden fires, and as they went on farther, talk-
ing in this way, mighty spokes of golden light pushed their way
up behind the forest, mounting high aloft in the sky. And not
long afterward a great red-glowing axle moved above the forest
path.
“ Whatever people may say about me, you must never be-
lieve it, Jorn. I am as pure as you are. If we had remained
together, I should have sunk in your eyes. But if I go away
and you never hear of me again, you will keep me in kindly
remembrance. Yes, Jörn, you will even place me higher than
I am. I will seem to you more beautiful and purer as time
goes on, and it will make you proud and strong to think that
such a girl loved you when you were still so young.
“ You mustn’t go thinking that these experiences of the last
few days will spoil you for good. It seems as if we human
beings cannot go through life guiltless, as if such a thing were
not to be. Fate does not rest till it has made us guilty. The
great thing is, Jorn, for you to cling fast to your faith in what’s
good, in spite of the past, and not to give up your love and
true-heartedness. For to be guilty and then give up the fight
for what’s good means death, but to be guilty and yet go on
struggling for the good, that’s what gives human life it’s real
worth. You have a strong will in you, Jorn, that’s why I
like you so much. What you have lived through in these days
is nothing more for you than a storm is for a ‘sturdy young tree.
The storm will go on sweeping over you for a few weeks
longer. You will feel unhappy and unsettled, and men will
jeer at you, no doubt. Then it will be over, and you will see
how much stronger you are and how much firmer you stand
on your feet, and how much farther you can see.”
This was the way she talked to him — in a quiet, decided
 JORN UHL 143
voice, walking beside him briskly and cheerfully, as if she had
not a care in the world. ‘They looked at each other as they
went along, and her hair that was as fair as his was ruddy
with the morning light of the sky’s fires. He felt that this
was one of the great hours of his life, and that he would never
again have moments full of such joy and such sorrow; for he,
too, now knew that they must part. Beneath her firm, earnest
words the deeper worth and the deeper necessity of this bitter
separation had become clear to him.
She pointed to the sun now in fierce, silent battle with im-
mense, gray, jagged clouds. “ Look, Jörn, it’s all like a great
gray house on the outside. But there’s a glow of light in it,
and the gleam of the fire is streaming out at windows and doors.
‘The master’s in his smithy, and the glowing iron lies broad and
thick on the anvil. Jörn, lad, I have no fear for you. Some-
where or other happiness must be waiting for us yet... .
“ Now, go. Go quickly, Jorn. Don’t let us torture ourselves
with long good-bys.”
He stood with quivering lips, looking at her.
“Its not easy, laddie.” She kissed him affectionately and
impetuously. “ Be a real good man, Jorn.” She took another
long look at him; her eyes had a cheery brightness in them.
“ Tve no fears for you.” And then she went on her way, with
light steps, as though she were going to a festival, and he saw her
pass down the woodland path and disappear among the hazels.
For awhile he stood there with bated breath and eyes full of
tears; then he walked away with long, swift strides. He
found his bundle by the hedge, where he had left it, and put
on his working clothes under the shelter of the embankment.
Then he ran, with long leaps, straight across the heath, sprang
down the slope and brought the horses from the paddock. At
a quick trot he came riding into the farmyard, without stopping
to go into the house, harnessed up the horses, and then went off
and worked the whole day out in the fields.
But he was not to get off so easily. Next day his brothers
saw him, and jeered and laughed at him for having been such
a simpleton as to let the schoolmaster’s girl get the best of him,
and for having afterward behaved as if he had taken leave of
his senses.
By the afternoon, when he rode back to the farm to change
horses, they had heard everything. ‘They told him that he had
144 KORN TUHE
everlastingly disgraced himself and his whole family. It would
have been better, they said, if he had gone right away with
the girl. For the whole village was just buzzing with this
unheard-of story; people said that he had been five nights with
this hussy of a woman. How could they show their noses in
the village after that? But as for him, why, he was ruined
once for all in the eyes of the whole country around.
And that evening, when he was taking a lonely walk through
the field in order to be out of the way of the people in the
house, a red head popped up in a ditch by the wayside, and
Gottfried Cray, who was cutting grass for his goat, called to
him, “ I say, Jorn, father says I’m to tell you that one man’s
weakness is women, and another’s is money. And he says he
doesn’t believe that you’ve chosen the best of the two, neither.
That’s what I’m to tell you, Jörn.”
That night he had a strange dream. He dreamt he was
once more sitting on the stone by the highroad on the heath,
where he had been sitting yesterday morning. And three people
came along the road._ In the middle was an old, venerable man,
and to the left and right of him were his children, a young
man and a young girl. The girl was the one he had walked
with yesterday. The young man he had never seen in his life.
He looked like a farmer serving as a soldier, had a firm, free
step and a noble face, with eyes full of courage and goodness,
and indeed bore a close resemblance to his sister who was walk-
ing on the other side.
As the three went past him, they stopped and began to talk
about him as people talk in the. presence of one who is asleep.
The girl said, “Shall I waken him, so that he may go with
me?” The old man, with a strange, deep look into his breast,
said, “ You can go as far as the edge of the forest with him.
low him the stars in their courses, and show him how the
sun rises, and what birds those are down in the hazel thickets.”
The young man said, “If I may, father, I would fain go with
him, too, for he is my brother.”
“Not yet,” said the old man. “ As soon as he comes into the
wood and it grows dark, then you can go with him. Take
good care of him, children, so that he may reach home safely,
for he has got his best clothes on.” The girl said, “ Shall we
fetch Lisbeth? He’s very fond of her.” “Not yet,” said the
old man, “ for he doesn’t know how to plough properly yet.”
 JORNTUHE 145
The son said, “ Shall we take his father with us?” “ Not yet,”
said the old man, “he must carry him a stage farther. He
must go straight on, pretty slowly for awhile, and quite alone,
and keep on shovelling till the cart’s full.” He heard all this
like one who comes out of sleep and who has not yet his wits
about him. The old man went away. He clearly heard his
steps get fainter along the road. The young man and the girl
remained standing near him by the stone. He forgot them,
however, for of a sudden it was Wieten’s voice he heard saying,
“I would never have thought it possible that our dear Lord
God should be walking in broad daylight on the Wentorf Heath
road. He looks like a Dittmarsh farmer, but you can see who
it is by His walk.”
Thereupon he thought he could fall asleep again with good
conscience, and he did so.
He slept till Wieten woke him and said to him, “ Jorn,
laddie, if you want to get the ploughing of the fallow land
over to-day, it’s time for you to be up. The sun’s already over
Ringelshorn.”’
 CHAPTER X:

THE experiences of those few days affected him for years and
years.
They affected him as a bitterly keen winter, with wonder-
ful nights full of stars, does a young tree. Smitten to the very
core by the frost, it withdraws all its life into itself, and goes
on living in a silent world half-way between wake and sleep,
between weird terrors and sweetest dreams. Little by little,
when the sun flatters it, and comes and lays his cheek caress-
ingly against the cold bark, it gradually thaws and grows
cheerful again. So, too, did this youth lock up in his own
breast all the beauty and all the sadness that had passed into his
soul that early morning yonder in the Haze Woods. He closed
both eyes and lips so as to be undisturbed within. He grew
quiet and taciturn. Some, who were fools, said that he was
stupid. But those who met him in these years, and looked into
those shy, deep-set, earnest eyes, knew, if they were men of any
insight or fineness of feeling, that they were looking as it were
into an old country church, with its dim twilight and darkness,
and golden shafts of light striking sheer down through high
windows; and right at the back they saw high, silent tapers
burning upon the golden gleaming altar.
He was without friends and without books, thrown quite
upon himself. Thus did he come to deck out the chamber of
his soul with manifold strange forms, after his own heart.
Just as Jan Reepen did, who was Volkmar Harsen’s man.
He was a philosopher or a poet, or may be a. good-for-nothing,
who knows? He painted the whitewashed walls of his bare
room from top to bottom, finally lying on his stomach or
standing upon a chair, with everything, as he said, that there
is in the world — of every species one. ‘There stood man and
every kind of beast. He even attempted to portray the ele-
ments, and the heavenly bodies, and the good and wicked angels,
146
 JORN UHL 147
and the Holy Trinity. And for each and everything he found
a distinctive form. It has never been clearly found out what
was in him, for he died of inflammation of the brain, after
talking about his pictures, all that last night, in wild and
beautiful phantasies.
And in the same motley did Jörn Uhl now fit out the cham-
bers of his mind.
And many a farmer’s son there is in Germany who has to
go through college and university in obedience to the will of
some austere father, and finds it bitterly hard to have to leave
the old farm when the vacation is at an end! It will even
happen that the farmer finds his great son blubbering to him-
self in some remote corner of the stables, and that he has to
use the whip to rid the farm of him. Back at school, sitting
at his desk, for days he is present only in body; his spirit is
still wandering among the great barns and halls of the home-
stead. The grumpy tones of his religious instructor — for
many religious instructors are grumpy when they ought to be
cheery — make him prick up his ears and think of the good
fat swine at home; and when tne rector thumps the desk to
show the measured beat of some Latin ode, he’ll think on the
beat of the flails on the threshing-floors in winter. If Fate
means well by him it will set him down afterward in some
place where he has the country near at hand, and where he can
take a walk of a Sunday with his son’s hand in his, and stand
at the hedge-gate, and in winter go through the full stable of
some farmer friend, who despises his talk about farming, and
will think to himself, “ Why didn’t my father let me be a
king? As it is, I have to be a mere servant.”
But if Fate is hard on him, if he must earn his daily bread
cooped up between the high walls of some great city, he will
try in his distress to start a little farm for himself, and begin
with a couple of pigeons, and then buy a hutch for a few
rabbits, and at last he’ll come home with a goat, and get into
hot water with the landlord and have all sorts of worry.
There are farmers’ sons again — and in this Dittmarsh land,
and up here among this broody race of Frisians and Saxons, they
are not so rare — who have a strong impulse toward learning
and knowledge, but are obliged to follow the iron will of their
father and stay at home to plough. These youths are almost
unhappier than the others. “ Father,” says the lad, “I want
148 TORN “WEE
to study.” But the farmer replies, “ You shall study farming.”
For the father is frightened of the expense of sending his son
to college, or he thinks, perchance, that a farmer’s life is the
best thing in the world; or else he thinks it’s a boy’s whim that
will pass by like a wearisome rainy day if you give it time; or
he has a grudge against books. “Tut! lad! What are you
thinking about? Wishing to moon over yon books all the day?
Hold your tongue, I say, and go over to the smith’s and just
ask if the ploughshare’s ready.”
And so the lad has to grow up on the farm, in the stables,
and behind the plough; to-day with a hay-fork, to-morrow
with the reins in his hands the whole day long.
And during his work his restless spirit begins to fret and
fume and drive him to and fro. Like some captive panther,
full of the remembrance of its forest freedom, that paces with-
out a moment’s peace up. and down, up and down, behind the
bars of its cage, comfortless in its vain despair, his soul knows
no rest, gazing ceaselessly between the palings of the fence that
imprisons him, gazing and longing. Left without a teacher or
guide, his mind muses and broods, and hutches with the most
strange and crack-brained fancies. “This race of Frisians has a
peculiar gift and bent for philosophy and mathematics, and it’s
not long ere the adventurous skater comes to smooth, bare ice,
and likely enough finds places where under the dark transparent
covering yawn green and immeasurable depths, in which he
sees multitudes of forms he can neither master nor explain.
Then he’ll go on a shy, unwilling errand to the bookseller’s in
the town, and ask for a book about “ Mankind, how did it
have its beginnings, and what’s to be the end of it?” or
“Whether there’s a book about the calculation of all sorts of
dimensions and the construction of the universe.” ‘Then he’ll
sit late into the night poring over the book by.the dim light
of the stable lamp, and puzzle his brain, and think he under-
stands it, living in chaotic worlds of thought, and getting deeper
and deeper into the bog. “Those who live round about him
don’t understand him, and his own brother calls him “ the
Latin-smitten ploughman.” He has no eyes for the girls who
are coming into blossom around him, and who cast their
glances on him, or if he puts out his hand to catch one of them
some day, he is as awkward about it as a puppy that has got
into a fowl-yard. His eyes are turned more and more to what
 TORN UHL 149
is within him. For there he can see such strange things. At
last he sees there clearly written in staring red, the words,
“Seek Death. Thy place is not here among men.” Then
people bring the body of the farmer’s son to the grave with
much funeral pomp, according to the size of his farmer’s farm,
and neither trouble themselves nor wonder much more about
him, but say, “ He just went clean daft wi’ thae ideas o’ his!”
And while still in the churchyard they begin talking about
rents and the price of wheat again.

A stranger had come to the Uhl, asking after remnants of

antique furniture. He chanced to see the old chest standing
in the stable, and made an offer for it, but was sent away.
Jorn, who had noticed what covetous eyes the dealer had cast
upon the box, now examined it for the first time in his life,
and as he liked the carvings and workmanship of it, he cleaned
it up one afternoon, put the lock in order, and brought it into
his room and laid his Sunday clothes in it. He also kept his
psalter in it, and a well-thumbed old reading-book of Klaus
Harms, as well as another old book with yellowed and tattered
cover — Littrow’s “ Wonders of the Heavens.” ‘This book had
come from Haze Farm with Jörn’s mother, and was a kind
of popular astronomy. Nothing else was kept in the chest.
When Jorn had finished work for the day, he would sit in
the old Saxon armchair with its straw-woven seat, and put his
legs up on the chest and light his short pipe, and look around
his little room with its bare, whitewashed walls and little
looking-glass, and gaze through the window into the apple
orchard and puff away at his pipe, drawing a very long, grave
face the while, for was he not at work completing the building
and fitting out of his soul?
He had no thoughts of marrying. Tut! Tut! all that was
now past. He had gathered more experience than many an
old man in that branch of wisdom. He thought to himself,
though, that it must be a beautiful thing to win for one’s self
one of these remarkable creatures with their melting eyes and
loose, lithe limbs; but such a thing was not for him. He was
just a strange and wonderful exception. It was sad to confess
it, but it was true. For had it not been confirmed by his
experience? The girl who had been his comrade in his boy-
hood was now a stranger to him; she had looked down patron-
150 JORN UHL
izingly on him, and had run away from him with fear in her
eyes, when she had read in his face the feelings that the other
had aroused in him. But this other one, before whom he had
stood in such wild commotion, full of hot, new-born desires, had
turned into a saint. His blood rushed to his face with shame
when he thought of these two girls. And he resolved never
again to sue for a woman’s love. He made up his mind never
again to enter that specially woful domain of human life; he
would remain a bachelor all his days. ‘‘ Thiess is one, too,”
he said. “ It runs in the family.”
So that was done with, then, once for all. The daughter
of a neighboring farmer sometimes came by with the milking
yoke on her shoulders when he was out a-field with his team.
She always wished him good day, and would fain have loitered
for a word or two with him. Of a Sunday afternoon she
would come to see Elsbe, and pass through the apple orchard
underneath his window and nod to him, and look at him with
kindly, sensible eyes. She was a comely, cheery lass. But
when he saw her coming he would knit his brows like one
who has hard and knotty problems to think about, or like a
man of threescore years or so who has no time and no interest
for girls. And yet at times it would occur to him: “ Strange,
what a firm brisk step she has;”’ or, of another girl, “ She is tall
and slim, and quick and sprightly as a three-year-old mare;”
or of another, “ Bonnie she looks, with her hips a-swing beneath
the milking yoke.” But not a jot farther. Away with the
thought, away with it from his breast! Those are the creatures
that bring a man nothing but unrest and loss of time, and the
jeers of his fellows.
But once or twice this happened to him — both times it was
on a Sunday. He had spent the whole afternoon doing noth-
ing, and toward evening had gone for a walk across the fields.
And somehow his thoughts had got out of his control, and
made off to the Sand-lass. He lived through it all again. He
was so deep in his dreaming and saw the beautiful, tall form
and her serene eyes and heard her deep voice all so clearly,
that he didn’t come back to reality till he all of a sudden
heard his own voice and noticed that he was speaking to her
with swift, persuasive words. He was standing leaning against
a hedge, and had no idea how he had got there. He pulled him-
self together, and the blood rushed to his face. For the rest of
 JORN UHL 151
the evening, however, his peace of mind was gone. He jumped
on a horse and rode to the Foreland after the foals that were
grazing there, and came back, and walked through the apple
orchard, going from tree to tree, feeling the trunks and scraping
moss from the bark and looking up into the branches and
smiling; and then he felt himself unhappy again, and wanted
something, and knew not what, and felt ashamed of himself, and
thought of going away out into the wide world and plunging
into some great whirl of life, into some task or fight, that he
might escape from this thing which was bringing him into such
turmoil and discord.
And in the night he could not tell whether he was dreaming
or awake, the girl came into his room in the full splendor
of her beauty and strength, as she had bent over the table to
him that night, and just as then, she now again came close to
him, and was tender and loving, and told him of her love and
longing for him. ‘Then he kissed her, in a kiss so long and
vehement, a kiss more and more glowing and sweet, till the
excitement woke him. Then he felt full of shame of himself.
For days he went about his work with scowling face, and spoke
with no one and was specially unkind in his manner toward
Elsbe.
And one day when he had brought a load of corn into town,
and was on the way through the street to the dealer’s office,
he saw, in a paper shop, a small picture of two young women
sitting right and left on the side of a marble well. They were
tall and powerfully built, and even the one that was almost
naked had a fine and good-natured face. There was something
high-bred and noble in their looks, and he could not understand
how they had come to let themselves be painted in this guise.
Under the picture he saw written in Latin letters, “ Sacred and
Profane Love,” by Titian. For a long time he stood looking
at it, and then made up his mind and went into the shop,
where to his no slight embarrassment he found a young woman
who asked what he wanted. He assumed a proud and careless
look and pointed to the picture with the end of his whip, and
finally purchased it for a few shillings. He hid it carefully,
as a great treasure, between his coat and vest, and took it home
and put it away right at the bottom of the old chest; and of
a Sunday afternoon, when he sat smoking and thinking in his
room, he would take it out and place it on the lid of the box
152 JORN UHL
opposite where he was sitting, and gaze at it untiringly, and
was always in fear lest some one should come in and discover
his secret.
Jorn Uhl was done with women-folk then, but he found it
no such easy matter to be done with the world. For the world
is a lady a man cannot turn his back upon so easily. He may
turn away, but she is still there; he turns in the other direction,
and there she is again. He may shut his eyes, but she'll buzz
and screech in his ears; he may close his ears, but she'll play her
pranks and cut her capers before his eyes. He must choose
which side he’ll be on, whether he'll keep peace with her or
pick a quarrel with her. As for Jorn, his age and his mood at
this time, as well as the argumentative stock to which he be-
longed, impelled him to take sides against her.
“ Good dame,” he said, “ you’re old and you're ugly. Every-
thing about you, from the crown of your head to the sole of
your foot, is cracked and crazy. Id have you know that I’m
Jorn Uhl of Wentorf.” . . . He had drawn his eyebrows down
into such a scowl that he couldn’t see the greatness and wonder
of things; and carried his nose so high that he lost sight of
all their beauty.
No living thing, whether it crept or few, whether it pranked
in gay robes or sat in mourning, whether it wore coat or
petticoat, whether it was round or square, escaped his judg-
ment. There was not a thing in the world, be it bird or
beast, round or square, grave or gay, male or female, that could
escape his stern and righteous censorship. And therefore he saw,
looming in the distance, the time when he would have to con-
fess that the world had no place in it for such as he. A clean
separation once for all between him and the world he resolved
was the only thing possible. In the solitude of his own room
and of Wieten’s quarters, he made up his mind to be a servant,
for the present to his father, then afterward to his brothers, but
to make them pay him a yearly wage. What he earned in this
way he was going to put into the town Savings Bank, of which
he had heard said it was thoroughly safe. Afterward, when he
was old, he would buy a lonely little farm and live with Wieten,
far from the turmoil of the world, till he died.
Now, if the world and all the arrangements of Nature and
of man found no favor in Jörn’s eyes, it could not be expected
 JORN UHL 153
that He who had made the heavens and the earth would get off
lightly either.
Granted that Jorn went to church. He had done so for the
last six months; for he saw that the thrifty, the sober, and
the people who were a little old-fashioned did so, and he had
made up his mind just to be a man after that style, too. Old
Dreyer went to church, and he, as every one knew, had begun
as a farm-laborer, and was now a wealthy man. And Reder,
the old plumber, went to church, though he had the name of
being hard-hearted and miserly; but it was to his credit that
he still wore the coat he had gone to the sacrament in fifty
years before. And Thomas Lucht’s wife, who left the com-
mon bedroom in which she and her children slept, when her
husband came home from his wild drinking and card-playing.
She, too, sat every Sunday with tight-pressed lips in her family
pew. These and others like them, venerable and thrifty folk,
went to church. But the young people, and the wild spirits,
and those who liked to show off, did not. Jörn Uhl wished to
feel himself among the decent folk, and he wanted to show it
somehow in outward form, that’s why he went to church.
He went to church, but found it mortally weary. In the
first place he took offence, and could not get over it, at the
fact that the man who preached in the church on Sundays was
known in all the country round as a hard drinker and in-
veterate card-player. Although Dreyer had said to him, “ It
doesn’t matter about the man, Jorn, or the sort of life he leads,
so much as whether he preaches God’s word truly or not.”
But Jorn couldn’t persuade himself to believe it. Apart from
that, however, it was this so-called Gospel that the sturdy little
pastor proclaimed that went right against the grain with him.
For the preacher said: “ All that we do and all that we say
is evil from our youth up, and whosoever puts his faith in his
life and his works is everlastingly damned.” And “ Glory be
to the Trinity for ever and ever,” and “God’s Son, born from
everlasting,” and “ Only believe and thou shalt be saved.” ‘That
was about the contents of the sermons he gave.
Jorn Uhl listened attentively from his seat, and failed entirely
to discover any connection between these doctrines and the
wild doings in the village, or his own ploughing and harrowing.
He wondered to himself that God’s word could be so thoroughly
unpractical. According to his idea, it would have to run, one
154 JORN UHL
verse after the other, something like this: “ A farmer who
doesn’t weed the docks and thistles out of his land shall not
be saved.” “He who by hard work and an honest, sober life
doubles his property, will come out top.” “ For every evening
that a young man wastes at the public-house, he must lose a
year in heaven.” And so on. Thats the way he would fain
have rewritten the Bible.
Sometimes when the little parson read from the altar or
from the pulpit the allotted portions of Scripture, in a chant-
ing, wavy sort of voice, Jorn seemed to hear something different
from what he heard in the sermon that followed. He seemed
to be listening to some old deep wisdom and great strong
thoughts plucked right out of the heart of human life. He was
like a man lying on the edge of a forest surrounded by the
humming and twitter of birds and insects, and hearing far off
in the depths of the wood a fountain flowing with its full, clear,
heavy note of waters. And with the unwisdom of his youth
and his natural heaviness of mind it never occurred to him to
read through St. Mark or St. Luke and see whether the little
parson wasn’t suppressing one part of the gospel or adulterating
another.
“You must always sit in the same seat, Jorn!” old Dreyer
had said. “ For sixty years I have every Sunday sat in my
place in the third row, not counting the year I was away on
service in the Danish war.”
So Jérn Uhl sat there every Sunday in the same place. And
so also it came about that the only reason why Jörn thought
anything of God was because it seemed to him that God had
something old-fashioned about him.

In the spring of the following year, however, something took

place that was like a refreshing fall of dew upon the world
within him. And it was good that it was so. For his finer
nature was in danger of perishing of drought, like young pas-
tureland in April when the east wind has been blowing for four
weeks at a stretch.
It happened in this way:
At the time when the fields were being emptied of their corn,
certain hounds went wild. Their owners had neither been
sober nor clever enough to bring up even a dog. And so these
 JORN UHL iss
dogs passed their time wild in the fields, and the farmers to
whom they belonged passed theirs at the inn.
It soon became known that sheep had been torn to pieces
and fowl-yards harried. The workmen’s children who had to
go along the Kirchensteig on their way to school walked to
and fro in fear and trembling. One day one of them came
breathless and terror-stricken into the village, saying the dogs
had been after her. Nothing was done, however, to put a stop
to the evil; the owners of the dogs laughed, and nobody ventured
to take action against them, for they were the foremost people
in the village, were members of the Savings Bank committee,
and could repay both good and evil that was done them. Thus
it happened that one Sunday morning the Kamp children, who
were going along the Kirchensteig, saw the dogs worrying a
calf belonging to one of the Kamp workmen. The workman’s
children began to weep and cry, saying that they had nothing
but this one calf, and got two big lads to go with them to
call the dogs off. But the boys were afraid. So the two
little children, in their terror lest their calf should be killed,
advanced alone, thinking in their childish way that their father
would beat them unless they saved the calf. When the children,
sobbing with fear, came near them, the hounds did not make
off, but came toward the little girl who was trying to get near
the calf and kept on clapping her hands and calling to it with
terms of childish affection. When the two big boys saw this
their courage left them and they ran away, shouting, toward the
village, which was a long way off. The two children, however,
stood there alone, and the dogs began to play with them. They
crouched, sprang forward, and then drew back and crouched
again, and tugged at the children’s clothes till one of the
children fell and something terrible seemed about to happen.
Just then Jorn Uhl came out of a neighboring bean-field in
his Sunday clothes, and caught sight of what was taking place.
He clenched his teeth and thought, “These cursed louts!
Has it come to this, that the village children are to be eaten
by their dogs?” His face flushed with anger and his eyes
were on fire. Running with long strides he hurried to the spot.
One dog made off. The other in fury, with hair bristling with
rage, showed fight, and got the full force of Jörn’s foot in its
side. Howling, and with foaming mouth, it sprang at him,
just as he was stooping toward the child. The brute struck
156 JORN UHL
him just as he was straightening himself, and, as he had no
good hold on anything, its weight and impetus brought him to
his knees. With a firm grip of his big, bony hands he pressed
the furious brute to his breast, and with the utmost effort kept
it from his throat, which it was wildly struggling to reach,
contorting its body fearfully and foaming at the mouth. Jörn’s
face was white, and it was only with extreme difficulty that
he held his own. As soon as he felt himself tirm on his knees,
he uttered a wild cry, clutched the hound’s throat with a chok-
ing grip, bending his whole body forward, and, in his rage, broke
its neck. For many a year afterward this deed was talked about
by the villagers. He himself, too, in later years, when happier
circumstances had brought the genial Thiessen side of his nature
to light, was fonder of speaking about this adventure near the
bean stubble than about that other terrible experience — the
day when he stood bent over the gun-carriage, hurling pieces
of jagged iron against people who, as he added in a softer
voice, had done no harm to him personally and were no worse
than himself.
When the story was brought to the farm, next day, by the
school-children, he noticed with what eyes of wonder the milk-
maid looked at him. And the stableman related that the lads
in the school playground had had a great argument as to how
Jorn had managed to kneel and clutch the dog as he had done,
and everywhere groups of boys were standing around one of
their fellows, who was on his knees, showing the others the
grip. And the teacher had had some trouble in saving his
yellow-haired Fido from their clutches.
A week later he again went across the fields to the Kirchen-
steig, and, walking toward the church, he overtook the Kamp
children, who were also on their way. They stepped aside from
the path into the grass and looked up at him. But the little girl
whom he had saved put her hand mutely into his, and went
trotting along by his side as far as the church door without
saying a word. He went in and heard a sermon about faith, and
how so-called good works and a so-called honest life were
mostly suspicious things, a mere brilliant sort of vice.
As he was leaving the church, Rose, the old tailor, a man
renowned for his gift of silence all over the country-side, came
hastening after him. He limped along at Jérn’s side, for he
was already very old, made a few remarks about the weather,
 JORN- UHL 157
then pulled up suddenly, and began, in his shy way, to fumble
his soft fingers, tailor-fashion, over the front of his companion’s
coat and vest.
“ Bring the jacket in to me, Jorn,” he said, “ you can see the
marks of the beastie’s claws still on it. Ill put it to rights
with a little silk. PI do it for nothing, Jörn. . . . But, bless
me, what was it I was going to say, Jorn? It doesn’t so much
matter about the jacket, I was thinkin’, Jorn, as about the
heart that beats under it, and that must just belong to God.”
Jorn Uhl did not know what to say to this; for where do
mere laymen, Pd like to know, talk about such things in our
country? ‘To talk about God and the soul is the function of
the parson in his pulpit.
“ I wanted to help the children,” Jorn said, “ I was so furious
with those accursed dogs.”
“You must just do everything in God’s name, Jorn, laddie,
for His service.”
That was beyond Jorn Uhl’s comprehension. “To tell you
the truth, I only thought of the little mite that was standing in
the field screaming like one possessed.”
“ This time ye did what was right on your own hook, laddie,
and that was fine. But if ye want to do what’s right and
good your whole life long, ye’ll have just to shake hands wi’
the Almighty, and do it out o’ love ọ Him. Ye must not do
it out o’ anger wi’ the dogs, or because ye can’t bear to see the
children’s terror, but because God was standing beside ye and
looking at ye and sayin’, ‘ Lend a hand, Jorn Uhl,’ ‘ Save the
child!’ ‘Grip thae dogs, Jorn Uhl.’ ”
“Oh, yes. . . . But it seems to me all one whether I do
it with or without God.”
“Not by a long way, Jorn. . . . For see here, now: If ye
do it on your own responsibility ye’ll be proud, and fancy your-
self, and become cocked up and perhaps a bit of a fool. Neither
will ye always do what’s good nor just hit on what’s right,
neither. And ye won’t have any real joy o what ye’ve done,
because ye haven’t done it for His sake, but for your own and
other folk’s. But if ye put yourself on God’s side and do every-
thing for His sake, then ye’ll be fine and humble, and ye’ll
laugh and rejoice and know for certain when ye’re doing what’s
right, and ye’ll have understanding for everything, and will be
able to defy and to rejoice at the whole world. Our hearts
168 JORN UHL
on God’s side, and our hands against ‘the dogs, and against
everything bad i’ the world; — that’s Chreestianity.”
“ Well, there’s some sense in that,” said Jörn, “to stand by
God and do good; it’s not a bad idea, it seems to me; but .. .”
“ Its what the Saviour did, always on God’s side and always
against the dogs. Only that at last there were too many dogs
against Him, and they dragged Him down and tore Him to
pieces. What else did He try to do all His life long, Jorn, than
to be on God’s side and fight for the good through thick and
thin?”
“ That’s the thing,” Jörn assented, “ so to say in league with
God.”
“ For faith and loyalty’s sake, Jörn.”
“ Just so, for faith and loyalty’s sake to take sides against
everything bad, against dogs and idlers, against drunkards and
bad ploughmen.” À
“ Right, laddie, and first of all against one’s own short-
comings.”
“That’s clear,” said Jörn Uhl.
“ D’ye see?” said the old man. “ And bring your packet in
to me to-morrow, Jörn, and IIl do it for nothing.”
He nodded his head to Jorn several times, and went away
limping along the church path, still nodding.
It suddenly occurred to Jörn Uhl: “That’s the man you
should ask what he thinks about the sermons that are preached
in there.” He turned around. But the old tailor had settled
into a gentle trot and was just disappearing around the end
of the churchyard.
When Wieten Klook next morning asked for Jérn’s clothes
to brush them as usual, he told her how the old man had offered
to mend the coat for nothing.
“Thats a strange customer, yon. What did he have to
say? ” she asked.
Jörn looked puzzled and was gazing into space. “ It was
a bit windy at the church corner; if I understood him properly,
he said something about the best way to lead one’s life being
to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for other people.”
“ Hes a queer fish, Jorn. God be with us! the old man is
goin’ completely daft.”
“ Why do you say that, Wieten? ” said Jörn. “Hes hard-
working and sober; nobody can say a word to his discredit;
 JORN UHL 159
he is always cheerful and kindly, and you know how he made
little Dirksen’s confirmation suit for him for nothing.”
“Yes, but what’s the good of all that? The man has never
put by a penny for himself. He works the whole day. But
has he got any property or anything else to show for it all?”
She thrust the bundle into his hands, and said, “ And now clear
out of this, you and your jacket.”
In the corridor he thought: “ Now that’s three different
ways of looking at things. What’s preached in church no
sensible man can believe in. What the old tailor says has
sense in it. But what Wieten says has sense in it, too. The
tailor says, Work for others in God’s name. Wieten says,
Work for yourself in your own name.”
But suddenly he stood still, turned around, and returned to
the kitchen. She was standing with her back to the door, work-
ing. “I say, Wieten,” said Jorn, “ you make out the tailor
talks rubbish. Well, just tell me then how it is about your own
case? Here you are, working for nothing from morning to
night, in this lonely, dreary house, where three drunkards have
everything their own way, and you have to plague yourself
with the stubborn girls from morning to night. How does
that fit in with your argument? ”
She turned around sharply and looked at him with aston-
ishment. He now for the first time spoke like a man who
thinks for himself, and this change in him came as such a sur-
prise to her that she could not for the moment realize it.
“ Laddie,” she said, “ don’t begin prating. Don’t fash yoursel’
about other folk’s business, and don’t try to be too knowing.”
So he walked away, thinking these matters over to himself.

His outer life was in truth one of continual toil. His father
would say: “ There’s too much of the Thiessens in him, and
he’ll never be anything better than a hired servant for his
brothers.” One day ploughing, next day sowing, another work-
ing hard at home, that was how his weeks were spent. The
first to start work of a morning and the last to stop at night,
with never a holiday and hardly a Sunday to himself. His eyes
would shut of themselves every evening as soon as supper was
over, and he would go to bed early and sleep without a
dream. ‘
His figure shot up tall and gaunt, and his walk grew stolid
160 TORN OPE
and heavy from following the plough in the heavy land. His
sinews grew strong as iron. It was no trouble to him to go
between the handles of his plough with his four horses all day
long, turning furrow after furrow without a pause for rest.
Although he was not quite eighteen yet, he could at wheat-
harvest pitch three sheaves without trouble instead of one, if
his fork happened to catch hold of them. His shoulders grew
broad, widening out from beneath the armpits as if set up with
bastions, and his face grew bronze with the sun and the salt
sea breezes. His manner and speech had that slow decisiveness
and plod in them which is peculiar to slow and brooding minds.
His church-going became less frequent; but every second and
third Sunday he still put on his blue, well-fitting suit, and
walked silently and proudly, with head upright, to church.
That autumn’s events had a good effect upon him. For many
a year now he had thought, “ Be diligent, sober, thrifty, and
follow your nose till you die — that’s the whole of the joke,
nothing more.” But the conversation with the tailor, and the
reflections and comparisons that followed it, had made him open
his eyes a little, and look at things a little more closely. He
discovered all of a sudden that the matter wasn’t quite so simple.
There were other things that were good to have besides honesty
and money. His heart opened out a little, and he became
gentler and less harsh.
He conceived a quiet affection for some of the workmen’s
children from Kamp, and would sometimes of a Sunday
afternoon sit with them on the bank of the Au and whittle
willow twigs into whistles for them, and help the smallest of
them to make chains out of the stems of dandelions. In win-
ter, however, he would keep apples stored away in straw at
the bottom of his box, and laugh at the devices of the children
to draw his attention by coughing or louder talking when they
passed the farm on their way to school, for they didn’t venture
to make a direct request to him for the fruit. He looked to
them so tall and earnest. Sometimes, of a wintry evening, he
brought out his Littrow, and looked at the maps of the stars
in the appendix, and went out into the apple-garden on starlight
nights, seeking out the different stars and noting their names.
But when he discovered that he was becoming absorbed, and
more greedy for knowledge, and when he noticed how the
delight of learning began to go to his head like wine, he drew
 JÖRN UHL 161
back terrified, and put the book away again in the box, right
at the very bottom under the straw where the apples lay.
He sealed up and stored away the discoveries he had made
about men and things, as the shipman stores away his cargo in
the dark hold of the vessel. J6rn’s cargo of experiences, too,
seemed non-existent, without importance and without a pur-
pose, but it was only hidden away. It had enriched his soul
and lay there as part of his wealth, and made the ship sail
deeper and safer.
Thus one experience followed the other, one being after
another came into his life. “They approached him, gave him
a portion of their knowledge and experience, and went away
again.
 CHAPTER XI.

In the following spring, with the astuteness of an older man,

he came to the conclusion that it would be best to offer him-
self for service in the militia without further delay; he would
then have a free path before him, after he had served the pre-
scribed time in the army. The general looked with satisfaction
at the big, broad-shouldered youth standing naked before him
for examination, and asked, good-humoredly, ‘ Horse Guards
or Artillery?” Jorn bethought himself a moment, and said,
“ Artillery.” The members of the examining commission were
greatly astonished. ‘‘ Why?” asked the general. “ I’m better
suited for it.’ “ Why?” asked the general again. A shrewd
look came over Jérn’s face, and he said, “ It seems to me that
the Artillery are a more homely sort of men, and more necessary
for the country into the bargain.” The general nodded ap-
provingly, and dismissed him.
Bailie Eisohn — the same man who used to drink and gamble
with the farmers, and whose only child had afterward to go
begging and died in poverty — assumed a knowing look, and
said, “ He’s one of the old stock of the Uhls, but he’s a poor
specimen of them, general. Theres no gumption in him.”
“Nonsense,” said the general; “Pll answer for that fellow.
I’m a fair judge of faces, Mr. Bailie, and have a very good
idea how different people have turned out after all my expe-
rience in times of peace and two campaigns.”
So that autumn, as soon as the harvest was in, Jérn went to
Rendsburg. Geert Dose, the son of old Dose who used to live
at Dingerdonn, was told off to the same battery as Jörn, and
went with him.
Rendsburg was at that time still a quiet country town. And
even had it been as full of life as Hamburg and the finest city
in all the land, what would it have mattered to these farmers’
sons? What concern had they with the world? As for Jérn,
162
 PORN UHL 163
he was there to learn what was to be learnt, and to obey what-
ever orders might be given him, for three years. In his spare
time he could do what he liked. Then his thoughts flew away
home to the fields and the stables of the Uhl.
He made capital headway in his military work. There could
not have been a better soldier. He was hardy, shrewd, and
obedient. A corporal fresh from the Military School, who
was always talking about the “ unlicked stockish Holsteiners,”
would fain have made Jérn Uhl into a footstool for the mag-
nificence of his young authority. But on the fourth or fifth
day Lieutenant Hax, whom his men called “ Long John,”
happened to get wind of the corporal’s intention, and had a short
talk with him, and that was the end of it.
Next day, when Long John was passing through the stables,
he met Jorn Uhl carrying two buckets of water. ‘‘ Uhl, where
in the world do you get that long, heavy step of yours? I’ve
never seen such a young fellow with a walk like that all my
born days. Looks as if you were carrying heavy iron rails.”
Jorn set the buckets down with a clatter and stood there stiff
as a poker. “I’ve had to work hard ever since I was a child,”
he said.
“ Commenced ploughing when you were a two-year-old, eh?”
“Yes, and it’s heavy land down there.”
“ I come from near Itzehoe,” said the lieutenant, “ know those
parts well, and have been in Wentorf, too. Your father has
a big farm down there, I fancy?”
“ At your service, sir. But I’ve had to work.”
“ Oh, so the old chap didn’t?”
4 No.”

“ Nor your brothers, either? Eh?”

(£3 No.”

“ You’ve got such a — what shall I say? — such a grave look

on your face, Uhl. Can’t understand it in a young fellow
like you.”
“Tell go ill with the ploughing, down at the Uhl, this
autumn,” said Jorn.
Lieutenant Hax frowned slightly, but said nothing. From
that day forth he treated Jörn with consideration and esteem,
and showed it by expecting more work from him than from
any other man in the battery, and by always entrusting him
with the most difficult tasks.
164 JORN UHL
Jérn’s comrades at first showed a certain dislike to him.
They had heard that he was the son of a big marsh farmer,
and were inclined to take his quiet, reserved way for pride.
And, as a matter of fact, he was not without a touch of stolid
yeoman’s pride. And this feeling of reserve was enhanced at
first by a certain coarse tone that prevailed in the mess-room
to which he belonged. ‘This was due to the presence of two
or three braggart fellows, who had succeeded in getting a name
among their comrades as “men of the world” by dint of con-
stant prate about their experiences and adventures. As a village
boy and son of a farmer, Jörn was indeed not unacquainted
with a great deal of what these two heroes talked about; cer-
tain other facts he had already dimly guessed at; and more-
over there was a strongly sensuous side to his nature; but all
these things lay hid in the most secret depths of his soul, and
guarded with most scrupulous conscience. It was intolerable
to him, and caused him pain, almost physical, to hear these
braggart fellows discussing these holy secrets of nature, amid
their bursts of hilarity. And as he listened to their talk,
moreover, it became clearer and clearer to him how deeply and
hopelessly his brothers at home were enmeshed in passion and
licentiousness.
So while such jests were going around, he used to sit there
with the same expression on his face as that with which he had
listened to his brothers’ speeches, and making no concealment
of his disgust and contempt.
One evening the two heroes tried to bring him to book for
this demeanor. But with the astuteness of one who has all his
life had to do with Nature, Jorn had foreseen some such quarrel,
and had made sure of getting his old schoolmate Geert Dose
to stand by him in case of need. So the two heroes, who had
only reckoned on having one opponent to deal with, found
themselves confronting two, and got a very sound thrashing.
From that time forth, although the mess-room tone remained
rough, it lost its downright coarseness.
Jérn’s comrades did not like him at first. They mistook
the zeal and diligence with which he carried out his work from
day to day for toadyism, as if he were merely striving to gain
the favor of his superiors. But they soon found out that his
zeal was nothing more than simple honesty. "They saw that
he was thoroughly reliable, and that he was no self-seeker;
 JORN UHL 165
and when they heard from Geert Dose what a hard time he
had had in his youth, they looked up to him with respect, as
young sailors do to the comrade who has made the longest
voyage. He became a kind of arbitrator and umpire among
them, and many a mother’s son of them found in him and his
sharp, terse decisions a good helper in times of distress.
“ I say, Uhl, have you heard the news? Rückert has bolted,
and has been caught again.”
“ What does the fellow want to bolt for? When a horse is
drawing the plough, it mustn’t kick; that’s clear. What does
he want to bolt for, if he’s a real soldier? Discipline is dis-
cipline.”
“ Uhl, you’re a real sensible chap, but you’re a bit too sen-
sible.”
Jorn Uhl sucked at his short pipe, and said, “I don’t know
how it is that I can’t laugh like other folk. It seems to me
as if my face has been frozen stiff sometime or other, and I
can’t get it into working order again. But when you others
laugh, I like listening to you mightily. Come, tell us a story,
one of you. You, Geert, tell us a yarn about Lanky Sott.”
“T say ... you know Plank, don’t you... he’s in his
third year now, he’s gone and got that little fair-haired girl into
trouble — you know, the one in service at the doctor’s. She
was turned away from there yesterday, and she’s been to the
canteen wanting to speak with Plank. But he shammed illness
and... Do you know him, Uhl?”
“Hes a lout,” said Jorn; “if he’s ridden the little mare too
deep into the horse-pond, he’ll have to get her out again. We
mustn’t let him have a moment’s peace till he confesses he’s
engaged to her, and invites us to the betrothal. Let’s tell him
weve clubbed together and are going to shout a cask of beer
the night we congratulate him. When he hears that, he’ll get
an idea of what we think about the matter.”
Geert Dose was often the butt of the mess-room jests; it
was said he had learnt next to nothing at school, and, besides,
he could look as if he were a regular simpleton. But his
mother was one of the real, genuine Crays, a daughter of the
well-known crook-backed Stoffer Cray.
Stoffer Cray, it must be explained, was not a crook-back
by birth. In his youth he had done a lot of smuggling and
had often led the coast-guardsmen a dance, by disguising him-
166 JORN UHL
self as a hunchback. At last it happened that one of the
coast-guardsmen came by his death down there in the Fens, and
folk said that Stoffer Cray had decoyed him there and pushed
him into the water. From that time forward he gave up
smuggling, and grew into a silent, close-fisted man, and grad-
ually, from being erect and straight as a young ash, he got the
carriage and gait of a hunchback. For many a year he was
a familiar figure in the villages, as he trotted along by the side
of his dogs and their little cart. This old man was Geert
Dose’s grandfather, and it was from him that Geert had got
his quick wits.
He had been in service at the house of a big farmer in the
Marsh, a man who was very sleepy, stupid, and inclined to
grumble. The youth managed to ingratiate himself with his
master through his kind and obliging ways, and had made the
most of the farmer’s good-will toward him. So he had passed
a pleasant time in his service and had played many a merry
trick at this dull-witted loon’s expense. His comrades would
sometimes get him to tell them one or other of these tricks for
the general amusement.
He sat on the edge of his straw mattress, cast a glance around
the room, and began: “ I remember a yarn about a Geest-carl.
. - - Do you know what a Geest-carl is? Well, a Geest-carl
is a man who, toward winter or so, quits his hungry village
up there on the heath and goes down to the marsh and threshes
corn for some farmer and comes back home in spring. And
with these Geest-carls Farmer Sott was never out of difficulties.
“One day one of them came along, a little gray fellow, as
brown and dry and angular as a block of turf, and with a
forlorn look in his eyes, like a man that’s lost his way in the
woods. He kept wagging his head backwards and forwards.
‘Ah!’ said I to myself, when I saw him, ‘ there’s some fun
brewing again.’ ‘Farmer,’ said I, ‘just mark my words.
We'll have some trouble with that fellow.’
“ Well, the gaberlunzie chap went to bed and got up next
morning, and as he’s sitting eating his porridge and sour butter-
milk — we used to have sour buttermilk every morning and
evening, sometimes at midday, too — in comes old Sott as it
were by chance, and wants to examine him a bit, quite cau-
tiously, so to say, like a dog tackling a porcupine. And by
his hanging jaws and wide-staring eyes you could see that he
 JORN UHL 167
was ready to expect anything. ‘I just thought I’d like to
know what’s your name and where ye hail from,’ he said. As
soon as he was asked his name, the man’s eyes began travelling
all over the room, around and around and up and down. You
would have thought his name was a wasp circling around his
head and trying to sting him. ‘My name?’ says he, and his
eyes went wildly around the room once more. Farmer Sott
bent over the table gaping with astonishment. I sat quite
still, enjoying the fun. I put an old two-shilling piece that
had gone out of date on the table before me, and said to myself,
“Next Sunday I'll put that in the plate, extra, just for the
sake of this joke.’
“ Well, what do you think? Sure as a gun the Geest-carl
had forgotten his name. Hed had it yesterday, he said, but
last night he must have either forgotten it or lost it somewhere.
He said that such things often happened to him. I asked
whether I hadn’t better go and look among the straw where
he’d slept, it might be lying there still. I must have been
grinning, for of a sudden old Sott leant over the table and
caught me a spank that made my head rattle like a pane of
glass, and I wasn’t long getting out of the room.
“So far everything had gone fine and smooth. The Geest-
carl had lost his name and couldn’t find it for the life of him,
although we all helped him to look for it. He said he had a
dim notion that his name was a pretty long one and had some-
thing or other to do with eating. More he couldn’t remember,
said he. We made all sorts of guesses at it, but he shook his
head and would have none of them. He said it was quite an
odd out-o’-the-way sort of name. Old Sott hit upon the bright
idea of sending him to the minister, and the minister was to
read him a whole host of names out of the Baptismal Register,
and if he heard a name that sounded like his own the gaber-
lunzie was to nod his head. But he never nodded once. He
knew a thing worth two of that. He only kept on turning his
eyes up and down as a girl does playing catchers.
“ At last he said he believed his name was a pretty long one.
If he could only hit upon a part of it, perhaps he’d remember
the rest. ‘Yes, said Sott, ‘but how’s that to be done?’ ‘ Oh,’
said the Geest-carl, ‘he supposed the best way would be to
... that is, if Farmer Sott had nothing against it.’ ‘Of
course,’ said Sott, with eyes as big as an ox’s, he was that curious.
168 JORN UHL
‘Well,’ said the Geest-carl, ‘ he knew his name had something
to do with eating. So the likeliest way would be for him to
get the same food to eat as he dreamed about of nights. At
least for a time, by way of atrial. That would be pretty certain
to have some connection with his name, and when he had
thoroughly dreamt through and eaten through the whole of
his name it would be pretty sure to occur to him again.’
“Well, the farmer agreed, and off he started. For six nights
the carl dreamt of butter, and got it, too, and ate huge quan-
tities of it. Next he said he had dreamt of still greater piles
of butter. The farmer’s wife grew angry, but old Sott says
it’s no good grumbling, we must just get to the bottom of the
matter. And for six days the carl ate his fill of butter again
for all he was worth. Well, after awhile, what does he do
but go and dream of pans of milk. ‘ What sort of milk?’ asks
Sott, while the goodwife leans half over the table, glaring at
him anxiously. ‘Skim-milk?’ asked Sott. ‘No,’ said he, ‘ the
milk I dreamed of had thick cream on it.’ So they started
on the milk, and we always had a big bowl full of sweet new
milk on the table, and all of us took good care to get our
share of it. And so the carl ate his way through the winter
and throve mightily. ‘Till one day about the middle of March,
when everything’s just beginning to sprout and get green in
the fields, in the evening he got them to pay him the money
hed earned. As soon as he'd got it, off he goes to his room
and fetches his things, and a moment or so afterward there
he is outside the farmer’s window, and says he, ‘ I’ve eaten my
way through my name,’ says he, ‘and now I know what it is.’
‘What!’ sings out old Sott, springing to his feet. ‘ Yes,’ said
the carl, ‘I mind me of it now. It’s John Stoffer Buttermilk.’
‘Buttermilk!’ screams Sott, ‘why didn’t ye dream that at
once, eh? That would have come a lot cheaper.’ ‘ Yes,’ said
the carl, with a self-satisfied laugh, and rolling his eyes again
as hed done of before. ‘Thats always the way with me. I
can never dream anything but the separate parts.’ Sott puts
a good face on the matter. ‘ Well,’ says he, cajolingly, ‘ just
step inside, then, for now you have buttermilk for a week to
come.’ But the carl gave himself a shake as if he felt a dozen
or so cold eels squirming down his back. ‘Thats just what
was the matter, master. The missus always used to set butter-
milk before us for meals, and I couldn’t stand it three times
 JORN UHL 169
a day.’ And with that off he went, and we never saw him
again. . . . Of course, I had to bear the brunt of it. For as
I was going to my room that night, there stood old Sott in
the passage, just where it’s a bit dark, waiting for me, and
makes out that I had hatched the whole plot with the winter-
carl, and that he was going to dust my jacket for me; which
he did, for it was a quiet spot.”
“ He hit the right nail on the head,” said Jörn, laughing.
And the others, too, agreed; saying, “ You well deserved all
you got, Geert. . . . But this yarn wasn’t quite such humbug
as some you've told us. At any rate, give us another.”
“ Oh,” said Geert Dose, ... “if you want to make out
that I’m telling lies . . .”
“Geert, you'd better begin straight off, or else look out for
yourself. If you haven’t been telling lies this time, you’ve
done it often enough before. So look sharp and make a start,
unless you want to catch it.”
Geert Dose looks at Jörn Uhl, as much as to say: “ Jorn,
you and I are the only two sensible ones among all these chil-
dren.” But as they are now standing up and threatening him
with their fists, he begins again in an injured tone.
“Well. . . . You fellows talk about volunteer Kiekbusch’s
mighty appetite, but we had a winter-carl at our farm —I
mean at Burly Sott’s. He thrashed the whole winter there
with us. He used to eat at the same table as us at first.
But we soon saw that that game wouldn’t answer. He used to
have everything put away before we caught a glimpse of it.
Just as we’d be thinking about pegging in properly, the bacon
dish’d be empty. So old Sott said they’d have to take the
big boiler for him, for he was determined to give the chap
enough to eat, even though he had to mortgage his farm to do
it. Well. ... The big boiler was brought into action, and
he really ate himself full out of it. But it took a good time,
pretty close on two hours, before he got the pot empty. Think,
then . . . what was to be done? Sott comes along to the
barn and says, ‘I say, Geest-carl, just tell us straight out, how
did you manage to eat enough when you were at home, and
yet have any time left over for work? We want to do the
right thing by you, if we can, if you'll just tell us.’ So the
Geest-carl opens his mouth and tells them how he had managed
it. His wife, it seems, had nailed a broom-handle across the
170 JORN UHL
=

calves’ trough, and then he had to stand close up to the kitchen

door and get fed at it.
“í Man, said the farmer, ‘ you’re not in your right mind.
You don’t mean to say that’s the way they did it? Well, by
George, we’ll do as much for you, too. Well do as much
for you, see if we don’t.’ And, sure as a gun, they started it
going. Sott says to me, ‘ Geert,’ says he, ‘ you'll have to do it,
you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you'll soon
get the hang of it? ‘Of course I will,’ says I, ‘ for I wasn’t
behind the door when brains were being served out. Ill
manage it somehow or other.’ And blest if we didn’t do it,
and brought the fellow through the winter splendid.
“ When it was getting on toward spring his wife came to
fetch him home, and said her husband had never yet been
with such nice people before. ‘This time,’ said she, ‘ he’s put
on fat properly.’ She felt him all over, nodding with satis-
faction, and cracking up old Sott. He likes to hear that sort
o thing. In summer she said her husband never eats nothing
to speak of.
“< What!’ cried Sott. ‘What’s that you say? In summer
he don’t eat nothing to speak of? Do you mean to say he
lives on his own extra fat?’ No, the woman says, that wasn’t
it exactly. But... good Lord... why, men alive! .
just imagine it! . . . She actually made out that her husband
was, so to say, a kind of animal that chew’d the cud.”
“Geert Dose, you’re lying,” the others yelled. “Hes going
it a bit too strong; whack him.”
But Jorn Uhl laughed, and kept them off. “ Leave him
alone,” he said; “its all true that he’s been telling us, and if
it’s not true, why do you come listening? ”
Geert Dose sat quite quiet, as though it were all no con-
cern of his, and looked quite innocent. He glanced at them all
reproachfully, and said at last: “ Do you hear? What Jorn
Uhl says is always true.”
“Well, go on with your yarn; but if you put it on too
thick, we’ll thump you all the same. So fire away.”
“Oh, fire away, you say. It’s as easy as falling off a log,
according to you. Well, I remember once... but if you
say it’s only humbug. . .”
“That’s all right. Now, start again.”
“Well . . . I was going to say, when the winter is coming
 JORN UHL 71
to an end, it’s often a bad matter for the farmers. It’s then
that they all get more or less strange in their ways, especially
the grass-farmers. Some get hot blood, others again freeze.
Some will get their attack as early as March, others about
the time when the cattle go back to pasture, so to say, about
the beginning of May. There are some that, about the time
when they get this cranky fit, go off to the asylum for four
weeks of their own accord. The doctors in Holstein have
special arrangements for them. Well, that was the time o
year when Burly Sott always used to get a kind of frozen,
glassy look about him. He looked as lifeless as a dead hedge-
hog. Well, so much for that.
“Once, about March it was — cold, wet, icy weather, and the
whole farm lay waterlogged in fog and wet, and icicles hung
from the eaves like fork-handles. It was then, as I was saying,
that his wife had a real bad time of it with him. Once he
came and stood in the kitchen, talking all sorts of nonsense
to her; then gradually his words came slower and slower, till
at last he fell over and lay in a heap in the turf-box. And
as he was in the way there, the farm-girls scolded, and gave
him a stinger now and again with the sole of their wooden
clogs. At last they managed to rouse him, and he went out;
they were glad to get rid of him. But the strange thing was
that he didn’t come in again, even when it was dark. We
looked for him everywhere, but we couldn’t find him. His
wife said: ‘I’m just curious to see what he’s been up to this
time. But I was quite quiet, and thought to myself, He’s
been and dumped himself down somewhere in the hay, in one
of the barns, and hasn’t woke yet.
“Well, next morning, when we were all sitting around the
porridge, the kitchen-maid says all of a sudden: ‘I saw
master again last night. He was standing under the eaves of
the house, below the icicles, and looked all shiny and slippery.’
And when I took a look through the window, sure as anything,
I saw long, thick icicles hanging down from the roof. It
didn’t take me long to put two and two together. So I said
to Sott’s wife and the others, ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea
where to find the farmer. Come along with me.’
“We all went out. And, sure enough, he’d put himself
under the spout behind the barn. He’d been looking out over
his meadows to see if there were any signs of green sprouting
172 JORN UHL
as yet, and had fallen asleep as he stood there. For he was
already so cold and glassy that he didn’t notice the water trick-
ling down him and turning to ice on him. And so, little by
little, he got coated all over with ice. He was ice from head
to foot, face and all, and on his head he had a kind of dunce’s
cap of ice, stiff and straight, and the point of it reached right
up to the roof.
“ Well, we broke him off and carried him into the kitchen.
It took four men to do it, and the trouble was to get a grip
of him anywhere, he was that slippery. We’d no sooner brought
him in, than his wife began abusing him. But he made no
sign he noticed her, except to give me a wink with his left eye
right through the glass—a thing he always did when she
scolded and I was by. One of the lads proposed that we
should leave him as he was and take him with us to Meldorf
Market, and put him on show at so much a head; but the
youth only got a sound box on the ear for his pains.
“ Well, what was to be done? To make a long story short
— we first stood him away in a corner while we finished our
meal comfortably in peace. Seeing us eating he got a mighty
hungry look into his eyes, and now and again he would put
out his tongue and give the ice a lick, and every time he did it
his wife let out a screech at him. “Then we put the ice-man,
as we called him, just as he was, into the big bean-cauldron
that hung over the fire. We put him in upside down at first,
for his wife wanted to get at him with her slipper, and then
gradually we got him melted. But it took a good half-ton of
turf. And then we softened him with soda and ammonia.”
At that they all fell upon Geert Dose, and Jörn Uhl could
not save him; but still he managed to prevent them from
carrying the joke too far. After that there was a lull, and the
barrack-room became silent. Dose went away to.bed, and Jörn
fell to thinking. The others talked in a low voice about the
day’s work that lay behind them.
In the third year, when Jorn had mastered his duties as
a soldier and everything went smoothly, he spent a great
deal of his spare time in the house of a subordinate muni-
cipal officer who was a good ten years older than himself.
Both this man and his wife came from the neighborhood
of Wentorf, and as a boy he had visited Thiess Thiessen at
Haze Farm, and had known Fiete Cray. He was a dapper
 JÖRN UHL 173
little man. His hair was always smooth and his shirt-sleeves
snowy white. He was diligent, thorough, sober, and thrifty, and
had a few more good qualities besides. He found fault with
Thiess Thiessen’s management of the farm, and he found fault
with the town council that had appointed him for the way it
managed municipal affairs. He found fault with Fiete Cray
for having been sitting straddle-legs on his little cart the last
time he saw him. He found fault with the plans of the govern-
ment, as well as with the words of the king. He found fault
with everything. He praised nobody but himself and — some-
times — his wife, who on rare occasions, and very shyly, ven-
tured to repeat things he’d said. But whenever he praised her,
he always added: “ It was I called her attention to it, and now
she knows what’s right.”
If the illness from which this very model man was suffering
had been contagious, his companionship would have been a
dangerous thing for Jörn Uhl. But this is a disease that does
not infect others; it has its origin in the nature of some special
individual, spends its strength in him, and then perishes with
him, to reappear, perchance, in some quite different place, in
some other individual. “Those who have to do with the sick
man listen to his boasting patiently, and then jeer at him as
soon as his back is turned. And when one of his convivial
acquaintances is tempted, perhaps, by some favorable oppor-
tunity, and begins to brag, this disease of his neighbor will all
of a sudden occur to him, and he’ll shut his mouth and so escape
making a fool of himself.
Jorn Uhl was twenty years old. He failed to see how
terribly empty and shallow his friend’s heart was. He found
this everlasting self-praise somewhat obtrusive and tactless, but
reconciled himself to it by thinking, “ Oh! it’s just his way.”
So he had little to say on his visits there, and indeed seldom
got a chance to speak at all. He would sit on the soft, warm
sofa and never say a word, smoking and listening, and feeling
himself not a little honored that this self-important, smug little
man should devote so many words and so much wisdom to
his benefit; in short, he felt quite at home in this spick-and-
span little household, in this quiet, childless family. But one
Sunday afternoon when he called, the dapper little man was
lying full length on the sofa, and could not say a word for
toothache; so he entreated Jorn to entertain him a little. This
174 JORN UHL
was the first time that Jorn Uhl had talked at any length in
that room. He spoke —of what else could he speak? — of
the Uhl and his years of labor there, how such and such a
field had been improved by his wise cultivation, and how well
he had sold these or those head of cattle. He warmed to his
subject, and for two hours he held forth, and his theme was
Jorn Uhl’s life, deeds, and opinions. His host had toothache,
and had to listen in silence. The wife busied herself anxiously
about the room, and seemed very worried about her patient.
When Jörn Uhl came again next day to hear how his friend
was getting on — he had also, it must be confessed, rather en-
joyed talking about himself — the mistress of the house took
him mysteriously aside into the kitchen, and tearfully told him
that after he had gone yesterday her husband had fallen into
a rage and had even struck her, for he couldn’t bear to hear
a man talk about himself, and he wished to have nothing more
to do with Jörn Uhl of Wentorf.
Often enough in his life has Jörn Uhl had to pull a long
face— and it was a thing he could easily do, for his face was
pretty long already; but never was it longer than when the
polished door-handle of his Holsteiner friend banged behind
him and he went down those scrupulously clean steps for the
last time. “This experience, too, he stored away with his others,
and said nothing about it. Not until long afterward, twenty
years or so, when his character had been thoroughly purged
and he had come near to truth and to a genuine knowledge
of himself, did he laughingly confess and tell his wife the
story. And she managed to make a weapon out of it which
she would on occasions use against him. ‘‘ What was that story
you told me, Jérn? Both of you were so smug and perfect,
weren't you? Jörn, you’re blushing! And well you may, too.”
Only once did he let his comrades talk him into going to a
dance with them. He watched them as they -went whirling
around so bravely, and took pleasure in looking at some of the
girls who danced well. One of them, a tall, lithe, strong girl,
particularly took his fancy, and he followed her with his eyes.
The girl soon noticed that his eyes were on her, and, nothing
loth, took one of her acquaintances by the arm and walked
past him, looking at him. But as he made no overtures to
dance with her, she left the long, stiff fellow standing where he
was and went away to the others. He then left the room and
 JORN UHE 178
went and had a smoke, sitting at the window with the stern
face of a righteous man, thinking of the day when he should
return home, and how everything would look down there at the
Uhl; picturing to himself how he would get everything in
order again, and wondering at his comrades, that they should
have nothing in life to be anxious about and no definite aim.
And when they said to him, “ It’s not right of you to sit there
like a hermit. You’re just as young as we are,” he couldn’t
help adopting a rather mysterious air, and hinting that he had
much to think of.
It was quite right and proper that Private Jurgen Uhl should
not go with the crowd in his young years, but that he should
follow well-considered paths of his own. But for him to look
upon his youth as dead, and pull this long, righteous face to
celebrate its funeral, and wear a countenance as though he
were the very quintessence of prudence and foresight, why, that
was simply laughable. Look out, Jörn Uhl! Youth will
revenge itself on you. Up with you! Don’t let Jörn Uhl
turn out a mere fool. It’s better to be a sinner and sin down-
right than to be a pattern of such long-faced righteousness.
 CHAPTER: XII.

In those last weeks of his service as a conscript, he had felt a

specially strong longing to be home on the farm again among
the barns and hay-ricks and stables, and had gone over all the
cattle affectionately in his mind, wondering whether they'd
still be there, and over all the farm implements that he’d
handled when he was there, and which had grown so familiar
to him. He wheedled and hoodwinked himself into a belief in
the hope that a good time was coming, that his father would
now be older and his brothers more reasonable, and that he
himself would have a greater share in the management. He
pictured to himself how he would sit so cosily together with
Elsbe and Wieten in their room of an evening. “They would
make a nice happy trio, he thought.
Unseen and unexpected, he returned to his little bedroom
by the apple-trees; he opened his box and hauled out his blue
linen jumper and trousers, and cast a glance into Littrow’s
“ Knowledge of the Heavens.”
Then he turned around and gazed in wonder at his sister,
who was standing close behind him. “‘ Why, Sissy,” he said,
“you haven’t grown much taller, but you’ve got round and
plump, and have turned out a fine and bonnie girl, just as I
thought you would.”
But she had a dissatisfied, almost bitter, look on her face.
To his inquiries as to how she spent her time, and what friends
she had, she gave curt and ill-humored replies. In looks, she
was like a young, full, and fruitful morning in May, but her
demeanor was moody like that of one who has long had to put
up with harshness and injustice.
Jorn Uhl was much too clever to have any doubts about his
own judgment, or to discreetly and unassumingly look into
what was going on in his sister’s heart; he imagined in his
self-sufficiency that he would soon set her to rights again. He
176
 JORN UE 177
thought that she was too lonely, and that his presence would
make all the difference to her. He said so to Wieten, and
she seemed to agree with him. But as he was leaving the
kitchen she gazed after him with an expression that hardly
bore witness to much respect for his judgment.
After he had been back home for about a fortnight, it hap-
pened one evening that Hinnerk and Hans had invited some
young people to spend the evening with them. Jörn was sit-
ting in the little back room with Elsbe and Wieten, and all
conversation seemed to flag. Suddenly Harro Heinsen came in
and joined them. He had been serving as a soldier with the
Uhlans in Berlin, and had got through a lot of money. He
came, as he said, to see Jürgen. “I just wanted to say ‘Good
day’ to you. We've done with playing soldiers now, and got
it over. Won’t you come into the front room with us a bit?”
Jörn shook his head and remained sitting where he was, wrap-
ping himself in clouds of smoke from his pipe.
So Harro Heinsen sat down and began talking and bragging
about his soldier’s experiences; and Jorn, who mentally dis-
agreed with everything the ex-Uhlan said, uttered not a syllable.
Presently Heinsen asked Elsbe, whom he kept gazing at with
his handsome eyes, whether she wouldn’t come into the front
room with them for awhile. She ought to, he said; for, if she
came, some other girls who were sitting outside would come,
too. Elsbe sat there as though she were made of stone. Then
she looked at her brother, but he was biting his lips, and
showing but too clearly that he was not equal to the situation.
Then, with sudden resolution, she put her sewing together,
and went with him. As they crossed the threshold they heard
the sound of boisterous girls’ voices from the front of the house.
It was already late, and a dark night in November.
Jörn paced up and down the room, now and again looking
over toward Wieten; but she, with inscrutable face, was buried
in her work, and said not a word. In those two hours he had
a new and great experience, and learnt what it means to be
in bitter anxiety for one whom one loves.
At last he went over to his little bedroom, and wandered up
and down awhile, and then stood by the window, looking out
into the dark. He bitteriy accused God and the whole world
that everything that belonged to this house was fated to be
dragged in the dirt, irrevocably. It tortured him to think that
178 JORN UHL
he had not independence and pluck enough to step into the
midst of that company and say, “ Give me my sister!” He
upbraided himself, saying he would never be a man. “I shall
always be a mere looker-on,” he said, “ and do my work in the
fields and stables, and be used as an underling as long as I
live, just as my father said I would.”
While he was still in the midst of these gloomy thoughts,
the door that led to the back of the house was flung open of a
sudden, and drunken shouts were heard. The door shut again,
and then swift, light footsteps approached the dark hall. He
opened his bedroom door. His sister almost fell into his arms,
and her breath came in little gasps. ‘“‘ I’ve run away from him,”
she said.
“ If you behave like this, sister,’ he said, “there'll be no
good come of it. How can you be such a madcap?”
“ Tve just had about enough of it,” she said, and went to the
old chest by the window and sat dangling her legs from it,
just as she had done so often as a child.
“ Let me tell you something, Elsbe. It won’t be ten years
before the Heinsens’ll be hunted, bag and baggage, from their
farms, and’ll be selling hay and chaff in Hamburg. You
can take my word for it.”
She slid down from the chest and peeped out of the window.
“I just wonder whether he’s looking for me. Why aren’t
you in bed yet, Jörn? I told him I was going to run away
to you, but I thought you’d be in bed and have your door shut.
Then I should have run to the barn. I was in such a fright.”
He stood in the middle of the room. “TI couldn’t go to
bed. I couldn’t help thinking about what you were doing all
this time.”
“ What do you suppose I’d be doing?”
“Hitherto you’ve always done what I’ve asked you, Elsbe.”
She darted a hasty look at him. “ My dear old wiseacre
of a brother, what good is that to me?” She laughed. Then
she looked out of the window again. “ Strange that he’s not
after me. TIl just give a look out of the kitchen door. He
must have thought I'd run around by the garden. So just
go to bed, Jörn. Happy dreams.”
She was off again before he could say a word. The rain
began to patter afresh against the dark window-panes. Out
of the depths of the night there came the dark, huge rustle of
 PORN PU HL 179
the poplars; and as he listened to these sounds of the darkness,
they soothed his soul, and for awhile he surrendered himself to
them heart and will.
But as he was still walking up and down his room in this
weak and nerveless brooding, there came a sound from outside
through the rain, like a bird shyly trying its first notes in March.
He clearly recognized his sister’s voice. At the same instant,
as with a great bound, he was out of his dreams; he clenched
his hands in his rage. There was a short struggle with the ir-
resoluteness of youth and with the shyness which long years
of ill-treatment in his father’s house had forced upon him. In
an instant, in this outburst of rage, the man in him was born.
It was like a young, well-bred horse that stands on the edge of
a forest with hanging head, lost in dreams, till the sudden ring
of an axe in the depths of the forest startles it, and it is suddenly
all eye and life.
He tore the door open, and rushed into the kitchen and
looked out into the darkness. He caught sight of his sister
standing near the willows in close embrace with Harro Hein-
sen. He laid his hand on her shoulder, and in a stern, author-
itative voice bade her go indoors. “ For you,” said he, “I’m
responsible.”
For an instant she was inclined to defy him, but finally she
obeyed, and went with him. Harro Heinsen turned away with
a forced laugh and went back into the front room. Jorn Uhl
had led his sister in by the hand, as he had often done when
he was still a boy, and left her standing in the middle of his
room. He strode up and down the room, and as he looked at
her, he observed her beauty and the delicacy of her limbs, which
in spite of their smallness and plumpness were of a light and
graceful build, and made her appear taller than many a girl
of the same stature. She looked what she really was—a
woman in the first blush of her beauty. In her demeanor, as
well as in her brown eyes and in her cheeks, he plainly saw
the unconcealed glow of passion.
“ What’s the meaning of all this? ” he said.
“I must have some one to love,” she answered, defiantly.
“There’s no hurry about that. Other suitors will come,
who at least will be able to give you bread.”
“Tush! Bread! Is that what you asked for, when you
wanted to go off with the Sand-lass? Was it for the sake of
180 TORN UHE
bread that you wanted to go with her? J tell you it’s weari-
some sitting here in this big, dreary house, year after year, where
one sees nothing but green willows and drunken brothers. Or,
perhaps, you think I ought to rust and pine away to death? ”
“God forbid!” said he. “ What misery is this! Youre
going to ruin, and I shall be left quite alone.”
“ But if I will it, who’s to stop me? I suppose my will is
my own? I don’t make you responsible.”
Then his fury mastered him, and he gnashed his teeth. “I
will not have it, I teil you. To-morrow I'll take you out of
this. You shall go to Thiess Thiessen’s. He’s your mother’s
only brother. Afterward, Pll see that you get a proper sit-
uation in some respectable family, many a mile away from here,
so that you may forget all about Harro Heinsen. . . . Do you
hear, girl? I swear I'll make you hear me. I’m determined
that you sha’n’t take one of these topers for a husband, but
you shall have a man of my sort — one who can, and will, work.
Let father and brothers say what they like, in this FIl put up
with no interference.”
“T don’t want to! I will have him. Rather a single day
with him than ten years with one like you.”
But when she had said that, she threw herself on the chair,
hiding her face in her hands on the table, and said, in the
midst of her sobs, “ This all comes of having no mother.
Mother! mother! Oh, what am I to do? If I love him so,
is that my fault? But I know —I know it'll turn out bad,
and that IIl have to rue it all my days.”
While she was weeping and crying out in this way, Jorn
stood there gazing gloomily out into the night, and could
answer her nothing. He waited till she had wept herself
quieter, and then took her by the hand and led her to her room,
where Wieten Klook already lay fast asleep.
Next morning, while day was still breaking, he went to the
sitting-room, which he never entered on other occasions, sat
down at his father’s desk, and wrote a letter to Thiess Thiessen.
Whatever might be said against. the style and writing thereof,
the spirit that prompted it was good:

“ Drar Tuiess: — This is to let you know that I am send-

ing Elsbe to you this afternoon, for I don’t want her to go to
the bad. She ought to marry a proper sort of man; it’s all the
 TORN UHL 181
same what he is, even a farm-laborer’ll do, if he’s honest.
I was going to keep watch over her myself, like a dog over
a hen-roost, but the nights are long and dark, and I sleep
sound. And her time is come. You know how it is on a farm
when May-day comes around —the whole stable is restless;
so it’s better for me to take her off to another pasture, and
you'll have to look after her; keep your eyes open. Let her
sleep in the room next to yours, or even in your own room.
You could put the bed under Africa. JUrcen UHL.”

He sent the stable-boy on horseback over to the Haze with

this letter. But toward afternoon, when the others had left
the farm to go to the horse-fair in the village, or, in other words,
to use the horse-fair as an excuse for sitting in the public-
house, he thought he’d have time to take her over himself.
So he put the two heavy bays into the old-fashioned basket-
cart, which his mother had used in times gone by when she was
a girl and had had to drive into town for lessons. He and
Elsbe now drove through the village, on their way to Thiess
Thiessen’s, and he noticed in the good-humored laughter with
which his sister greeted him an expression of strangely blended
good-will and derision.
As they drove past the inn, the Uhls and the Heinsens and
many others were sitting there, and old Dominie Peters, who
had some savings-bank business to discuss, was standing outside
near the open window. Looking up from their cards the
players caught sight of the vehicle, and immediately there was
an outburst of questions and laughter.
“ Why, there’s Jorn there. That’s a sight for sore eyes! Gad!
he’s an old-fashioned customer, this son of yours, Uhl.”
Old Uhl stood up, red in the face, and in his embarrass-
ment, could think of nothing better to do than to come to the
open window and jeer at his own children.
His son heard his words, and knew the tone as well as the
face that accompanied them, but steadfastly kept his eyes from
looking in his father’s direction. He sat motionless, stooping
forward a little, and flicking leisurely with his whip at the
broad backs of the horses. He heard his father shout some
rude jest into the room, and heard the loud laughter that fol-
lowed. Then they got out of hearing.
“See, Elsbe,” he said, “that’s what our father’s come to.
182 JORN UHL
He was afraid lest they should laugh at him, so he turned and
pointed his finger at us; he encouraged these people to laugh
at us, Elsbe, his two youngest children. So you can see what
sort of a father we have.”
And in his anger he uttered an oath, and swore that no
matter how wretched his father might come to be, no matter how
much he might need his son’s help, that he would not lift a
finger for him.
It all turned out very differently afterward, however, as we
shall see.

He had now, as he thought, placed his sister in safe-keeping,

and found himself back as head-servant at the Uhl. It was
not long before he saw that the Uhl, as well as other farms
in the neighborhood, was in a bad way, and he was sure that
the end could not be much longer postponed.
There were certain signs that people had noticed, and certain
reports and rumors afloat excited folk’s minds to the utmost.
There was a general feeling of unrest in the air, as in a heavy
thunder-storm, when people have seen the lightning strike, and
are standing waiting to see the “ red bird ” fly up from the roof.
A man in uniform visited some of the farms, and everybody
was asking who he was. No one had ever seen this man and
this uniform before. And when a certain shrewd fellow guessed
that he could be no other than a bailiff, and when it was
known that Junge Siek had. said in a drunken fit that he would
have to leave his beautiful farm, and that it cut him to the
heart to do it, for the sake of his children, the news spread like
wild-fire, and all the village laborers and artisans stood wait-
ing on their doorsteps beneath the leafless lindens that dark,
cloudy November day, and there were lights in the village
windows till late at night. That same day, Alick, Uhl’s eldest
son, drove up to the farm with his wife and his three children.
They had an elegant buggy, and his wife, who in her girlhood
had attended a ladies’ college in Hamburg, was wearing a big
evening cloak lined with some dark fur. She wished Jörn
“ Good day” with a grand air, and marched into the house.
Alick followed more quietly, while Jörn unharnessed the horses
and returned to his work. About an hour afterward, however,
he had to go into the house to ask his father about some business
or other, and found his brother standing in the middle of the
 JORN UHL 183
room gesticulating wildly, in creat excitement. He was dressed
and ready to go, and he had his greatcoat and fur cap on, and
his whip in his hand. Jörn heard him shouting angrily at his
father: “ What have you taught us? Just tell me — what
have you taught us? To keep our heads high, to walk smartly,
spend plenty of money, and run after the girls. All very good
things in their way, only your purse wasn’t long enough for it.
Your purse wasn’t half as long as you wanted to make out.
The whole thing’s a swindle — your eternal laughter and your
bank-account, and your silver-mounted harness, and the big
family vault, and mother’s coffin with the velvet pall on it.
It was all a swindle, I say! You’re much too big for your
boots! You and the whole set that guzzle with you, you’re
nothing but a pack of rogues and swindlers. And it’s your
sons who have to pay for your folly.”
Klaus Uhl, his father, sat in the corner of the sofa, gazing
helplessly before him; and his youngest son, who stood trans-
fixed on the threshold, now for the first time saw that his father
could look grave and even frightened, and that he was an
elderly man of unhealthy appearance.
“Tf mother had lived, there’d have been at least one sensible
person on the farm; but we stupid fools used to despise her.
Ah, mother! Why, she was the good angel in the house, but
as for you, you have dragged everything in the dirt. I can
see what’s coming. Well have to leave our farms in the same
state as Hans Meyer had to leave his. He had to go away
with a bag of wheat on a wheelbarrow, and his child walked at
his side with half a loaf of bread. Such things don’t happen
in a natural way. The devil’s had a hand in it.”
He was turning to go, when he saw his youngest brother
standing behind him. “ Ah,” said he, “ you’re a sly fox,” and
he slapped him hard on the shoulder. “ In spite of your one
and twenty years, you’ve got more sense than that fellow there
with his sixty. We have wrapped everything in silk, and
poured wine over it till we no longer knew what we had in our
hands. But you can see things as they really are. You needn’t
pull such a shy face, man. Think of me, Provost, when thou
comest into thy kingdom. You've got the stuff in you to find
one. It won’t be the Uhl, though. ‘That fellow there has
squandered it in drink.”
This was the fashion in which Klaus Uhl’s eldest son took
ay) JORN UHL
leave of his father’s proud roof. It was a farm more valuable
than many a nobleman’s estate. Afterward, when he was an
elderly man and used to drive down from Ringelshérn to the
distant Fens in his miserable little cart for seaweed, he always
sat in such a position as to avoid seeing the Uhl, which lay so
broad and safe down there beneath its mighty poplars, whose
heads had been bent toward the east by the everlasting breezes
from the sea.
Many other farmers, too, were ruined at this time. Care
thundered with heavy hand against the doors of the firm-set
old farmhouses, and their inmates paced up and down in the
long, dark halls, refusing to open their doors. And inside, in
the little rooms, there were women sitting and weeping, and
children full of heavy, nameless forebodings.
On one farm the wife herself put the brown horses into the
cart, and put on the silver-mounted harness, and drove into
town and asked the magistrates for a declaration of her hus-
band’s incapacity. She spread out before them the documents
which she had brought with her, and showed how much of her
own marriage dowry he had squandered. She placed the little
lad she had with her on the green table, drew down his
trousers, and showed the bruises her drunken husband had
made, and she bared her full, white bosom and showed the
marks of his fingers, and demanded that she should be made
administrator of the property.
The magistrate was a young man, and though he had stood
by many a woman’s side, he had never yet stood face to face
with one. He made a motion toward the bell, and said it
wasn’t such an easy matter, according to law, to do what she
wanted; and then he began to recount the various steps it
would be necessary to take. They were many and intricate.
Then she began to say hard things about the law of her
native land, maintaining that it was as clumsy as an old cow,
and that it was as much a woman-hater as a hardened old
bachelor. Her words rang right through the office into the
corridor. And at last she said there was, thank God, another
sort of justice, which she would in future put into application.
And she raised her hand threateningly to illustrate her mean-
ing. She would find a way out of her distress without magis-
trates and law-courts — a cheaper way, too, faith. But if it
should happen that her husband should some fine day find his
 JORN UHL 185
way hither to complain of her, then they’d better send him back
about his business; else she’d give him such a drubbing that
he wouldn’t be able to stir a step for a fortnight.
In this way did this wretched woman speak, made desperate
by her long years of misery, and then drove unmolested home
again. Many a time afterward folks saw her driving through
the village, always with two smart horses. She had sold the
silver-mounted harness next day; her horses pull in good strong
hempen trappings up to the present day, and she looks neither
to left nor right. She has become a hard woman. The farm-
servants and produce-dealers are afraid of her; her children
have turned out well—the boys a little shy, and the girls
strong-willed women. Her husband shuffled out of life one
day after sneaking along the walls of his own house for many
a year. He lies buried in a neglected grave, near that of one
of his workmen, old Peter Back, which is always kept fresh
and neat. It is said that the wife of one of his sons once
quietly tidied up the farmer’s grave, but the widow found it
out, and got seeds of stinging nettles from a weed plot near,
and sowed them on it. And what made this more remarkable
was the story that older folk of the village told how, long ago
on her wedding-day, she had not been able to contain herself
for happiness, and how, after their mutual “ Yes” had been
exchanged, she had thrown her arms around her young hus-
band’s neck, laughing and weeping at the same time, without
caring a jot for the people who were there. Out of love so
warm there had come such bitter hate.
That winter, too, William Ironsides drove through the village
in his chaise cart for the last time. His family dwelt at the
crossroads, opposite the new churchyard, on the high, proud
Wurth. Wurth is the name given in those districts to the
ancient mounds on the remnants of early settlement and civi-
lization. According to the church rolls, the Ironsides have lived
there for the last four hundred years and more. ‘The three-
cornered ploughshare, from which they got their name, still
hangs as a sign over the door of their house and on the family
pew at church. One evening, just before Christmas, Farmer
Ironsides’ brother, who was a well-known surgeon in Ham-
burg, came on a visit to him. His friend, the county chairman,
had written to him, saying that if he wished to give his brother
a word of timely warning it was high time that he should do so.
186 JORN UHL
He came, and after taking great pains to learn the real state
of affairs, was soon convinced that he had come too late. Once
a year it had been his great delight to get away from the narrow
confinement of the big city and revel in the fields and marshes
around his native village. He loved to recall his happy boy-
hood there, and to revisit all the old rooms and barns, and
every meadow and orchard. That evening he went over the
farm for the last time, looking into every ditch, and into the
branches of every ash-tree, and at last he came to the old house,
and laid his head against the door-post and wept.
And then there was Stark Behrens, who had always been
so much cleverer than everybody else. He also had now to come
down from his cart and go the rest of life’s journey on foot.
His children were already grown up and his hair was gray.
For five and thirty years he had dwelt on his beautiful farm,
and had always talked like a shrewd fellow, and had liked
giving every one advice, and had lamented the general lack
of common sense in all the farmers around about. “ Farm
management? ” he used to say. “ Nonsense! Any one can
manage a farm. But it takes a smart man to grow rich at it.”
‘The whole country around believed his boasting. ‘There were
not three men who did not believe it. The general opinion
was that Farmer Behrens was a sly fox. But now it came
out that in all those five and thirty years he had never from
first to last known the amount of his debts or assets, and had
not the faintest idea whether they were increasing or diminish-
ing. He had been not a fox but an ass. His accounts were
as tangled as a girl’s hair when mischievous lads have pelted
her with burrs. He had to give up his farm, and went to
each of his seven children, whom he had made poor and
ridiculous. He went from house to house in turn, and they
each refused to take him in. At last he found an odd corner
to sit and-die in at the house of his old sister in town, whose
husband had some small government post there.
And Jan Wieck, who had for many years been overseer of
the dikes, had also to leave his farm and go to Hamburg,
whither his three sons had gone before him. ‘There he sat
all day long in a dirty little room which opened on to the
yard, and received a crust from his children, which they salted
for him with jeers and bitter words. Of an evening he used
to go and earn a few pence for a drink by setting up the
 JORN UHL 187
pins for the players in a skittle alley. Every Monday, how-
ever, he used to put on his long, yellow, shabby oilskin, which
he had once worn in the days of his glory as dike overseer,
and go to the cattle-market; there he would talk with the
country-folk from his district who had come to market, and
would laugh and talk, loudly and shrewdly enough, and say
how he liked being in Hamburg, and what a pleasant life he
was leading there. And then he would accompany these
Wentorfers to the railway station and wave them good-by, and
return to his sunless, desolate room and beat his head and weep,
crying: “Oh, if only I could sit just for once again beneath
the spreading lindens on my beautiful old farm! Just for
once again! How I would work and strive and save, and
I would never let a single drop pass my lips again as long as
I lived.”
And it came to Klaus Uhl’s turn. When he passed through
the village there was no outward sign of the distress he was
in. He was never more arrogant toward poor folk than in
those last days at the Uhl, when he no longer owned either
stick or stone upon it. He still had that soft, roguish smile
about his lips, and when he drove through the village with
his spick-and-span vehicle, stared at by the crowds of children
and villagers, he still wore his dignified look. He was crushed
beneath the weight of his own importance, like the king’s fool
when he drives to court through the gaping mob.
And Hinnerk and Hans Uhl and other young people came
driving through the village toward morning. ‘They came from
the fairs and dancing-booths. Their horses were tired and
ill-tempered, and their zigzag course made the carts jolt; some
of the drivers were sleepy, others were growling drowsily at the
horses.
That evening the laborers and artisans had plenty to talk
about. The younger ones said airily, “The earth revolves, so
of course men cannot but slip and fall. Some slide down off
the Wurths, others slide up on to them. Why have they been
living like savages?” ‘The old men spoke about the fathers
and grandfathers of the ruined farmers. How hard-working,
simple, upright, and stern they had been. But they also tried
to bring heavy sins home to their ancestors, sins which, they
said, though unrevenged till now, were at last being visited
on the children. They remembered cases of cruel severity
188 TORN UHL
or of cunning and unscrupulous legacy-hunting, and of swift,
violent deeds. Many who saw how these old farmer families
were dazzled by pride — how they were wilfully ruining them-
selves, had the feeling that these men were doomed to perish,
and had, against their will, to obey some pitiless predestination.
A nameless fear came upon many, as though some superhuman
and terrible power were stalking unseen along the streets and
roads, touching sane men, and unhinging their minds. Jorn
Uhl, even before he had gone into the army, had been wont to
stand aside and view all these wild doings from a distance,
just as a worker in some clay-field by the wayside might see mad
horses careering past along the road and then bend over his
spade again. But Jorn had not knowledge and insight enough
in those days. Sometimes he had in secret condemned the wild
life of these men and foreseen their evil end; but at other
times again, he had had doubts whether his judgment was right.
But in the course of years his mind had grown maturer and
clearer. He now stood on his own feet and calmly regarded
them. “ There they go rollicking on in their wild career,
and now they fall into the pit.” And a dim consciousness in
him said, “ Your path, Jorn Uhl, has by Fate’s dispensation been
different from theirs, so far, and shall by your own will always
continue to be different. Nothing in life schools character like
the sight of our fellow mortals’ destiny.”
 CHAPTER XIII.
Jörn UHL was now doubly lonely. First, because his father
and brothers, as well as his comrades of his own age and stand-
ing, all went other ways; secondly, because in his inmost soul
there was a great and beautiful chamber, a temple of religion.
He longed to furnish out this chamber or temple, for it was
empty, and to celebrate high festivals there. But he did not
know how to set about it. There was nobody there who could
point out his way to him.
It happened one afternoon that everybody had left the house
and gone to Meldorf Fair except Wieten, who was sitting
sewing by the window. ‘Toward evening, when the twilight
was dim in the room, he went along the passage just in that
frame of mind when thoughts have no point to them, but lie
in a great, endless level, like the far and wide and endless
marsh-land — but it is fertile soil. As he went through the
long, high hall toward the open door, he saw the moonlight
lying like a carpet of Orient gold and silver along the floor.
Looking out, he saw the moon, which was now in her third
quarter, rising slowly over Ringelshérn, spreading all her golden
glory over the earth and over the heath and the oak copses by
the Goldsoot.
Jérn Uhl stood gazing at the wonder, and his drowsing
thoughts raised themselves slowly and stiffly, like a man that
has been asleep hundreds of years, and became alert. “ Mare
Nubium,” he said to himself, and a roguish look flitted over
his face, as when a man, after long years of separation, dis-
covers in some friend the oddities he knew in him when he
was a boy. After he had looked at the moon awhile, he turned
around meditatively and went to his room. From the bottom
of his old chest he brought forth a long, much-dinted spy-
glass. He had purchased it in some second-hand shop at Rends-
burg in the first year of his service as a soldier. He came back
189
190 JORN (UHL
to the doorway and looked at the moon; and all the merry
elves and spirits that saw him standing there in his short,
blue linen jumper; all the house spirits of the Uhl who ride
on the rafters, and the troop that squats at midnight on the
roof-ridge and swings on the poplar twigs; and all those
eerie, crouching forms on the old heath that are midway between
man and beast in body and soul; all these far-seeing, lubberly,
inert, dreamy creatures, and everything else in the country
around of the species that fleer at astronomy and every other
science, and are kith and kin with Nature, sucking and smatch-
ing at her breasts, and feeding there with laughter and throes
of pain and tears;— all these strange beings now rejoiced
over Jorn Uhl.
“ Good luck, good luck to him, he’s got his love again.”
Jorn Uhl gazed up at the moon and called the different
seas by their names, and knew the mountain ranges, and felt
happy at remembering -alil their titles. And suddenly, while
he was watching intently, the telescope revealed to him clearly
for the first time the different craters. He uttered a low
cry as he saw the clear gleam that the old book he had in the
chest spoke of. He saw up there in the blue sky how the
mountain-peaks around the “Mare Nectar” were aglow in
the morning sun. For a long time he stood watching; and
gradually, in order to get the full flavor of this delight, his
thoughts wandered into strange, solitary places and communed
with themselves, thinking how different he was from the other
young fellows who were now drinking at Meldorf Fair and
running after the girls. He, on the contrary, had been plough-
ing all day, and now it was night he was looking at the moon
and studying the truths of science.
All the while that Jörn Uhl’s thoughts were away on such
high and breakneck paths, all around him the air, the trees,
and the heathy slopes were full of life, and he neither knew
nor saw it. Up there, not far from the Goldsoot, in the direc-
tion in which Jörn had turned his spy-glass, in a little hollow
surrounded by bracken and protected from the west wind, there
were lying on the old bed of last year’s oak leaves, seven
Children of the Heath, side by side — a beautiful brood, brown-
skinned and always young, with long, dark, smooth hair and
with eyes unfathomably deep, which, according to mortals’
judgment, have something dull and glassy in their gleam, and
 TORIN UHL IQI
eyelashes too long and silky. Whoever has seen them knows
it is true. They were telling one another about the laughing-
eyed maidens they had seen passing by that afternoon along
the heath track on their way to market; and then they came
to speak of Elsbe Uhl. For they liked talking of Elsbe Uhl,
because she was like them and akin to them in this, that she
was weak of will and gave herself up to the present and took
love for her right. The seven had seen how Harro Heinsen
a few nights ago came riding straight across the heath on his
brown mare, and how he had tied her to the silver birch that
stood by the Haze Farm, beneath Thiess Thiessen’s window,
and how Thiess Thiessen had slept and heard no sound, not
a rustle, and they knew how little Elsbe was to meet Harro
Heinsen to-day at the Fair; and they said:
“ To-night she’ll come this way, and to-night she’ll fall into
his hands here by the Goldsoot.”
And that is why they had come together, and as they thought
of it and talked it over their faces did not change. They re-
mained long-lashed and drowsy-looking, indifferent and pensive
as before. Thus they lay there, then, and waited, for they, the
frank, free children of Nature, liked to see Nature’s strength
in the passions of mortals.
They passed their time by telling stories of old things and
new: of that old, dirty, greedy farmer who, thirty years ago,
had come with spade and crowbar, and had attempted with rude,
false words to rob the Goldsoot of its treasure. They had
frightened the fellow away. With wild, brown bodies erect,
and eyes like the expiring glow of coals, they had suddenly
appeared above the edge of the valley, and made him rush
away screaming with terror. On the third day, after wildest
visions, he was dead. And they spoke, too, of a pretty lad
who, one cold April night, six years ago, had gone down into
the pool, and had since vanished away into foreign lands. And
they thought how again to-night they were going to cast their
wonted spell over a man now on his way thither— a spell that
should make him throw caution and prudence and the last
vestige of self-restraint to the winds, and let the nature that
was in him have its way.
And when evening was past and the night was come and
they were still talking over what was to happen and how it
was to be brought about, — for this race is fickle and limp in
192 JÖRN UHL
will, heavy-handed and sweeping in execution, dreams are its
strength and sorrows its delight, — two young people came in
sight, walking hand in hand down the track to the Goldsoot,
which shimmered white in the moonlight. On their young
faces lay that sacred, earnest joy which lights up the human
countenance when everything good has been aroused in the
soul and summoned to action. All the most beautiful and
hallowed things within them, mutual trust and love and good-
will, beamed from their fresh, innocent faces, and in their eyes
there was a glitter as of golden weapons to fight against every-
thing evil.

About twenty years ago, soon after the surrender of the

Schleswig-Holstein troops, a family of Wentorf Crays had
emigrated to South Africa, and had later on joined a troop
of trekking Boers, among whom were several Germans, and
had settled down on the Crocodile River. ‘There they had
thatched their little stone hut with long grass, and, after the
fashion of the Boers, had attained to a modest competence
and a somewhat drowsy prosperity. They had taken several
children with them from Wentorf, but only one son and one
daughter had survived. ‘The daughter was married to a young
Dutchman; the son was still unmarried. For a Cray he was
somewhat grave by nature, and seemed unable to make up his
mind to take a Dutch wife. He used to say to his parents when
they pressed him to marry, “ I was too old when I left home.
I was ten, then. And now I can’t accustom myself to these
foreign girls. If I found a lass who spoke my own language
I might venture it.”
After carefully talking over this difficult matter between
themselves, his parents one day proposed to him that he should
take a trip home to Holstein and look at his cousins there, and
afterward, if none of them pleased him, cast his eye on the
other young people of Wentorf, and marry the girl he chose
right off, and bring her back with him. He agreed, after his
mother had smilingly shaken her finger at him, for she had
hatched this plot. So he came back home, after almost twenty
years, on a similar errand to that of Father Jacob of old, who
also went in search of a wife.
He came to St. Mariendonn, went from house to house,
delivered his kind messages from home, was asked many a
 ORANG SOG 193
question, and told frankly and willingly everything he knew
of that unknown land and of his parents’ circumstances, and
at last revealed the aim of his long journey. But this revelation
made his position unpleasant, and it became very difficult for
him to carry out his intention, for now everybody looked upon
him as a suitor. Some parents, fearing he might, by his good
looks, persuade one or other of their marriageable daughters to
go with him, treated him coldly. Those who were better off
among his kinsmen got the idea into their heads that this
stranger was aiming at their money-bags, in order to repair
his own straitened and desperate circumstances. Some who
were more venturesome or had more confidence in him, or who
had daughters already on the shelf, made clumsy attempts to
bring the young people together, attempts that were painful
to both parties concerned. At last, to cap matters, two old
people came, wishing to turn an honest penny, and declared
themselves ready to provide him with a girl with a certain
dowry. The young man felt so disgusted at these experiences
that he lost heart and determined to give up his plan, and to
go home by the next ship sailing for the Cape.
Just at this point, a rogue, who heartily wished him success
in his search, told him about the Fair which was to be held
next day in Meldorf, and would be visited by all the daughters
of the neighborhood. ‘This philanthropist was a student of
theology, an artisan’s son from the neighboring marsh-lands.
As a free-hearted fellow and a son of the people and destined
to stand among the people all his life, he continued his friend-
ship and intercourse with his comrades of the board school,
and trod with them the well-known paths that young folk love.
Although he had passed many a merry night in that company,
and had ridden many a night to dances on a horse borrowed
from some farmer, and although he had looked into the laughing
eyes of many a maiden, he never, wondrous to relate, became a
disgrace to his cloth.
Although discouraged and rendered almost shy, now that
the reason of his presence had become a matter of notoriety,
he nevertheless resolved to make this last attempt, even while
looking upon it as hopeless. For how could a girl, after hardly
six days’ acquaintance with a complete stranger like him, make
up her mind to bear him company to a land that must dismay
her, both with its remoteness and its wildness? But still he
194 TORN UHE
would have liked, if possible, to gratify his parents by bringing
a wife home with him, as he had promised to do; and besides
he now had a longing for married life.

Now there was a girl come to this dance, who was tall and
fair and of a simple, homely beauty, a girl of Frisian blood,
not much over twenty years of age. She was the daughter
of a country schoolmaster thereabouts, a man who had many
children; she had now for several years had a place in a
wealthy marsh-farmer’s family in St. Mariendonn, where she
had to help the farmer’s wife. She had plenty to do and got
very little for it. She was of a meditative and sympathetic
temperament, and with all sorts of thoughts of her own in
her head; and these thoughts became so much the more retiring
and shy as she had no one to whom she could utter them.
She had not intended to go to the Fair this time. But as
her mistress had told her somewhat disdainfully that she ought
to remain at home, she would hardly be asked to dance, not
being a farmer’s daughter, a certain spirit of defiance rose in
her, and all sorts of strange hopes flitted before her imagination,
called into being by her mistress’s arrogance. So she made up
her mind to go to the Fair, and, coming thither, went into the
big dancing-room, and everything seemed like a dream.
At first no one asked her to dance, and she sat there with
grave and tranquil face, like the midnight sky when it is veiled
with filmy mists — only a few bright points shine through here
and there with a faint, dull gleam, and give an inkling of
the hidden fires beyond. Happening to raise her eyes, she saw,
standing not far from the door on the other side of the room,
a young man, whose dark skin and blue sailor-suit had a foreign
look about them. He was well-favored, and had an earnest
and somewhat gloomy face.
Soon afterward she noticed that he was looking at her,
and drawn by some power she had never before known — she
thought it was the wish to dance — she looked at him again
with calm, clear eyes, and his face pleased her. Suddenly she
saw him coming toward her. He bowed to her and asked
her to dance with him. As they moved off among the dancers
he said, with a certain shyness, looking admiringly the while
at her tall figure and fine carriage, “ I should never have thought
that you would look so tall and grand. When a man’s on
 TORN? ChE 195
horseback you can tell his height, but it’s quite different with
a woman.” She was rather surprised at this way of opening
the conversation, and merely nodded assent. Then, as the
dance was about to begin, he said, “ I beg your pardon, Fraulein,
for having asked you to dance. The fact is, I’ve never learnt
dancing nor had a chance to practise, so I propose not to
dance and make ourselves ridiculous. I have something else
to speak to you about. But first of all I must ask you if you
know who I am.”
She shook her head, so that the little curls danced around
her temples. Feeling drawn to him by his straightforward
earnestness, she said, “ You don’t need to tell me who you are.
Only tell me what you want of me. If it’s nothing wrong, I
shall probably do it.”
So he said: “ You will have observed that I had a good look
at you not long ago, and you looked at me, too. Many people
will say that’s neither here nor there. But I believe that it
does mean something in our case. It means that we please
each other. Is that so?”
She saw that all eyes were upon them, and behind her she
heard some one say, “ Why, man, don’t you know? That’s
the African.” And next moment a little dark-eyed beauty,
with glowing cheeks and heart overflowing, came running up
to her, and slipped her arm around her waist, whispering hur-
riedly, “ Listen! if you like him don’t bother about anything
else in the whole world. Go with him wherever he takes you.
Don’t you know me? I’m Elsbe Uhl.”
He nodded brightly to little Elsbe, and went aside out of
the crowd with his partner, and placed himself so that he
could speak with her without being overheard by others. In
a few words he told her quite frankly of the object of his
journey and its ill-success hitherto, and his early departure.
When everything had been thus explained, he said he would
take it as a strong and clear sign of her trust in him if she
would now consent to further talk over the matter with him.
He said they might even leave the throng and go outside.
He would promise to give her honest answers to any questions
she might like to ask him.
It is difficult to imagine a girl in a more awkward position.
For the subject of their dealings — as they must themselves
have seen — was known to every one in the room. Only one
196 JORN UHL
or two couples went on dancing, all the rest were busy dis-
cussing and observing these two people, and a buzz of talk
filled the whole room. ‘The opinions expressed were as various
as the characters of the speakers. The shallower sort cracked
more or less questionable jokes; the more serious remembered
that the destinies of two human beings were then and there
being decided; some of the girls made a long face. If she
were now to leave the room with the stranger, and were after-
ward to refuse him or be deceived by him, her reputation
would be tarnished, and her name made a subject of laughter
as long as she lived. The thought of her good, honest parents
made her hesitate, and al! her brothers and sisters, a flaxen-
haired, blue-eyed band, rose before her imagination. But the
good in her prevailed and all false shame vanished. She said,
“I have full trust in you; I am ready to speak further with
you.”
‘They passed out down the room as through a lane of in-
quisitive faces, and the excited dancers closed together behind
them like waves behind a ship. Once outside, face to face
with quiet, lonely night, the girl drew a great breath of relief,
and when her companion asked which way they should go,
she answered nothing, but walked straight on. He walked
in silence by her side; and so they left the town, and took
the road to St. Mary’s, both full of such deep thoughts and
so absorbed by the momentousness and wonder of that hour,
that they went, as it were, without a will, led by some stronger
power than their own.
At last, when the houses were behind them, and they had
walked awhile in silence along the gray, level road, they began
with shy, timid words to reveal their circumstances to each
other. ‘Their hearts were too full for them to give or obtain
from each other a clear objective statement of things, and
they spoke only of their simple joys and sorrows. ‘They spoke
about things that were laughable, trifling, and out of place
at an hour of such importance, but it led to the best results.
For by its means they saw into each other’s hearts, and were the
more quickly brought into sympathy with each other, just as
children, who are strangers, make friends with each other while
at play.
After the girl, with a certain hardness in her tone, had said
that she had no money of her own, and that she was going to
 SORNT UL 197
devote the five hundred marks she had saved toward the edu-
cation of her brother, who wanted to be a teacher, he had
answered that those were matters he did not want to know;
then she told him about her parents; how her father was
softer hearted than her mother, but how her mother knew how
to manage money affairs better, and was such a thoroughly
good housekeeper. “Then she spoke of brothers and sisters,
of the big boys’ plans, and what the little girls were like—
how the second youngest was so fond of a kitten she had that
she once took it with her to school, and how her father was
a long time before he noticed it as he went by her desk, and
it was sitting on the form quite good and serious, and how
her very youngest sister used to say she was going to be queen.
Ah, how she prattled, and what castles in the air she built,
and how she mapped out careers for all her sisters and brothers.
How eloquent she grew; for the first time for many a day
she felt as if she had a sympathetic comrade by her side.
Her heart was opened and her tongue loosed. At last she gave
a little start at her own prattle, and said (addressing him with
the word “thou,” which is in that country the sign of trust
and affection), “ Now tell me about thyself; what sort of a
woman is thy mother?”
So he began. His mother was not overstrong, he said, and
was a little too delicate for the lonely and somewhat rough
life out there; she would be more at home in some quiet little
town of Holstein than she was out on the veldt by the Croc-
odile River. But she wasn’t unhappy; for there was a silent
compact between him and his father to pamper and tease her,
and, in fact, to treat her a little like a child, and that was good
fun for them all. So, for example, they never called his
mother by any name but Uns’ littje, and gave her no peace
till she’d had a good laugh at least three times a day; and
when they couldn’t manage it, and when the old Kaffir, the
shepherd, had failed, too, he used to ride over to his sister
on Saturday, and she’d come on Sunday with her husband and
their five sons, — the whole seven on horseback, and with their
hair over their foreheads, — and then she had to laugh in spite
of herself.
Then the girl laughed outright, and said: “ That is the sort
of people I like. For I’ve been for years now in a big farm-
1 Our little one.
198 | JORN UHL
house where there’s no scarcity of good health and bread,
but where good spirits and laughter are looked down on as
almost sinful things. But in my opinion the best thing in the
world is to live kindly and lovingly with those around us, and
with everybody.”
He nodded, eagerly assenting to what she said. “ Ah, you
must come back with me, you are just the one for my people.”
Now she was mute again.
After awhile she began with more constrained voice to speak
about her grandparents, who had been farmers, and how her
father was highly respected in the village, and how clever and
earnest her brothers were, in the unspoken, innocent wish
to make clear to her companion that she was a child of good,
honest family, and that he shouldn’t believe he had picked her
up in the street.
Then he told her that her looks and demeanor had given
him the impression that one of the better daughters of the
land was at his side, and that he was glad with all his heart
that he had won her trust in him, and could walk by her side.
She had not disappointed him, he said; on the contrary, he
liked her better every moment, and felt already that she was
his good comrade, and he would like to go for a longer —a
much longer — walk with her if she would have it.
She said nothing. But as they went on and he found she
could hardly see the foot-track in the dark, he at last took
her hand, and laid it on his arm, and held it fast; and she
permitted it. Thus they walked on for some distance in
silence, while he would now and then stroke her hand, and
their hearts slowly and wordlessly grew closer and closer to-
gether.
On and on they wandered along the road through the heath,
till after awhile the Goldsoot came in sight. In the dim
moonlight they saw the hollow valley and the little round
gleam of the fountain pool. Hand in hand they went down
to the Soot, and stood still by the water and looked into it. As
the clouds drew away from in front of the moon, they saw
there their dark reflections in the clear blue light. And, look-
ing up, they saw each other.
“ I am thirsty,” said the maid, and laughed a little.
He stooped, taking up some water in the palms of his hands,
and holding it toward her; and she drank with dainty lips,
 JORN UHL 199
and thanked him. Then he seized his opportunity, and laying
his two wet hands on her cheeks, kissed her shyly. And when
he saw that she offered her mouth, and laid her hands con-
sentingly on his arm, he embraced her, and said: “Now I
know that you will go with me.”
She now gave a firm and earnest answer: “ Yes, I will go
with you. I love you as deeply and know you as well as
if you had been my sweetheart these ten years. Father and
mother will let me go, hard as it will be to them; for they
have always expected that my lot would be different to that
of other girls; and I can tell you that when I went to the
Fair to-day, I was full of all sorts of strange hopes and fore-
bodings — I felt as though something wonderful were going to
happen to me.”
Suddenly she interrupted herself with a little scream. “ Oh!
up there in the oak thicket I thought I saw streaks of blood.”
He quieted her, saying: “It is only the moonlight; look,
you can clearly see it is.”
“Or was it your lips?” she said, and laughed. “You
wouldn’t believe how red they are.”
He kissed her again and again, and she made no protest.
When he asked whether she had had enough, “ Oh, no, not
by a long way,” she laughed; “ I was very hungry.” So he
kissed her again. Then he put his arm around her, and went
down the Goldsoot track into the marsh, and gradually soothed
and quieted her, till he had brought her to the door of the
farmhouse where she lived.
Next day she plighted her troth to him in her parents’ house;
and her parents and her fair-haired brothers and sisters looked
on with kindly and earnest faces, and two of the boys main-
tained that very same day, that as soon as they were grown up
they would go to South Africa, too. One of them did so
afterward; the other found an early grave at home.
On the sixth day the young couple went on board. In Cape
Town they became man and wife. It was a happy marriage.
Never did she regret having left her home for that strange
land with that strange man. Nor did she regret it even when,
thirty years later, they brought her news that her third son
had fallen in the attack at Colenso. Nor did the blood, which
the children of her native heath had once showed her by the
Goldsoot, come back to her remembrance,
200 JORN UHE
That evening, soon after the South African and his sweet-
heart had left the little valley, a cart pulled up, up above on the
heath-road, and Harro Heinsen’s voice said: “ Come, let us go
down to the Goldsoot for a little while. Everything that
bears the name of Uhl and has kinship with them now has
need of gold; perhaps we’ll find some there.”
“ As you wish,” said Elsbe. She sprang from the cart into
his arms, and he held the little, dainty creature fast, and car-
ried her down the foot-track. And there by the Goldsoot, in
the gray dim grass, she became his own.

Jorn Uhl, in his blue linen jumper, stood gazing at the

moon — this old, rusted, parched, unfruitful minx — and pay-
ing no heed to all the creatures living and loving upon the
heath and in the trees and fields around him. Was he not
engaged in the high pursuits of science? But as he looked
toward the gleaming mountain-tops which stood on the edge
of the “ Mare Nectar ” in the full glow of the moon, the heads
of two mortals, cheek to cheek, passed across the moon’s disk.
Thrown completely out of his line of thought, Jorn lowered
the glass and looked into the dark, listening intently to the
distant sounds of the night. Then he shut the doors and went
to his room, and thought over his work for the morrow.

Thus the winter and spring passed by, and it grew on into
summer, while Jorn Uhl went quietly about his daily work,
waiting for Fate to deal the blow that was to destroy his
family. But nothing happened. It seemed as though farm
affairs at the Uhl were still prosperous. “There came indeed a
blow for Jörn Uhl, but it was not from the direction he
expected.
It was in July; they were busy with the hay-harvest when
a rumor of trouble and coming war among the nations flew
abroad through the land. And the land and the men in it
stood with senses all alert, greedily listening to the far-off
mutter and rumble of the coming storm. ‘The soul of the
people drew the noise into itself. For it was an old, silent,
long, long slumbering hope, that now might be fulfilled; and
it was an olden quarrel, a long list of old misdeeds and wrongs
that might now be righted. Individual men did not think of
these things; for each was in trouble and distress, and full of
 JORN UHL 201
fear of the furious portents bellowing down there beyond the
horizon. But in the mighty soul of the nation this thing
without definition of space or time, that neither forgets nor
dies, these thoughts on a far-off past, and hopes that had slum-
bered a thousand years, now began to dimly struggle.
The youngest born of the Uhls did not hear much of what
was going forward; these things had no voice for. his heart.
The time had not yet come for him to see further; he had no
eyes for anything beyond the last ditch on Uhl Farm.
It was a day in July when every one was busy with the hay
on the dikes. Geert Dose, who was working at the Uhl,
plunged his fork deep into a hay-rick, saying: “ These French-
men are said to be a barefaced lot, so it won’t be a bad thing
if we show ’em what a hay-fork is like.”
“And what then? There'll be another tune to sing.”
The stable-boy asked if he was old enough to go as a volun-
teer. He was just eighteen.
Jorn Uhl shook his head. “ Just keep your tongue still,” he
said; “it'll all come to nothing.”
Next morning he woke early and saw that his room was
full of moonlight. “Its too early yet to wake the others,”
he thought; “ TIl just get up and have a look at the moon.”
During the winter he had industriously studied Littrow, and
his delight in observing the stars had grown greater as his
knowledge increased. He had made drawings of the moon
for himself and of the positions of the stars, and it had given
him keen pleasure to see how they corresponded with Littrow’s
drawings. Pages and pages he had filled with masses of figures,
calculating the distances. “This employment quenched his thirst
for knowledge and filled the joyless void in his soul. So he
took down the telescope that now always lay at hand, near
the top of the chest, and went out of his room, across the big
hall, opened the door, and was about to step outside with the
polished instrument in his hand, when the old town-messenger
in his blue coat and bright buttons came up. He looked at
Jorn with a somewhat surprised air, and said, “ I might have
expected to find you up, Jorn. I’ve two papers here, one for
you and one for Geert. You're both to report yourselves at
the barracks in Rendsburg to-morrow by ten o'clock. War’s
been declared. I must be off now. I’ve got more papers to
deliver. Come back safe, Jorn.”
202 JORN UHL
Jorn let the telescope hang by his side and drew a deep
breath. “ Well, that’s news,” he said, ard turned around and
crossed the hall into his own room. He laid the telescope
away in its place and sat down on the chest. “ This business
may take a long time to settle,’ he thought. “ They're a
strong and brave nation, and itll be a hard tussle. It’s an
old, bitter quarrel. . . . Hans will have to stay at home. Hin-
nerk’ll have to go with me. Who will come back, no one
can say... . There'll be a nice state of affairs here. Hans
and father. . . . Elsbe. . . . I must go and tell Thiess about
it all. I shall call in there on my way. We have to start this
afternoon at three... . Jasper Cray must be taken on to
work on the farm and look after things. He won’t get so very
much done, but he won’t let things go to the dogs. I wonder
where Fiete Cray is? .. . This has completely upset all my
reckonings, but what must, must be. If they won’t leave us
alone, why, I suppose we must just give them a drubbing;
then we'll be able to plough our land in peace again. Maybe
it'll last a year, maybe longer. Jasper Cray is the only one
I can put any confidence in. I'll just say a word in his ear
and promise him an extra hundred marks if I come back and
find everything going right. It’s a bitter thing. Here I have
a father and brothers at home, and have to run to a neighbor
and beg him to look after our farm for us.”
Then he got up, glanced around the room, and went out;
he woke everybody, and said: “Get up. Weve got a good
deal to do to-day. War’s declared; and Geert and I have to
join our regiment.”

About six o’clock that evening he and Geert walked down

the forest road and cast a look over toward Haze Farm. There
they saw Thiess Thiessen with a heavy bag over his shoulder,
leaving the farm in the direction of the village; he kept turn-
ing to look back as he walked along. They both began shout-
ing, and he stopped. On recognizing Jörn he shook his head
desolately, his eyes filled with tears, and he said, while still a
good way off: “ Jörn, Jörn, it’s a bad business I have done.
Elsbe hasn’t been here for a fortnight, and is in Hamburg with
Harro Heinsen. I didn’t have the courage to write to thee
about it, laddie. And now I have a letter from her, saying he
wants to take her to America with him, and she says she’s
 JORN UHL 203
frightened of America, and bids good-by to us all, and especially
to thee.”
Jorn looked at Thiess with wide eyes of surprise and anger.
“Give me the letter,” he said. Thiess Thiessen threw down
the bag he was carrying on his shoulder, wiped his hot face,
and searched in his pockets for the letter, turning around now
and again while he searched, and gazing back toward his farm.
“What do you want with all those documents? Where are
you off to?”
“Don’t ask me, laddie,” he moaned; “its to Hamburg I’m
going, and if I don’t find her there I’m going to America.”
Geert Dose had been feeling the bag. “There are two
good big hams in it,” he said, “ and two flitches of bacon, but
they’re from a smaller pig, and a pig’s head.”
“For the journey,” moaned Thiess.
“To Hamburg?” asked Geert, politely.
“To America,” said Thiess, sobbing outright.
“ That’s something worth talking about,” said Geert.
By this Jorn had read the letter, and was gazing mutely at
Thiess. “ And now you're thinking of going after her, are you?
To judge by her letter she must have left Hamburg before
this; and even if she were there still, you can’t stop her going
to America with him.”
“Tl tell her she must leave him and stay with me, and
nobody shall say a word against her.”
Jorn Uhl reflected awhile. ‘‘ Thiess,” he said, “ I suppose
you don’t know that there’s war with France, and that we
have been summoned to Rendsburg? ”
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” said Thiess; “that’s worse and
worse; one misfortune on top of the other.”
“ We have very little time to think over matters,” said Jörn.
As yet he couldn’t grasp the news about Elsbe. What! little
Elsbe away with that big, coarse lout, away out in the world
among strangers? Suddenly a thought occurred to him. “ It’s
possible that the ship hasn’t been able to sail on account of the
outbreak of the war. If you find her, do the best you can,
Thiess, and bring her back here to the Haze.”
“Do you think so?” said Thiess; “do you think I'll suc-
ceed?” He looked back at his farm and sobbed, and his tears
ran down over his thin cheeks.
Come,” said Jörn, “ take heart a little, Thiess; you have
204 JORN UHE
always had a longing to travel a bit, or at least to go and see
Hamburg. Now you'll get out of your bogs for awhile.”
“ Yes, yes,” he said, and stopped again and looked back at
the old thatch roof. “ But it’s a cruel thing.”
They had reached the top of the rise where you catch sight
of Haze Farm for the last time. “ I don’t know what it is,”
he said, weeping, “ but my spirits are very low.”
“What, Thiess! after all your thirst for travel, and your
maps, and the Brazils and Japan. It must have all been
fancy and make-believe. Why, man, you’re homesick.”
“No, no... Pm coming. ....” He staggered like a
drunken man.
“ Turn back, Thiess; it’s no good, you can’t tear yourself
away.”
“ I can’t sleep of a night,” the little man moaned; “ all night
long I see her living there in misery, and I must go after her.
And I can’t go and leave the Haze, either.”
“Tf Thiess can’t sleep,” said Geert Dose, “ there must be
something serious the matter, and he'll be losing his appetite.
And what’ll he do with the two hams? ”
“I must go, I must,” moaned Thiess; “it’s no good. I'll
go with Eckert Witt, you know —the turf boatman. Leave
me alone and don’t torment. It’s got to be.”
“Well, off with you, then. We, too, have no more time
to stay.”
At the crossroads they bade him good-by with a shake of the
hand, and stood looking after him.
“The bag’s too heavy for him,” said Geert. “ Look, Jorn,
he’s regularly staggering with it.”
“ He can’t stand leaving home and all,” said Jörn.
“I say, tell me, now, what sort of a country’s this France.
I mean, is there anything to be got hold of there? Do they
fatten pigs there, or perhaps you don’t know that, Jörn? .. .
See there. . . . He has put the bag down, it’s too heavy for
the old man, he can’t manage it.”
“ No, he’s climbing the embankment,” said Jörn Uhl; “he
wants to try if he can get a last look at the farm. And that’s
the man that made out he would feel at home on every cattle
track in Further India.”
“TIl just hop over to him, and see,” said Geert; “I believe
it’s the bag that’s doing it.”
 JORN UHL 208
Geert took a short cut through the buckwheat paddock,
and came back after awhile with the two flitches of bacon
under his arm. “ What was the good of making him a long
speech about it?” said he. “ He hasn’t the faintest idea of it.
He’s just standing there yapping over at the farm. . . . Who
knows what sort of times we'll have? These two bacon flitches
are just the only sure and substantial thing we’ve got in the
whole world — all the rest’s just wild confusion.”
 CHAPTER XIV.

Every villager in Schleswig-Holstein knows that a blue

dungaree jumper and blue dungaree trousers are the correct
traditional costume for stablemen — a costume, be it remarked,
very becoming to a good-looking man. It must be confessed,
however, that the said blue dungaree is apt to become light
biue in parts where it gets much rubbed or used, while the
other parts keep their original dark hue. This parti-colored
appearance can be still further heightened by the housewife’s
putting new deep blue patches on the knees and breast. A
man may thereby assume such a variegated appearance that it
is difficult to believe that an honest, upright Holsteiner is hidden
away under this coat of many colors.
It was a place near Rendsburg on the Loher Heath, and
France had declared war four days before. And it was four
days before when Lance-Corporal Lohmann — the same man
who died this year from the consequences of the hardships he
underwent in the war — had come galloping into camp, bring-
ing the commander a telegram. A minute later every battery
of the Holstein artillery knew they were going to march against
France. And without a word of command, as though the
bugles had sounded the alarm, they sprang to their horses and
commenced saddling and harnessing with flying hands. ‘They
thought they would have to be off straight away.
Hans Lohmann, brother of the Corporal Lohmann already
mentioned, — 2d Heavy Battery, Number 3, on the right of
the gun, cleaner and rammer, — was mute and dazed for four
weeks afterward. Only on the third day after the battle of
Gravelotte did light begin to dawn on him again. In the first
place, he did not understand why they didn’t begin fighting
right away on receipt of the news; secondly, why the French
didn’t appear next day on Loher Heath; thirdly, when the
batteries were actually under way, how it was possible for the
206
 JORN UHL 204
world to be so big. He had thought the French lived just
behind Hohenwestedt and Heinkenborster. But he was under
a moral misconception in addition to this geographical one, for
he had not understood a word of their captain’s address to
them about their olden rights and about love of one’s Father-
land and sympathy for its aspirations. But afterward Corporal
Lindemann, who was for him what a lighted lamp is for a
dark room, had explained to him in a few words that the French
had insulted the old emperor. “ This is the way they’ve done,
Lohmann,” and he raised his hand as if to strike.
“ How old is he?” asked Lohmann.
“ Over seventy.”
From that hour forward Lohmann felt that he had a clear
knowledge of the state of affairs and a good conscience. “ If
they strike the old man in the face, then we've a right to dust
their jackets for them.” So it is evident that Lohmann 2 was
somewhat hazy in his ideas.
Not so Captain Gleiser. Bless me! The work that that man
got through in those seven days before the departure for the
front! Didn’t he stand three days at a stretch, from morning
till night, like a post in the sand, examining and inspecting the
men and horses of his regiment? And they were never good
enough for him. In those days he was more than once over-
censorious — he, Captain Gleiser, his Majesty’s handsomest
officer, as he himself said, asserted a hundred times if he did
it once in those few days that his was the damn worst battery
that was marching against France.
The smithy had driven past him for the eighth time with its
six black horses — pace, trot, gal... lop. ... Thats the
way. That was right— when suddenly a hubbub arose. A
long-legged horse, a beautiful animal, refused to pull. He
jerked at his collar, pranced, got among the artillery reserves,
who were standing there with their bundles, and seemed as
if he wished to dance a polka on his hind legs.
“Well tame him,” cried the captain; “bring him out in
front.”
Strong hands helped the driver to spring on to his back;
he was no sooner there than he lay sprawling full length in
the dust. ‘‘ Man, go and bury yourself for shame! Jürgens,
you try him. What! go to France with such fellows as these!
I’ll ge alone, I tell you, I'll go alone.”
208 JORN UHL
But Jiirgens soon lay in the hole in the sand which the
driver had made. a i
Captain Gleiser glared around him. He glared around him
like a man who, standing in the centre of the world, regards
himself as the only man on it. He, yes, he himself would ride
the horse! It’s worth while to show three hundred inferior
men what Captain Gleiser can do. ‘Those are the thoughts he
had in his mind as he glared around him.
Among the Reserves who were still standing there in their
every-day clothes, a hundred and odd men, there was one a
little apart from the others; he was dressed in an old blue
dungaree suit, on which big new knee-pieces had recently been
sewn. In spite of his height and gauntness he looked a thorough-
bred; broad-shouldered and straight, with a proud, narrow face.
Many a prince would have been glad to have had the face
and figure of this farmer’s son hereditary in his family. On
his fair, almost white hair he was wearing a blue, peaked cap,
and he had a small trunk in his hand. "Twas this man Gleiser
spied out. “ Uhl!” he shouted.
Uhl came up.
“Gad! You haven’t lost that heavy tread of yours,” he cried.
“Your father makes clogs, doesn’t he?”
“ No, he’s a farmer, captain.”
“I don’t care a rap what he is. Can you ride that devil
of a horse, or are you a battered old teapot, like the rest of
them? . . . Up with you!” Every one of the men who were
on Loher Heath that day —those who are still living have
now gray hair — knows how stiff and deliberate Jorn Uhl of
Wentorf was as he set his gray linen trunk down on the sand,
and how he stood up again as though all his joints were crack-
ing, and how, after he had straightened himself up and laid
his hand on the dark bay, he seemed to be a different man.
His eyes lifted themselves up like lions abcut to spring. With
a leap he was in the saddle, and the dark bay reared and
bucked, and whirled around and shook himself, and at last
bolted away over the sand and disappeared in a cloud of dust,
and left absolutely no trick untried in order to escape going
with the others on that campaign against the French. And
every one remembers how he gave up the struggle and Corporal
Uhl came riding back upon him, carrying his head pretty high.
 JORN UHL 209
“Uhl,” cried Gleiser, “ you’ll ride that horse for the future
and be Captain of the Sixth Gun.”
So Jorn Uhl went to the war as non-commissioned officer.

Eight days later, in the midst of pouring rain, they passed

through the long poplar lane that the 74th had crossed six
days before, as they were storming the Spicheren Heights. It
was miserable weather, and the troops were tired and low-
spirited.
Which of them had seen it, or who told the story, no one
knows. ‘They saw their old general riding by, and one soldier
repeated it to the other: “He just saw them burying an
officer; there to the left of the trees. So he rode over and
asked them, ‘ Who are you burying there, men?’ ‘Our cap-
tain.’ ‘Let me have another look at him,’ the old chap said,
‘he’s my son.’ ”
A moment afterward he rode past with his adjutant, to the
batteries that were driving on through the rain. He wasn’t
a good figure on horseback, too fat and too short. “They looked
after him, and marched on.
Miserable weather. ‘“ Look, there are three dead horses.
Man alive, how they are swollen! ”
“I say, whats the meaning of those long flower-beds?
That’s jolly strange; they’ve stuck sabres in them!”
“ Haven’t you got eyes in your head, man? ‘Those are
graves.”
“ For men?”
“Yes, for men; who else? And now stop your jaw.”
“Look! There’s a rifle sticking in the ground. One of
them’s used it as a crutch. The crutch is still standing, but
the man has fallen.”
Miserable weather. How the rain beats through the trees!
The guns go rumbling and rattling slowly forward. Graves;
nothing but graves. And the poplars are all peeled and stripped,
and the broken branches show their splintered bones.
“We can’t get at the enemy. . . . We Schleswig-Holsteiners
haven’t got a show . . . not we! Were too green and fresh
at the work for those Prussian fire-eaters. Were only going
for the sake of parade. Weve only got to follow in their
tracks.”
210 JORN UHL
“Those who were in the ’66 campaign, they’re the ones
who'll have to bear the brunt of it.” x
Who offered this opinion, or whether it was right, nobody
troubled to ask.
That night they bivouacked on the wet, windy heights to
the west of Spicheren, and threw fourteen French wagons that
were standing there into the flames of their watch-fires. “They
were all somewhat dejected, although many laughed loud, and
had a great deal to say. The sergeant grumbled the whole night
about the burning of the wagons, and had the iron parts raked
together out of the fires toward morning, and was delighted that
they brought seven francs for the Battery Fund.
The batteries drove on. It became most tedious, this eternal
marching on and on. A thousand times rather straight at the
enemy, beat them, and then back home. ‘“‘Who is there to
plough and sow at home? Autumn’s coming on. Father can’t
look after the stables by himself. And what will mother do?
And the girl?”
“ Were getting deeper and deeper into France. I believe
we've lost our way, if the truth were known. Hope we'll
come well out of it.”
Forward! Forward!
How small Wentorf has grown! ‘Wentorf, the very centre
and hub of the earth! Why! There must be fully ten thousand
villages in the world, and men like sand upon the sea-beach.
At first their battery had been alone, when they crossed the
Elbe on two steamers. Then they had grown into regiments,
then into a division, then into an army, and now, since yesterday,
they were a nation.
On the 14th, the battery drew up on a hill rise, near a
cross-road. Captain Gleiser stopped. near Jorn Uhl. There
below they saw troops marching, regiment on regiment. Ar-
tillery and cavalry and endless trains of wagons, squadron on
squadron, right away to the hills on the dim horizon.
Gleiser turned around. “ Uhl, what do you say to that?”
Jorn Uhl gazed at the scene, but said nothing.
“You farmer, you! It’s our Fatherland, Germany, strug-
gling forth out of centuries of distress.” He jerked his horse’s
head around and said no more.
Then Jorn looked up again and saw all these men march-
 JORN UHL 211
ing past, all striving toward one common goal, and suddenly
he felt the greatness of the time.
Next night they crossed a river by torchlight.
On the 16th, they heard cannon in the distance to their
right, the sound coming down from the hills. ‘‘ There’s a bit
of an artillery fight going on. Just look! But what can they
do at two thousand paces! Just a bit of a row!” And they
thought no more about it.
But a feeling like curiosity came over them. A feeling of
restless expectancy, like that a hunter feels in the forest, spread
among the men.
The 18th dawned, and they again saw, as they had done
fourteen days before, many fresh graves, this time with the
full sunlight on fens
It is eleven o'clock.
“ A fine, sunny day.”
If only the graves were not there.
It was a good thing after all that they remained in the
Reserves. The day before yesterday just the same as to-day.
Always in the rear. “ Were much too young and raw, and
besides we’re troops out of the new province. We won’t get
to the front, you just see. ... It’s a good thing, too. .
sa pity. 2... No... . Its a good thing afterall, Lf must
go back to my father. I must go back to my sweetheart. I’m
too young yet! I want to see something of life first. Then —
as far as I’m concerned . . .”
It is eleven o'clock.
It is as still as a Sunday morning in Holstein. That is, if
it weren’t for the rattle and jolt of the guns, and the creak
and whimper of the harness.
“Strange! . . . There, forward, to the right! .
”
.

a Doryou seer eo
“The main body is turning off the road up the heights, as
sure as I live!”
“There to the right, man! Can’t you see?”
“ What does it want there?”
“ How do I know?”
“ What a lovely, quiet day!”
“Gad! We won’t get a sniff of powder the whole of this
blessed campaign. Soon itll be ‘ Right about face!’ and back
home! ”
212 JÖRN UHL
“ Its too bad, to come back home and not have gone through
a thing! Afterward, those braggart Prussians’ll be coming
and spouting behind their beer-glasses about their great deeds,
enough to make the rafters warp, and we'll have to hold our
tongues.”
“ Jan Busch, where did you get hold of that pipe?”
“Oh! my landlady in What-you-may-call-it gave it to me,
to remember her by.”
“Look! Up there! That’s the first horse-battery! ”
“ Do you see?”
“ What the deuce is it doing up there? . . . Can’t make it
out at all.”
“ How willing the young horses pull! ”
“There, see! the six are standing.”
“ That captain’s a bit hasty, don’t you think?”
“ My father used to say, at Istedt, hed say .. è ?
“ Man, shut up about Istedt! ”
“What was that!”
“’They’re firing, I believe.”
“ Are they firing?”
Battery ce eat ac 0theo
Captain Gleiser casts a glance over his guns.
Nobody will forget that look. ‘That means business.
Who sees anything else? Who hears anything else? Who
says another word?
“ Battery ... gallop!”
Hans Detlef Gleiser pulls up of a sudden, on his high,
beautiful bay; the sun sparkles on his helmet and in his eyes.
That’s his great delight to let his six guns gallop past him,
and then give his horse the spurs, and be first in position.
The major comes galloping toward them. He must be
wanting to show them where to take their positions. . . . The
major sits his horse well, even now his head is off. . . . How
horrible . . . now the dead man falls... . And the horse
gallops madly on.
“ What’s that horse that goes tearing past as Jorn Uhl’s team
comes galloping into action? That bay belongs to Colonel von
Jagermann, doesn’t he? ” ‘The horse’s flank is red and wet with
blood.
“Tn advancing .. . ”
The horses fly to one side.
 JORN UHL 213
“Load with shell. Against the enemy’s position.”
“ Eighteen hundred paces.”
No more time for thinking now.
“It’s not possible.”
No more thinking . . . keep cool.
The white tents . . . Men are running about there. Thou-
sands are marching hither and thither over yonder, and stand
there in smoke.
Pee... ee ¢ .. tehnn ....tchnn! A rush and a whistle
crescendo and decrescendo.
“ Keep cool, lads. If you hear it, it’s past.”
It flies past, singing shrilly, and strikes not far from the
wheel tire . . . burying itself with a short, slushy sound in
the belly of the pole horse. The horse trembles and falls to
one side. The pole-horse rider looks E at the mare.
“ Whats the beast thinking of now?” . Pee-e nn! . .
His anger has vanished. With a long scream he lifts his hands.
as though some one had struck him in the loins with a sharp
stake, bends in the hollow of his back, and falls headlong
backwards from the rearing horse.
Jorn Uhl jerks his head around, to look at Lieutenant Hax,
who has given some order or other; but it can’t be under-
stood. There’s such a roar and noise and rattle and thunder
around them.
But is it necessary? He knows it by himself.
Gun to the front! Gun to the front!
One and two have to lay their hands to the spokes.
Ready with shell! . . . The lock is open.
“ Tschn-nn! ”
Those mosquitoes would fain sting ; there, away in front;
the long white line. But there’s no time... no time. We
must keep those wasps from getting too near ... those up
there on the heights.
“ Fire at those batteries . . . Fifteen hundred paces.”
Number one pulls the cord. The fire flies forth. Out of
the crashing and cracking a kind of melody arises. A host
of fearful sounds is rushing and flying with maniac eyes and
contorted faces over the heights. Half to the left there is a
continual squeaking and scratching, a villainous noise, as
though some one kept jamming a piece of iron into fragments
214 JORN UHL
of glass. A sheet of flame out of it flits right over the heads
of the panting men, there. €
Firei
The shell flies.
Jörn Uhl’s eyes fly in pursuit. Ah, that was a hit.
A sheet of flame comes flying. With a splutter it passes by.
A lieutenant comes trotting in their direction. Jörn casts a
glance at him. The lieutenant is mown down and flies to one
side. His back is suddenly bathed dark red.
Lieutenant Hax goes from gun to gun just as if he were on
Loher Heath.
A soldier comes up, salutes, and stands at attention before
him. The blood is welling out of his side, and has formed a
stripe down his trousers as though he were a general.
A Tothe rears
The man goes five steps, then he staggers. . . .
Some one mentions his name. “ See there. Geert Dose.”
Lieutenant Hax pulled up suddenly as though he had heard
a command.
(3 Chia

“ Here, sir.”
He turns around.
“Just give a look. I’m wounded in the back.”
“ Can't see anything, sir.”
“ No hole?”
ia) No.

“Well . . if you say so.... Aim at those heavy guns

there by the trees.”
“Fire! . . . that was too short.”
“Pires
Thats acy” [
Number two stumbles. Thats Jan Busch. He staggers
backwards and holds his hands to his forehead as though he
saw some dreadful sight, and then falls heavily backwards,
flinging out his arms. With outstretched hands he remains
lying on his back, gazing into the sky with the same terrified
eyes. Jörn Uhl springs forward to the gun.
Number five is wounded on the foot. He limps up, groan-
ing, and lays fresh shells at Jörn Uhl’s feet.
Lieutenant Hax shouts out to those who are holding the
 JORN UHL 218
horses, “ Farther back!” There are still three horses left.
The others are lying on the ground.
And there are still three men at the gun. The others are
lying on the ground.
Jorn Uhl stands over the gun-carriage, with the cartridge-
box behind him, the shells lie near him on the ground. He
picks them up, peg and screw. With a hard glance. .
Lohmann No. 2 fires and sponges the gun.
“Lohmann!” shouts Hax, “ not so slow, man! Move your-
self, we are not on the Loher Heath.”
Lohmann can’t do it any differently. One... and..
two. . . . Just the same as when they used to practise on the
Loher Heath.
“Fire!”
From the left it is getting terribly close, crashing and howling.
Lieutenant Hax clutches his wounded back and sighs aloud,
“That Lohmann... cant do it any differently ... I’m
blest if he can.”
Captain Gleiser rides up: “ Good, my lads! that’s the way.”
Four or five officers of the staff ride by for the second time
and halt close behind them. They're not long noticing it;
it roars and soughs . . . and splinters fly . . . and shells strike
. and burrow in the earth. An officer’s horse comes down;
the rider is flung away over its head, leaps up, and runs to
catch another horse that is galloping riderless among the guns;
Jorn Uhl helps him to catch it; and in a moment he is sitting
on the red housing-cloth.
The horsemen trot away. The cap of the general has a
little streamer to it; a piece of the edge is torn off, and a
piece of the wadding is hanging out, fluttering in the wind.
They are working hard at the gun; working in the sweat of
their brow. Not a moment’s rest. Not a moment. They
pant and aim, and shove and push, shout and curse. There
is a strange, short-breathed, hot wind blowing backwards and
forwards. The very earth is spewing fire, and the fire gleams
yellow through the billows of smoke. The locks on the guns
have become loose, and at every shot a long red tongue of flame
leaps out.
They have but the one thought: work, work. They have no
other care. They only think, “It’s hot work. When will it
be over?” They don’t think that the foe outnumbers them
216 JORN UHL
and is drawing around them in a half-circle, and may venture
a charge at any moment.
There comes number five running up ‘and says, ‘‘ There are
no more shells left.”
Now they’re in a fix, a cruel fix.
They stood by their gun as though turned to stone, Lohmann
stands with the sponge raised; Jorn Uhl, the one hand on the
gun-lock, the other clenched in fury, gazes into the lightning
among the smoke; Lieutenant Hax drags himself up with
heavy feet and shows Lohmann his back.
“Tsn’t there a hole in it?”
“ Yes, lieutenant, now there’s a hole, and blood is there, too.”
“I can’t stand any longer and I won’t go away, I won't, I
tell you.” And he spat contemptuously.
An officer of the staff came galloping up. “ Why have you
stopped firing? ”
“ No ammunition.”
“The devil you haven’t! Fire blank cartridge then.”
So they fired blank, using linen rags... and kept firing
. and still firing . . . a good long while.
Jorn Uhl, bending over the gun-carriage, reaches almost
mechanically to the right: there lie shells once more.
That is a relief.
A beardless young lieutenant stands behind them and praises
them, raising his voice above the din. “ Well done, corporal!
Well done . . . comrade.” He salutes across to Hax, who
is sitting on the ground propped with his back against a wheel
of the gun-carriage. But Hax cannot see him; Hax is staring
through half-closed eyes, his underlip contemptuously protruded,
down yonder in the direction of the enemy. Suddenly the guns
on their left ceased firing.
“What are these two batteries doing? Why don’t they go
on firing?”
Heavy rifle-firing is heard, half on their left flank, on the
edge of the woods.
German Infantry leaps up, flings itself down again, comes
nearer and nearer. ;
“Oh! .. . Those fellows want to help us... .”
“The guns . . . why aren’t they firing?”
“Fire away, comrades! ”
Here and there a single man is still on his feet . . . here
 JORN UHL 217
and there a muzzle still flashes. Sergeant Heesch of Eesch
still sticks to his gun, though he has but one man left. There
he stands amid the smoke and fire. Thats a hero for you!
They'll talk of him at home, I say, for many a year to come.
“ Fire, brothers, fire!”
A strange sort of brawling and roaring keeps growing nearer.
The young lieutenant comes running up, shouting at the
top of his voice, “ Fire on that battery to the left! . . . Grape-
shot, grape-shot, I tell you.”
“ Lieutenant!” shouts Uhl. . . . “ That’s our battery!”
“ Can’t you see, man! It’s full of red breeches! ”
“ Right about! ”
They all lend a hand, and grip and tug at the wheel-spokes.
It is hard work to get the gun around.
“ Grape-shot! . . . Four hundred paces. .
”
.

Look! Lieutenant Hax is on his feet again. He tries to give

the word of command and makes a clutch at his wounded side,
and falls headlong forwards. Two or three fugitives come
running toward them from the captured battery. One of them
falls midway in his flight just as a child falls, and clings to
a gun-wheel, and begins repeating the petitions of the Lord’s
Prayer, one by one. ‘The fourth petition he says twice over.
For he was a poor man’s son.
Fresh bodies of German Infantry pour out of the wood, they
stand and lie and crouch, some here, some there, wherever they
can, scattered and in bands. ‘They stand or lie between the
cannon, and fire on the howling and bellowing enemy that is
rushing toward them.
A fusilier, a nimble, sinewy fellow, with a round, reddish
head, has sprung to Jorn’s gun, and is shooting from behind it.
. . . He is putting in another cartridge.
“ Jorn Uhl, laddie! . . . Adsum, Jorn.”
Jörn Uhl pushes a grape-cartridge into its place, and shuts
the lock. . . . Why shouldn’t it be Fiete Cray that is standing
there by his side!
“Your firing’s thrown away, Jorn. It’ll be all up with us
in a minute.”
A shell ploughs up the yellowish brown earth.
“ Ah! if Hinnerk could only plough like that, it'd be
something like.”
3)
“ The post-card that I have here stuck in my helmet . .
218 JORNIUEHL
“ Write to Thiess. Remember me to Elsbe.”
“ Lisbeth Junker has . . . But what’s the good of talking!”
He heaves the gun aroudd toward the enemy, Fiete Cray
helps him.
The hail of grape-shot goes flying once more ... and yet
once more.
The French begin to falter over yonder. But more come
on. Multitudes of strange red-breeched men appear in the
fire and smoke, pressing forward.
The end is not far off.
Horses! Horses!
The horses are all lying dead on the ground. So Lohmann
runs across the field and catches three of those that are
galloping about there, riderless, trotting and then standing
still awhile; he comes back with them, and the soldiers harness
them to the guns with flying hands.
Retire! . . . Retire!
A miserable retreat.
Fiete Cray sits in front on the gun-box and drives with
loose reins. Lohmann, standing upright by his side, lashes the
worn-out and wounded horses with his whip. Jorn Uhl is
trotting close alongside the gun, holding the lieutenant, who
is sitting on the axle-seat, crouched all in a heap and swaying
like a drunken man.
“Its just like it was in Wentorf,” thinks Fiete Cray, “ when
I'd been robbing the apple orchard, and had Wieten after me,
scolding for all she was worth. God be with us! How the
wretches curse!”
Two sheaves of flame cleave the smoke; they sweep straight
away over the field in front of them.
“The third’ll be for us!”
No... no, Fate means none of the iron that hurtles there
for them. Nor shall any of these flames singe them. They
reach the shelter of the wood alive.
There they find from ten to a dozen guns. Others are still
coming up in the same plight as they, with staggering, stum-
bling Don and three or four stragglers run up, on whose
sweat-bathed faces misery and rage are imprinted, and panic
fear and wild excitement.
How they work! They tug at the horses’ mouths with loud
curses and short, wild words. Ammunition is hauled up and
 JOR NUE 219
laid in the boxes. The artillery smith, capless and dishevelled,
with uniform all torn, is kneeling by a gun that has been hurt;
a corporal is stuffing plugs of lint into the deep wounds of a
horse, to stop the gush of blood.
Words of command mingle with the din.
Three guns with fresh horses, and a fair complement of
gunners — among them infantry stragglers — drive up.
The young lieutenant works away, shouting as he runs
hither and thither. ... Now he can start again with two
guns. An officer pulls up his horse on the hill rise, and points
with his sword in the direction they’re to take. ‘“‘ There! Over
yonder! To the edge of yon wood!”
Jorn Uhl sits on the front gun, Fiete Cray is next him.
All around them, from near and far, is heard the roll and
roar of guns, and in unabated fury the fearful crackling of
musketry and the scream of shells.
Now they have trotted along to the end of the forest road
and come out on the edge, and the thunder seems to have
receded.
“ Do you know what, corporal? I believe it’s over there.”
“I must be at them,” says the youngster, grinding his teeth.
“ My cousin in the 2d Light Horse has fallen; to-morrow I
must write to his mother.”
“ There are many fallen, lieutenant.”
“It’s a fearful day.”
When they looked around the other gun was no longer there.
The roar had abated.
Evening began to descend upon the woods.
And there was none among them to raise his hands and
cry like the Jew in his fury, of old, “ O Sun! stand still over
Gibeon, and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon! ”
Norme o NOn. G.
They drive on and come out of the wood at the right place.
But the guns are being retired. Fresh infantry regiments are
in masses on the field. The enemy is quiet.
It is eventide.
And as the sounds cease . . . there are cries heard out of
those bushes and out of yon furrows, “Help! ... Oh...
help me!” And up above on the rise, “ Je prie . . . ma mère
... pitié” And out of the dry watercourse, “ Water! Water!
. .. a drink of water . . . mither, mither!”’
220 TORN UHL
Gradually the sounds die down and cease.
On the edge of the wood soldiers are getting down from
the gun-carriages and off the backs of theif horses.
“ My mother put a packet in my breast pocket, in case the
worst came to the worst,” says the lieutenant... “but I
can’t get my arm up to it.”
So Jörn Uhl took it out of his pocket for him, and gave it
him, and he offered him the half of it. The pole-horse had
lost the lint plugs out of its wound, and the blood was spurt-
ing out. Jörn Uhl sprang up and dragged it to one side. It
fell. The lieutenant, faint with loss of blood, seated himself
on the gun-carriage; Fiete Cray flung himself in the grass.
“ Lohmann, go and see what’s become of the others.”
He laid the sponge that he had taken away in its place, and
vanished in the wood.
“ Oh!” said the lieutenant; “ give me just a single mouthful
of something. I gave my flask to Lanky Jack; he emptied it
at a pull.” He usually spoke of him as Lieutenant Hax, but
in this hour he called him “ Lanky Jack.”
“ Do you see, lieutenant?” said Fiete Cray; “ here’s one of
the other side coming! ”
A soldier in wide red breeches and short blue jumper came
limping slowly toward them. Out of his bayonet he had made
a splint for his broken hip bone, and tied it on with his sword-
belt. But his foot slipped and he gave a loud scream.
Fiete Cray caught hold of him and helped him to sit down.
“I am a Frenchman,” he said, with a good German accent.
Ore Onis
“ What? ” said Fiete, looking at him in astonishment.
“T am a Strasburger.”’
“ Well, be thankful for it, and just stay still where you are
and stop your mizzling.” He found a bit of rope in his pocket
and set the leg again.
When Jorn Uhl saw Fiete pull this piece of rope out of
his pocket, his tongue was loosed.
“I say,” said he, “ how did you get here?”
“ I arrived in Hamburg the very day war was declared. Oh,
Jorn, my farm! My beautiful butter farm! Not far from
Chicago, Jorn! Oh, and my wife, and my two beautiful mares!
. . . But I can’t bear to talk about it. . . . Stop your groan-
ing, Strasburger, I can’t do anything more for you.”
 JORIN (UHL 221
Lohmann came back and reported that “ over th—th—there
. . . the b—batteries were halted.” He stuttered; his voice
was thick and his gait uncertain. Up to this the lieutenant
had been gazing gloomily into space, moving his hand now and
then with a suppressed groan to his wounded arm. “ Are you
wounded ?” he asked.
“ Devil a bit, sir!” said Lohmann.
If he had only managed to keep his tongue still, all would
have gone well; but he got hold of the rammer and swore he
would “ go across and fight those Frenchies with it, by thunder,
he would, he’d fight ’em by himself alone.”
So it came out that he had stumbled on some French
canteen cart that had been abandoned over yonder by the
embankment, and got tipsy.
“ Now we can start again,” said the lieutenant.
They lifted the Strasburger up on to the ammunition-box,
and drove off.
“You are Holsteiners, too, aren’t you? ” said the lieutenant.
“From Dithmarschen.”
“ My home’s not far from Plön, and my cousin lives in the
next village. Now he’s shot. I haven’t seen him, but I know
it, for all the men that served his guns have been killed... .
It will be bad news for them at home. I ought to write to
them ... but I cannot. . . . Gretchen will cry her eyes out.
He was such a fine, brave, clever fellow, too.”
“ Is Gretchen his sister? ”
“Yes; we all used to be playmates. We all grew in the
same pot, my uncle used to say.”
Fiete Cray consoled him, and said, “ Theres many a pot
gets smashed, sir.”
“And Gretchen is engaged to me,” said the youngster.
“ We plighted our troth when we were saying good-by; and
that was long ago.”
“ Yes,” said Jorn Uhl, “ it was long ago.”
“It was three weeks ago by my reckoning,” said Fiete Cray.
They all shook their heads incredulously.
“Three weeks? . . . It’s impossible.”
“Do you mean to say it’s only three weeks since I was at
home cutting chaff for the cows? ”
“It’s an age ago . . . an endless time . . . more than seven
years at least.”
222 JORN UHL
Such was the effect on their brains of their long marches
and travels, and of this day of furious battle; everything in
their lives before that seemed to have receded into some dim
past.
They came upon the other batteries in a hollow not far
from the wood. And again there was work to do. The whole
night long it lasted! How they worked, there on the edge
of the Bois de la Casse! And when morning flushed the sky,
there stood there forty guns drawn up in order side by side,
spick and span, as if they were on the Loher Heath; two had
fallen into the hands of the enemy. Horses and men, their gaps
filled up from reserve troops, were again standing by the iron
muzzles, ready as soon as the sun rose to drive back again to
that same yellow, pebbly field, ploughed with shell, and cut
up with ruts of wheels, and scattered over with corpses, and
pools of blood, and tatters of harness, and broken weapons, and
splintered wood.
But the enemy did not come. ‘The enemy was no longer a
tiger roaring as it leaps toward its prey, but an ox tethered
and bellowing, goring the earth with its horns.

That forenoon, Jörn Uhl was sent out to get news of some
of the wounded. After much seeking he found Lieutenant
Hax, lying on his cloak, in high fever.
““Mother’s just been here,” he said. “She was saying I
oughtn’t to hurry so fast and make myself so hot. ‘ You young
hothead,’ she said, and gave me a box on the ears. She always
does that, just for fun, when I’ve been running too hard.
Then I laugh and go to the glass and say, ‘See, now, you’ve
made my cheeks redder than ever.’ But deuce of a looking-glass
is there here. Here there’s nothing at all in its proper place.
I must make you fellows look after things a bit better. . . .
Oh! it’s you, Uhl! ... It has been a bad day for us, and
I believe I’m done for.”
“Tt’s not so bad as that, sir?”
“The air’s so hot one can’t breathe in it, especially when
one’s got to go at such a pace. Just tell me, Uhl, how is it
you always go so slow? You're always so stiff and deliberate.
. . . Oh, I remember now: it comes from ploughing. . . . I’ve
been dreaming I saw that red-haired youngster that I once
bundled off our farm with his little dog-wagon.”
 JORN UHL 223
“Tt was no dream, sir. He was really at the guns with us
all, helping.”
“ He’s a good sort, Uhl. When I turned him off our farm
I recollect he clenched his fist and wanted to fight me. It’s
not Christian, but it’s devilish human.”
“It’s Christian, too, I should say, sir, for one to fight against
what’s evil.”
“Right! yes, that’s it, against what’s evil! I’m going to
do the same myself. As true as God helps me! We’ll clench
our fists and hit hard, like we did to-day. And when you’re
down and can’t hit back any longer, you must spit. Yes!
Christian and human, one and the same thing. I suppose
mother’ll have a poor harvest of oats this year on the Ahlbeker
Moor. When I get back home Pll plough and plough till
I’m as stiff as that corporal of the sixth gun. . . . What’s his
name again?”
ce Uhl.”’

“Then everything shall blossom out afresh, and I'll build

a new house; but the old horizontal bars and so on we used
for gymnastics shall stay where they are in the yard. But we
won’t talk about that just now. Back to your guns, men! ...
I say, Dose, what the devil are you standing there grinning
about? Are you wondering why I’ve got so much to say?
I swear I’ll send you back to serve with long Sott, you beggar.
Unlimber, I tell you. . . . It’s not the slightest use. Those
Frenchmen are brave fellows and’ll get the Iron Cross, you'll
see, but a cross for our graves is all that we'll get.”
“ What message shall I give the battery from you, sir?”
“I won’t have them keep firing straight in my eyes like that.
Is that the way for men to behave? ‘In the name of three
devils,’ does he say? They ought to shoot with turnips, that’s
better than those filthy blank cartridges; and Captain Gleiser
ought to take off those patent-leather boots of his.”
Hax had never been able to get on with the captain.
Jörn Uhl looked for Geert Dose, too, but couldn’t find him.
On the second day he went to the lazarets again, but still sought
in vain. ‘Thousands lay there in their misery.
But on the third day he discovered him in the same narrow
room in which Captain Strandiger lay shot through the breast.
Both had been left untouched by the doctors. It would have
been useless.
224 JORN UHL
Jorn Uhl straightened himself up befote the captain and
saluted, but the wounded man only gazed at him vacantly with
great wild eyes, full of fever. Oh, stupid, stiff-jointed Jorn
Uhl! Then he bowed over his comrade lying there on the damp,
crimson straw.
Geert Dose was perfectly conscious and quiet. His eyes
answered Jérn’s greeting. There was the same look in them
as that day in the Rendsburg Barracks, as if to say, “ Jorn,
lad, you and I are the only sensible people in the whole room.”
But now it was bitter earnest.
“Can I do anything for vou, Geert, old man?”
“No, Jorn, it’s all over with me. I can’t understand how
I’m still alive.”
“ Can’t I do anything for you? Have you much pain?”
“Pain? There’s none in the back; I don’t think I’ve got
a back. But here in front from the breast up to the neck.
. . . But it’s really all the same, Jörn; no good talking. Only
I wish I could be back with father and mother just once more.
. . - Mother used to give me a nice clean shirt every Satur-
day, and here I have to lie like this. . . . This one’s simply
filthy, Jorn.”
“ My shirt’s not so fresh as it might be, Geert, but it’s better
than yours.”
He pulled his coat off and stripped off his shirt, and put
his arm around the wounded man to raise him. Geert gave
a sudden scream, his head fell back, and he was dead.
Jörn Uhl stood up to his knees in the blood-stained straw.
He looked at the dead man, and then at the captain, who,
with his head back and dilated eyes, was struggling and panting
for breath, and horror seized him for the terrible misery of men.
When he came back to the battery, Fiete Cray had been
there and gone away again. William Lohmann, however,
had just been put in irons for two hours for having been
drunk on the eighteenth. As a set-off and solace, however, he
learnt that he had been recommended for the Iron Cross for
having sponged his gun that day as if he were at home on Loher
Heathone e -o rand sete.
Such was the day of Gravelotte for the lads of Wentorf.

There came the camp in front of Metz, in the midst of wet

straw and evil smells, and with the plague of lice and vermin.
 JORN UHL 225
Many a one fell ill and had to be sent home. Jörn Uhl re-
mained in sound health, did his round of duties, and thought
of the Uhl, where it was now harvest-time and the ploughs
were running.
Then came the most trying time of the war; long marches
right into the heart of France, and, as they marched, one fight
after another, all through the winter. To-day no water, and
to-morrow no bread; no fire to-day, to-morrow no breath; no
roof to-day to cover them, to-morrow no shirt.
And every day the peasants of the country were comman-
deered for grave-digging! “There beneath the walnut-tree!
dig a grave, paysan! C’est mon camarade, cochon!”
It came to this at last, that they said to their captain, “ Sir,
none of us will ever go back home from this terrible war.”
And the captain would stand and gaze away far off into the
east. “And if we don’t soon return home, we'll be no longer
of any use in the world. We are no longer human beings,
but unclean animals.” His hair had grown gray in those few
months of war.
Jorn Uhl marched with them, kept his gun polished, and
his men in fair discipline, and kept thinking to himself, “ When
ploughing-time comes around again, I must be back at the Uhl.”
In the beginning of February, one rainy day, in a small town,
Corporal Uhl was missing at roll-call. The night patrol found
him lying in a gutter in a small street near the barracks. When
they took him in charge and brought him to the lazaret, he
whimpered, after the fashion of those who have fever, about
all sorts of trifling matters, the mud on his coat, and the loss
of his cap. They laid him in bed and went away. But as the
hospital warders did not watch him, he got up that same night,
put on his clothes ready for marching, and went out into the
street again. They found him next morning leaning against
a wall, dazed with sleep. He was taken back to the lazaret, and
there he lay ill with typhus. He was tortured with the fancy
that the new silver gun-sight had got lost, and that his men
supposed that he, Jorn Uhl, had thrown it away so as to escape
from serving against the French. The sick man carried this
torturing hallucination with him for more than a hundred
miles, and it did not vanish until he came under the care of
good nurses in Strasburg.
 l

CHAPTER XV.

Fiere Cray got his discharge from the army as early as

March, and went to see Jörn Uhl in the lazaret. He found
him almost well again, and took him with him to Hamburg.
So one afternoon Jörn Uhl, tall and lank, still pale, and
still a little listless, and little Fiete Cray, with his quick steps
and restless, prying eyes, passed through the Hamburg streets
looking for lodgings for the night. Both of them were dressed
in the threadbare old uniforms that had been given to them
to come home in.
As they walked along in this fashion, Jörn Uhl with his
eyes on the ground, and Fiete Cray with his eyes everywhere
about him, a tall, good-looking, fair-haired girl came in their
direction; her skin was fair, too, all white and red, in the
freshest bloom of youth; she had a book under her arm, and
was simply and very soberly dressed. And Fiete Cray looked at
her, and couldn’t help looking at her again; for there’s some-
thing peculiar in her face, something that reminds one of
Wodan’s Heath and Haze Farm. The remarkable thing about
her, too, is that there’s something lightlike and fugitive in her
bearing and in her hair and eyes, and that the shy gray eyes
are set a little slanting in her face, like the two wings of a
dove that is about to take flight.
An uncertain glance of recognition flies backwards and for-
wards between them. Both of them suddenly stop, and Jorn
Uhl, too, lifts his eyes.
“Oh, Jörn, Jorn! . . . How ill you look! Oh, Fiete Cray!
I have heard from Thiess that you have been with the others
in France, and that you’re married. . . . Oh, Jorn! what will
Thiess say! . . . Did you know that Thiess is back in Ham-
burg?”
It was Lisbeth Junker standing there before them, shaking
their hands as if she would never stop. Her eyes were like
226
 JORN UHL 227
two brilliant flames, like the May fires upon Ringelshérn,
especially when she looked at Jérn Uhl, especially Jorn Uhl.
“Ts Thiess still here?”
“Yes. Just fancy! Hes still looking for Elsbe, for he’s
found out that she didn’t sail with the ship she meant to. And
now one of our acquaintances will have it that he has seen her;
but there are others who think it possible that Harro Heinsen
got away before the war by way of Copenhagen.”
“Do you know how things are going on in Wentorf? Or
have you left there for good?”
“ My grandparents are dead,” she said, “ but I know the
new teacher’s wife very well. I was there only last Christmas.”
“ And what are you doing here?”
“Tm staying with my aunt. She keeps a little shop for sta-
tionery, and in my spare time I’m taking lessons in bookkeeping.”
“Can you tell us where Thiess is to be found?”
“Yes; and I'll come with you.”
So they walked out to St. Paul’s, a good, long distance, and
came into Mary Street, with its lofty, desolate-looking boarding-
houses. They climbed four flights of stairs, and Lisbeth Junker
opened a door at the end of a dark passage. “There sat Thiess
Thiessen near a little iron stove. He was holding a small
coffee-mill between his knees and grinding away so intently
that he had not heard them come in.
“Oh, Jorn! ...” he said, springing to his feet. “ There
you are at last! ... Fiete! My laddie! Oh, Fiete!...
Children, what a wretched state of affairs this is! Pl have
the coffee-beans ground in a moment, and you shall drink as
much as you like.”
He was now hunting about the room for his slippers. “ It’s
no matter, children; it’s no matter! Here we are all to-
gether, and these four walls are now Haze Farm. Oh, the
poor little lass! . . . Lisbeth, haven’t you seen her anywhere?
This is the time of day when poor folk’s wives are abroad
in the streets, doing their buying. God knows, but the poor
lassie may have naught to buy with. Just think, Jorn... .
Just picture to yourself that little helpless soul in this great,
fearful city. . . . Fiete, I believe he beats her! He wants
to get to America with her. But I lurk about all the wharves,
so that he sha’n’t get away with her. How can a man want
to go to America? A place like that, miles away from Haze
228 JORN UHL
Farm? Lisbeth, lass, you make the coffee for them. Here’s
the kettle! In this place the water runs out of the wall. At
our place down at the Haze it runs against it. It’s a crazy,
topsyturvy world.”
Fiete Cray pushed him back into his chair, and said, “ Now
just sit still there, Thiess, and don’t go thinking that she'll let
him beat her. Here’s your other slipper, Thiess. As soon as
she sees that he no longer cares for her, she'll run away from
him at once. According to my idea she’s left him already,
only she won’t venture to come back to Haze Farm, and is
fighting her way for herself, somewhere or other. She’s afraid
of you and Jorn. Shame keeps her back.”
Lisbeth thought that might be quite possible; and Jörn
nodded.
“ So there, now, Thiess. . . . And now bear in mind,” said
Fiete, “ that we’ve a long railway journey behind us; and while
youre getting bread and coffee ready, we can go on yarning.”
The conversation almost took a cheerful, sociable tone, thanks
to Fiete Cray, who coaxed the old farmer to talk, and thanks
to Lisbeth, who poured out the coffee and cut the bread.
“Sit down, old earthman,” said Fiete Cray, “and be quiet.
You just see. We’ll get Elsbe back again yet.”
“Yes, Thiess. And now have something to eat. Here’s
your cup.”
“Do you know what?” said Fiete Cray, leaning back in his
chair as if he were quite at home. “ This reminds me of one
of Wieten’s fairy-tales. I don’t set much store by such things
now, but this one has just come to my mind. You, Thiess,
are the good-natured old dwarf who took in the two tattered
and weary travellers. Then we got a beautiful glass princess
to wait on us. And afterward we'll go off on our journey
again, and find our sister at last.”
“It’s just like your impudence to say I’m made of glass!”
said Lisbeth, pouting. “ There’s still a good deal of the Cray
about you, it seems to me.”
“ And you’ve grown so fine.and bonnie,” he said, laughing
in her face; “and I’ve always thought you were a bit like
glass, haven’t you, Jorn? She never used to go through thick
and thin with us like Elsbe did, but always stood a little
distrustfully to one side. And then, besides, it’s more than a
 FORIN UHL 229
year since such a neat little minx has poured out coffee for
me. Thank you kindly, Rain-tweet.”
“ You’ve always been fond of putting your nose in other
people’s affairs, and seeing more than’s good for you,” she
said, with a toss of her head. The little maid no longer looked
at him or even at Jörn, and was, truth to tell, really a little
stiff and glassy.
“Tell us about Elsbe!” said Fiete Cray, looking severely at
Thiess. “ You’re certain to have stood godfather in the affair.”
“Yes,” said Thiess Thiessen, with a groan. “ But what is
there to tell? He used to visit her at Haze Farm, and I
went on sleeping and noticed nothing. I used to say, ‘ Child,
how pale you are! Didn’t you sleep well last night?’ ‘I
slept fine,’ she said, ‘a queen couldn’t have slept better? And
I was so glad to hear it. Once she asked me, ‘ Tell me, Thiess,
isn’t there an old law that when young folk have promised to
marry each other, they are like married people before God and
the world?’ ‘ Yes, child,’ I said, ‘ I’ve read in some old chron-
icle how Wolf Ironbrand, the hero of Hemmingstedt, spent the
night before the battle in the room of his lady-love. I believe
that’s old Saxon or Frisian custom.’ Well, we left that subject,
and I went on with my day-dreams. Id say, ‘Go for a drive
into town, Elsbe,’ or I’d say, ‘ Stretch your wings and have a
fly into the forest, little Uhl.’ But she’d go about the house,
whistling and singing and saying, ‘I don’t want the town and
I don’t want the wood. I’m as merry as a cricket where I am.’
I still noticed nothing. Then one day Harro Heinsen came
riding up on his bay mare, and leapt the rails by the hedge gate,
and said he was going to propose to Elsbe, and laughed.
“Well, and then . . . five or six days afterward he came
back full of abuse for his father and for Klaus Uhl. ‘They
neither of them were worth a penny,’ he said. They could
not buy him a farm. When she heard this, the little lass
seemed of a sudden to lose her good spirits and looked quite
grave. I’ve never seen her like that before. All her great
happiness was dashed to pieces. I said to them, ‘Stay here
on Haze Farm. ‘There is more to be made out of the old
place if a man was here who liked work.’ I’m too sleepy,
Fiete. I confess it, and I won’t make any secret about it.
But Heinsen laughed, and said he hadn’t come down to being
a Geest farmer yet. I could see how eager she was to remain,
230 JORN UHL
though. He dragged her away from the farm as one drags a
foal by the halter, that looks around when it gets to the gate
with a long look of regret.”
He shook his head despairingly, and moved his feet about,
feeling for his slippers, and his eyes ran over with tears.
“I slept through it all,” he went on, in a querulous voice;
“ that’s why I’m being punished for it now. I must sit here in
this hole, while many a mile from here Haze Farm lies bask-
ing in the sunlight, and the beautiful mounds of turf are piled
in the high grass, and the catkins hover about in the ditches, as
if they were listening to some slow, solemn music, and rock
themselves to the tune of it. And I dream every night and
look for the child in the reeds and can’t find her, and while
I’m at it I tumble into the water, and wake up and can’t get
to sleep again. You can see by that, Fiete, what a state I’m
in when I can’t sleep any more. The old woman who lives
near me says it’s homesickness, and she speaks the truth. It’s
a terrible attack of homesickness that I have. You know my
little bedroom at Haze Farm, children. If ever I come back
to dwell in peace at the Haze, the first thing PI do will be
to whitewash it, and out with those maps of foreign parts. . . .
The old woman wants to do what she can for me. She’s got a
book on medicines, and gives me mercury and phosphates. She
says that’s good for homesickness. But it’s not only homesick-
ness I’ve got— its a bad conscience; and she says there’s
nothing for that in her medicine-book. I overslept myself, and
that’s why I have to live here in misery now, and go running
about the wharves and the streets all day, and search about
among the reeds on the moors at night.”
This was the way Thiess Thiessen complained. His thin,
drawn face looked very long, and his little, blinking, childlike
eyes seemed entreating help. He kept moving his leather
slippers backwards and forwards the while, and sometimes when
they got out of his reach he would half-raise himself from his
chair and fetch them back, gazing at his visitors the while.
During Thiess’s explanation Fiete Cray had been leaning
across the table and gazing at the speaker. That comfortable
feeling which the poor hunted brush-maker’s boy had so often
felt when he reached Haze Farm, in times gone by, had come
over him again.
Lisbeth looked at Thiess Thiessen with those pensive, earnest
 JGORNY UHL 231
eyes of hers, and now and again threw a swift glance in Jérn
Uhl’s direction; but he was sitting there mute, his eyes fixed
on the table. His heart was as though frozen and lifeless from
the illness he had undergone and the new cares he had to bear.
He did not look even at this maiden whom he had regarded
so affectionately from his earliest childhood, and whom he had
loved so when he was a boy, and who was now sitting before
him in the radiant freshness of her beauty. It was no hour for
him to think of love.
“I start of a morning at about eight o’clock,” continued
Thiess; “ and of an afternoon I’m off again searching through
all the streets where the poorer folk dwell, and along the
harbor. And five times,” he said, and his voice was like that
of a child about to cry, “I’ve been by when they've pulled a
girl out of the water. I believe if ever she comes to want she'll
do it.’
“No,” said Fiete Cray, and for the second time he proved
himself a judge of character. “She won’t do that. ‘There’s
no one clings more stubbornly to life than Elsbe. You don’t
know her. . . . Have you looked for the name Heinsen in the
directory? Have you been to the police-station? ”
“I haven’t found a thing,” said Thiess; “ and the worst of it
is that many a time when I’m looking for her, and see some-
thing that strikes my fancy, I get dreaming over it, and stay
there and forget everything; for example, I fall to pondering
what the trolley-driver’s thinking about, and how many children
the tram-conductor has, and where the big dog sleeps at night
and who he belongs to, and what the haggard old newspaper
woman must have looked like when she was still young and
sprightly. And then on the wharf, Fiete, I wonder what’s in
the bales and sacks, and what sort of a look the people and lands
have where these things come from. And then the Punch and
Judy show down by the Sailors’ Arms. Eh, Lisbeth? ‘That’s
the best thing in all Hamburg, isn’t it?”
“ Have you no friends or acquaintances, then? ”
“ Yes,” said the old fellow, somewhat embarrassed, “ they’ve
got a kind of club here.”
Wia!
“Well, you see, it’s this way. Here to the left there lives a
cobbler who comes from the Geest, not far from Meldorf, and
right up there — do you see, Fiete?— there, close to the tele-
232 JORN UHL
graph wires, one of the Strackelmeiers lives — you know, the
Strackelmeiers of Hinthorp. You know the family, Fiete.
You once bought a dog from them and sold it to me. A beast
that was no good, Fiete, and had never been properly trained.
He has a wife and grown-up children, but I believe his wife
doesn’t get on very well with him, and he’s a small, insignifi-
cant man to look at. He’s glad when he gets down and away
from his room up by the telegraph wires.”
“ Oh! and so they all come here to you, eh, Thiess? ”
“Yes. You see, they have a sort of club; a club is something
the same as what knock-off time is with us. So we sit together
here a bit and have a crack.”
“ What! do they both come here to you?”
“ Yes, always. That’s just it — they are both a little home-
sick. You haven’t an idea, Fiete, how much homesickness there
is in this big town. Every third man has it; not only those
who were born free in the open country, but their children,
too, have it in their blood. It’s only the third generation that
begin to take it in, how clever and knowing it is to live in flats
one above the other in narrow streets. . . . Well, these two
poor men come to me; for I heat the room with turf from
Tunkmoor; Eggert Witt brings it to me by the sack. And
on top of each sack there is always — not a golden bowl, Fiete,
but a good fresh loaf of home-made black bread. So you see
that this sack is, so to say, our club’s foundation-stone. You
have noticed, Lisbeth, how a little smoke always comes out
when Strackelmeier opens the stove. He does it on purpose,
just because he wants to get a sniff. Fiete, you know the old
thatched cottage between Brickeln and Quickborn, just where
the road turns off to Grossenrahde; well, that’s where he comes
from. His father had a rye-paddock there to grow enough for
bread, and a little bit of turf-bog to bake the bread with. The
house had no chimney, and the smoke found its way out by
itself. He grew up in the smoke. Hes all wrinkled brown
with it, and that’s why he keeps so well preserved. When he
comes in, he raises his nose high, and wants to be terribly
sociable; doesn’t he, Lisbeth?” -
“Come,” said Fiete Cray, “ its time for us to be going to
our lodgings. You'll soon look a different man, Jörn. Don’t
you trouble, Thiess; I know a very good place for us to stay
 JORN UHL 233
at in King Street. Won’t you and Lisbeth come a piece of
the way with us?”
So they all four walked along together. Evening had fallen;
it had been raining heavily and was still drizzling. Yellow
and whitish lights fell upon the dark streets, and on the watery
mirrors of the pavement. And Thiess turned his head and
stopped, and then ran in order to catch up with them, his hob-
nailed boots clattering on the pavement.
“ Its just the sort of weather for her to be out,” he said;
“the sort of weather for people who are ashamed, and are not
well dressed, and sad.” He looked up at them with a shy
smile. “I am thinking I’d like to walk up and down a bit
here,” he said.
“You'll get wet through, Thiess; take the umbrella,” said
Lisbeth.
“No, no. Ill soon get dry again. . . . You two will come
and see me again to-morrow, will you? And take care to
bring Lisbeth safe home.”
So he said good-by, and they stood looking after him. They
saw his back all glistening with rain, as he went trotting along
in his high top-boots. Several passers-by stopped, and looked
after the little man.
“Oh, Thiess, Thiess,” said Fiete Cray, “ when we were
children and you used to play Tom Fool to make us laugh,
who would ever have suspected what was in you! ‘This is a
bad day for the children of Wentorf! Come along, now,
Lisbeth.”
The three walked on in silence. After awhile Fiete Cray
said, “ PII just go into this inn, and wait till you come back.
You'll see Lisbeth home; that’s your business, you’ve always
been hand and glove together.”
Jörn went with Lisbeth as far as her aunts door. ‘They
had little to say to each other. He asked her this and that
about her daily life, and she told him how kind and good her
aunt was to her, and how her life was rather quiet and lonely
and a little hopeless; in other respects she had little to com-
plain of. She said all this in the same reserved, shy way in
which she had always spoken. ‘To her questions he gave but
short and scanty answers. She said not a word about the
times of her girlhood. As he gave her his hand to say good-by
she thawed a little, and held his hand fast in hers, and said,
234 JÖRN UHL
“Tn the summer holidays, Jorn, Im coming to Wentorf; and
I am coming to see you, too, mind.” s
But as he seemed to take no notice of her words, she quickly
let his hand go and vanished behind the gently closed door.
He found Fiete Cray waiting at the inn. “Oh, .. .” said
Fiete, “ I thought your good-by would have taken a bit longer!
But I suppose you know besti ... And now Pll tell you
something. I’m not going to see Thiess Thiessen again, nor
Lisbeth Junker either, nor Wentorf either, but I’m going
straight back to America to-morrow.”
“What?” said Jörn Uhl. “ Do you mean to say you’re going
away again without having seen your parents? ”
“ My parents,” he said, “ have cost me dear enough already.
Don’t pull such a stupid face, Jorn, and IIl tell you about it.
Last summer when I got to Wentorf, just before the war
broke out, in order to claim a small legacy, what did I hear
but that my aunt wasn’t dead at all. Some rogue of a farmer
had played a practical joke, and written a letter to my father,
saying she was dead, and would he come. So Jasper Cray
put on his black Sunday coat and went into town, but in the
gladness of his heart that the old body was dead at last, he
bought five or six great, big, expensive wreaths, with long
ribbons and beautiful inscriptions on them; these he took with
him into an inn and there drunk a little more than was good
for him. In this condition, with his wreaths strung over his
arm and shoulder, he arrived at my aunt’s. She happened to
be sitting at the window when he came up. Well — you can
paint the rest of the picture for yourself. . . . So Jasper Cray
came back home again, wreaths and all. Mother cried and he
whistled. He whistled, and hung the six wreaths around the
four walls of our room. You know, Jörn, we Crays have a
great fancy for gay, bright things. It looked famous, I can
tell you. The broad, white ribbons hung down over the chair-
backs, so that we had the words on them right before our eyes:
‘Though lost to sight to memory dear,’ ‘In sad and loving
memory, and ‘ Till we meet again,’ and so on. And while
I’m sitting there and mother’s telling me the miserable story,
and I’m thinking, ‘It’s for this you’ve left house and home
and wife, and come five thousand miles,’ who should come in
but the town-messenger of Mariendonn. ‘ War against France,’
he says, and gives me a slap on the shoulder. ‘ You’ve just come
 JOR NUHL 235
in the nick of time, Fiete Cray, and have to serve along with
the others.” So I sat down and wrote to Trina: ‘Such and
such is the state of affairs, and I hope to come back safe and
sound, and when I come see if I don’t carry you in my arms
for a month.’ I thought of being away three months or so,
Jorn, and it’s nearly a year, now, since I left her, and I’ve
never heard a word from her. So you can’t be surprised that
I’m anxious about her, can you? although, mind you, I left
her in the care of a good friend. What’s the object of going
back to Wentorf? ... And one thing more, Jorn Uhl. If
things at the Uhl go too much askew, don’t go burying your-
self forever in this poverty and misery, but tear yourself loose
from the whole business and come over to me.”
Jorn Uhl laid his clenched fist on the table and said,
“From the time I was twelve I have done nothing but worry
and work for the sake of the Uhl. I’m determined to see
whether I can’t wrench it out of their hands after all.”

Next morning Fiete Cray took ship back to America, and

Jorn Uhl returned to Wentorf. As soon as Thiess Thiessen
had seen Jörn’s train steam out of the station, he went through
the city streets and renewed his search.
For eight years he lived in Hamburg continuing his search,
and Peter Suhm, Hans Suhm’s son, managed Haze Farm for
him the while.
Sometimes tortured by the pangs of homesickness, he would
walk or go by train back to the Haze, loitering around the
house, drinking in the air, paying little visits to moor and
forest, and running over to Jorn Uhl at Wentorf, making all
sorts of little alterations on the farm, as if he meant to stay
there for good, and would remain four, nay, in very bad at-
tacks of his malady, even eight weeks at a stretch. “Then rest-
lessness and sleeplessness would come upon him, and he had
to tear himself away from home with ever the same recurring
smart, and bury himself in the big town again, and live in
his little room with his iron stove, and his turf and his club,
and seek and seek through the long streets.
Those who dwelt by the side of the road that goes from
Wentorf to Hamburg by way of Itzehoe and Elmshorn, must
remember him still; for he generally wandered along this long
highway on foot, being convinced that some day or other he
236 JORN UHL
would meet her returning home that way. And those who
live in Hamburg and around St. Paul’s as far as the Elbe
road must recollect the little man they so often saw tramping
through the streets in his big country boots and his short,
thick, dark gray jacket, and searching about with his little,
childlike, eager eyes. ‘There was something of an odd monot-
onous jog in his walk; it was a jog such as folk get who
have repeatedly to traverse the same paths. What chiefly
struck people, however, was that he didn’t pass along the street
with indifferent or inattentive gaze, but that his ferret-like eyes
seemed to dart everywhere between the passing men and
women; they noticed how at times he would stand back and
lean against a wall, and for a quarter of an hour at a time
watch with shrewd, yet kindly, dreamy eyes something or other
that had roused his interest in the hurly-burly of the streets.
 CHAPTER XVI.

AT various times in their history the people of this province

have returned home in various moods, according as they were
conquerers or conquered. For the land of Schleswig-Holstein
has from time immemorial been a very cradle of peoples and
princes.
In olden, far-off days, when the land had grown too narrow
for the folk who dwelled there, they equipped their big-bellied
ships with long oars of ashwood and broad gray sails, and
sailed oversea to Britain. And a few boats returned with
scanty crews, who went about from farm to farm, their long
hair tied with gay-colored ribbons of wool, and brought greet-
ings and messages from those over there in the new land. And
the messengers said that the land was fair, with broad plains
for horses to graze on, and deep lakes with fine fish in them,
and that the people who lived there were conquered; and that
they had been sent to say that the gray-eyed Mechtild should
come over, and Traut, the red-haired maid, and little Emma
and many another, to be mistresses there on the broad farms,
and have many nimble thralls and servants to do their bidding.
And as the messenger went through the farm-gate on his way,
he shouted in his pride and glee and flung his spear into the
branches of the nearest linden.
Five hundred years later they were away eastward, driving
out the Wends, who had made a foray into their land. But
between Neumünster and Eutin, as they were turning the
corner of a certain wood, lo! the wood became alive with
men. Swift Wends were suddenly upon them, darting back-
wards and forwards till their heads were all in a whirl, and
still swifter Wendish arrows darted through the air, disabling
many a stalwart man. That time they came home to their
firesides with long drooping moustaches and gloomy looks.
Another five hundred years and the Dane was harrying the
237
238 JORN UHL
land. Its wealth and the yeomen’s long-haired daughters had
enticed him thither. They called out the land-guard, the bells
from every village rang out their tocsins, and beacon-fires
flamed along the dikes. The sea, their neighbor and at most
times their foe, made a league with them for three days, and
they smote their enemy, and caught his army by the throat
and smothered it in the mire of the bogs. And when Hinnerk
Wiebers returned to his farm, he found his wife sitting by
the hearth, and flung at her feet the golden cups that he had
got in the pillage of the king’s carriage, and laughed as he tied
up his tawny hound with the golden chain which Duke Adolf
of Holstein had hung around the neck of the proud chevalier
of Wisch.
Various were the moods in which they returned home from
abroad. Not always with the exultation of a victor. .
Five and twenty of them from Hemmerwurth — which is a
little village at the mouth of the Eider — manned two ships
and declared war against Hamburg, and would fain have
blockaded the Elbe. Hemmerwurth against Hamburg. ‘They
were taken prisoners and cast into the tower where the dun-
geons are darkest. Finally, those of them were released who
could pay their share toward the thousand Lübeck marks
ransom that Hamburg demanded. All of them could do so
except Maas Jarring. He had no money. Neither would any
of his comrades help him, for he had a wanton tongue, and
was a rogue to boot. In his despair, therefore, he gave his
companions who were returning home a written pledge, swear-
ing by St. Anne of Bosbiittel, the grandmother of the blessed
Redeemer, that he would marry Telse Bokel, who was no
beauty. So she paid his ransom for him, and he was released
and came back home. Not with the exultation of a victor.
There is no end to such stories. For the land is old, and
has witnessed many a strange thing.
Jörn Uhl did not return with the feelings of a victor, nor
did he by any means expect any one to hail or honor his coming
with flag or festival. On the contrary, it seemed quite natural
to him that it was gloomy weather, and that the long sullen
ships of fog should be moored on both sides of his way through
the fields.
In the half-light of evening he saw that the land had been
badly ploughed, and that the wheat-fields were unevenly sown.
 JORN UHL 239
The hedge--gate of the grazing-paddock was broken down, and
lay projecting into the road, so that the cart-wheels had had
to make a bend to avoid it. They had all been too lazy to
put the obstacle aside. He laid his bundle down in the wet
grass, and put the gate on its hinges again.
As he issued from the lane of poplars he saw light stream-
ing from the high unshuttered windows; it fell bright upon
the stones of the courtyard, and touched the sandstone door-
posts, so that the golden letters on them gleamed, showing
where the names of the Uhls that had lived on the farm were
inscribed from generation to generation. As Jörn Uhl looked,
young people came out over the threshold, talking, and glancing
up to see what the weather was like, and then went inside
again. He withdrew deeper into the shadows of the poplars,
and went along the servants’ path to the back of the house,
where there was a door that led into the threshing-floor. The
young people had caught sight of a dim form passing, and
one of them said, “ There’s a fellow going to stand at Wieten
Klook’s window.”
A moment afterward he heard his brother’s voice: “ Man
alive! if I didn’t know he’s got typhus, I’d have sworn that
that was Jorn.”
He tried to make as little noise as possible with his iron-
clamped shoes, and, coming to the door, was surprised to
find it open; for this was part of Wieten’s work, and was
always attended to. With his hand stretched out before him
in the dark, he passed across the long floor. He gave his
arm a knock against a piece of wood, and recognized the oat-
box in front of the horse-racks. Next moment his foot made a
rustle in some straw, and the soft sound told him that they
were oat-sheaves. He stooped and caught hold of the head of
the sheaf, which had ripened and been harvested while he was
away in France, and was now lying there for the flail of the
thresher. Then he began to feel himself at home once more.
And again he wondered that the door that led into the
middle hall stood open, and that flickering firelight fell on
the floor from the open kitchen door, as though to guide some
one thither through the dark. He stole up to the kitchen
slowly and hesitatingly, ready to go to his room at once if
strangers were there. But there was nobody but Wieten
sitting there knitting by the unsteady light of the fire, with
240 JORN UHE
her spectacles on her nose, and looking over the top of her
spectacles at him; he heard her voice trembling with restrained
feeling, saying, “ And there thou art at last . . . laddie. . . .
I have been expecting thee all day. . . . I have got the coffee
on. See .... it'll soon be ready.”
She had stood up and was trying, after the way of our
people, to control her feelings; she put out her hand to catch
hold of the kettle that was on the knob. But her great long-
ing and the joy in having him home safe and sound once more
caught her outstretched hand and forced it in another direction.
And, lo! there lay the hand trembling on his arm.
“ Wieten!” he said, “ my old Wieten!” He felt shyly for
her hand, and took it caressingly in his. “ Art thou so glad,
then, that I am back again? And hast thou been well all
the while I have been away, Wieten? And art still hale and
hearty, eh?”
She could only nod, for something kept rising in her throat
and choking her voice. ‘Then she laid her knitting away on
the window-sill, and said, “ Bring it into the sitting-room to
us, Lena.”
Then for the first time Jörn noticed a tall girl standing
over by the dresser gazing at him. ‘The firelight now fell on
her as she crossed the room, and he looked at her, and her
looks pleased him; for she was tall and well grown, and had
a certain dignity in her walk. Her face, besides, was fresh-
colored, all white and pink and softly rounded, and her hair
was yellow and wavy; only around the ears there were little
curls big enough for one to put one’s finger into. Jorn thought
he had never yet seen so fresh and comely and at the same time
so decent a girl. And it pleased him, too, to see how she
nodded to him and wished him good evening, and looked at
him with such frank curiosity and such kindly, earnest eyes.
It was a good sign that the first question he asked after
he came home was about this girl.
“ Where in the world did you get her from, Wieten? ”
“Oh, that is Lena Tarn,” she said. ‘‘ She’s been here in
service since November. . . . And-now drink your coffee, Jorn.
They’re at their capers again in the front room. Hinnerk’s
been buying horses, and it’s not enough that he’s paid through
the nose for them, but he must go and give the dealers a wine
 TORN VU AL 241
supper as well. . . . She gets sixty shillings a year as wages
—a great deal too much, in my opinion.”
“Ts she really as good as she looks?”
“Oh, as you know well enough, Jörn, there’s always some
drawback to them. . . . She sings too much for my fancy.”
“Sings, does she? But she looks so sensible.”
“Oh, I see. You think she must be a bit of a saint because
she looks so grave and innocent, eh, laddie? But not by a
long way, Jorn — not by a long way. Anything but that.”
“ Rather wild, is she?”
“No. I wouldn’t like to say that of her. It’s only that
she’s so singy, and she’s a trifle too saucy and plain-spoken
for me. Thats a thing I don’t like in a girl. . . . There, do
you hear that?”
They could hear her singing away to herself in the next
room.
“But, Wieten, I’d like to know who'd sing if not young
girls. . . . Does she share your room?”
“Yes; she sleeps there, too. That’s one of the conditions
she made when she entered service here. Her parents are
respectable folk, and she likes to keep to herself. I must say
that for her. But, as I say, she’s too singy, and wants too
much of her own way. Thats all I’ve got to say about her.
. . - Now, do drink your coffee, Jorn.”
He ate and drank, and then said: “ Now, Wieten, just sit
yourself down in that chair of yours, and tell me how it came
about that you were expecting me home to-night?”
“ What a question, Jorn! Do you think I couldn’t feel it in
all my limbs that you were on your way back? ‘The doors
would have been left open for you all night, and I wouldn’t
have stirred from the fireside, and that’s a fact, Jorn.”
She had opened his bundle and spread out his linen, and
was astonished to find it all in such good repair. He told
her how a kind-hearted woman had given him a good supply
while he lay ill in the lazaret.
“ And then, Jorn,” she said, after awhile, “it was high time
you came home again.”
She went off to the wash-house for a moment, and then
came back again and stirred the glowing turf-fire with the
tongs, and he saw that she was weeping. “ One can’t shut
one’s eyes to the way everything’s going to ruin on a farm
242 JÖRN UHL
where one’s grown old and gray. And theres Elsbe’s life
ruined, and then what’s to become of you, Jörn? I feel as
if you two were my own children, and sow must just tell you
everything. There isn’t an afternoon goes by but your father
drives off into town, and then comes back and sits in the public-
house that’s kept by that Torkel. You know the man, Jorn;
he has a good-for-nothing wife and two loose-living daughters.
And your brothers have grown worse than ever with their
drinking ways, and are always running after the girls. I know
for a fact, too, that there are some people who want money
paid back that they’ve been swindled out of by them. Up to
the present I’ve lived an honest life, Jörn, and grown gray
without disgrace.”
The ruin of his family now loomed huge and threatening
before him. He went to the window; and Wieten went, too,
still weeping to herself, and, as she stood there, chanced to
look out. It was a starry moonlight night, although some-
what misty and cloudy. She began lamenting that she had
not made them carry away the plough that was lying there
across the drive. One could see the polished iron gleaming
in the moonlight. “The man who had been ploughing was
tipsy, and didn’t want to go out in the rain again. When your
father comes home to-night, his horses may shy at it.”
“The horses are accustomed enough to night-work by this
time,” he said. “ Come, let us go to bed now.”
“But won’t you look into the front room and let your
brothers know you’re come back again, Jorn?”
“No. Ive come home rather too soon for them. Let us
go to sleep, now. Is that girl in bed yet? Give an eye to
her, Wieten, and see that she doesn’t fall into the hands of
those louts in there. It would be a pity. Elsbe’s gone to
the bad, — let one be enough. a
They parted without saying good one for almost before
they had finished what they had to say, they were both lost
in anxious thought. After his old custom, Jörn threw himself
down on his bed without undressing, so as to be ready to
attend to the horses when his father came home. But he
could not rest, so he got up again and went to the window
and looked out into the night. And Wieten was standing at
her window, too, at the very same time, bending forward to
get another look at the plough. She sighed as she saw it
 JORN UHEL 243
gleaming there, and shook her head as though in fear and
dread of it. Then both lay down once more, and when they
had done so their souls were drawn down, despite all will of
theirs, into vast abysms of gloom and dreams, and had no
power to escape. And while they moaningly wrestled with
the darkness, and whilst the maid Lena, too, talked to herself
in restless sleep, there arose a dull sound of something moving
in the dark stables, of things dragging heavily and scraping
over the long floors; and the great double doors between the
rooms flew open as with a heavy blow. But none of them
were able to shake off their slumber; dark, mighty hands held
them down in sleep.
A little before six o’clock next morning, before day had yet
dawned, Jasper Cray came into the kitchen. He was not a
little taken aback when he saw Jorn standing near Wieten
by the fireside. But he said quietly enough, as though he
might be speaking of an accident to a cart-horse, “ Just come
out a moment, Jorn, will you. The master’s cart’s capsized,
and he’s fallen against the plough. I fancy he’s got more than
is good for him,” and he tapped his forehead significantly.
Wieten Klook gave a loud cry and buried her face in her
hands. “Oh! the plough!” she wailed. “ I saw it all coming,
but couldn’t lift a finger to hinder it.”
With a spring Jorn Uhl was outside, and found his father
lying there. He was lying in the damp grass, half in a pool
of water, and was all splashed with mud. His thin hair was
saturated with blood, and his muttered words showed that
his mind was wandering. He wanted to stay in bed, he said;
they ought to go away and do the ploughing, it was too much
for him. And then he rambled on about how he had got
under the plough while laying the furrows. The chaise had
upset, and the horses had dragged the fragments of it along
as far as the barn-door, where they were found standing.
His people carried Klaus Uhl into the house and laid him
on his bed. Then the doctor was sent for, and he declared
that the shock and fright had brought on an apoplectic seizure
which had been threatening him for years. He might live to
be an old man, and it was possible that with time his con-
dition would improve; but he would never be able to get about
again with ease. He would never fully recover his faculties.
244 TORNU He
Three days later little Mr. Whitehead once more made his
appearance at the farm. With a grave look on his face, he
went up to Jörn, who was busy feeding the horses. “I have
heard of your father’s accident, and I’ve come to ask some-
thing of you. If you’re agreeable we'll just step into that
little room that used to be your bedroom when you were a lad,
and sit there with your brothers for a bit.”
“I sleep there still,” said Jorn.
“ Indeed!” said the old man, and took a good look at him.
“That’s like you. I’m sorry that your sister, Elsbe, has made
a very unfortunate marriage, as I hear. She was very friendly
and kind to me that time.”
Jorn made no answer, but led the way to his little bedroom.
Then he went out and called to his brothers to come in.
They came with surly reluctance, and a look of disdain on
their handsome, arrogant faces. On the way to France, Hin-
nerk, who was in a tipsy state among some of his sottish com-
panions, had fallen and broken his leg on the railway platform
at Düsseldorf, while getting into the train, and he had only
himself to thank that he had been unable to take part in the
campaign. He was a braggart by nature, a far greater
one even than his father had been, for he was without his
father’s intelligence. He would dearly have liked to go to
France with the others, simply so as to be able to boast of
his doings afterward. It was intolerable that he could not
strike his breast, and speak of his part in the great war. He
would have been another of those heroes who, in the first years
after the war, used to twirl first one end of their moustache,
“Seventy!” then the other, “ Seventy-one!” Then proudly
smiling, with a grand air, both ends together, adding: “ Went
through ’em both!” Not being able to boast in this way, he
had now begun to give free play to his coarser nature. He
must needs act the braggart — now more than ever. He must
beat the others at it, and he did so by living a dissolute life
and indulging in vulgar oaths.
“Now listen carefully to what I’ve got to say!” said the
old man. “I’ve been sent here by the savings-bank people,
and I’ve come on my own account as well. About twelve years
ago we two, the bank and myself, had a rather large sum of
money we wanted to invest, and we offered it privately. Your
father took the loan, giving this farm, which had been till then
 JORN UHL 245
unmortgaged, as security; although the burden was heavy
enough, the farm could have stood it. To tell the truth,
though, we were surprised at him mortgaging the place so
heavily; but he told us he knew of a capital investment for
his ready money, and we believed him, for in those days he
was thought to be a shrewd, long-headed, well-to-do man,
although he was living at a pretty fast pace, and spending a
lot of money. But, later on, we began to see plain enough
how fast he was going down-hill, and as his sons grew up,
they began doing what they could to help him squander his
money. So we kept an eye on his affairs, and two years ago
we warned him of how things were going. Finally matters
got too bad, and now we have had to give him notice that the
farm is no longer worth the original valuation. He got the
letter three days ago. That same night he met with his acci-
dent, and it has injured him, as I hear, so badly that, though
he may live on for many a year, it’s not likely he’ll ever have
his full mental powers again.”
“ So that’s the state of affairs, is it? ” said Heinrich. “ Well!
well!” His face had grown white, and his eyes had a sharp,
angry look in them.
“Yes, young man, that’s how matters stand,” said the old
gentleman, nodding his head. “ And now you can take your
choice. Either well have to bring the estate into the In-
solvency Court, and in that case it’s a question whether the
three of you wouldn’t have to go out into the world without
a penny to call your own, or we'll hand the farm over to you,
Jorn, regarding it as security for the whole debt, and we'll
see what you can make of it. Of course, you'd have to be
responsible for the smaller sums that are due, too. And as
for you other two, we are willing to give you two thousand
marks each, on condition that you agree to quit the farm for
good and all. Thats the offer we have to make you.”
Jorn sat there, gazing at the old chest, and felt happy.
“What! is the farm mine?” he thought. “ What! am I
master here?” And then, as suddenly, he felt ashamed of such
thoughts.
Hinnerk beckoned to Hans, and they left the room together,
and, as of their own accord, they went to their father’s bedside.
Wieten Penn, who had been sitting there, left the room when,
they entered. i
246 JORN UHL
They had been wont to come to him only when they wanted
a few gold pieces from him. This time their visit was prompted
by far different motives. Their father was lying in a deep
sleep and did not hear them.
Then Hinnerk broke forth, declaring that old Whitehead
was a liar. Things were not so bad as they looked, he said,
and they must mind what they were doing and not be too hasty
in coming to a settlement. But though they talked for some
time in this strain, they did not take long to discover that
they had, as a matter of fact, no doubt whatever as to the
truth of what they had just heard; so they said no more.
Then they commenced to hurl reproaches at each other:
“You've gambled away thirty pounds this winter,’ and
“ You’ve lost pretty well a hundred with your clumsy horse-
dealing.” They were glaring at each other, and it wanted
little more and they would have come to blows. But they
began to think about their future, and grew glum and moody
again. They had come to that place where a certain one had
said, “ I cannot dig, to beg I am ashamed.” And a feeling
came over them such as comes over a man when he dreams
he has lost both his arms and has to fight his way through
the world without them. Hinnerk turned toward the bed and
raised his clenched fists, shouting the very words his eldest
brother had once used five years before: “ What have you
ever taught us? But there'll come a day of reckoning yet, man.
Hark you! A day is coming when you'll have to pay for
your misdeeds, I tell you, as sure as God’s in heaven.” At
that moment he firmly believed in a life beyond this world,
and did so because he wished that his father might come to
judgment there. Hans stood by the bed mute and motionless.
He saw his father’s face working and twitching as with the
woe of vague and wordless things.
Hinnerk tossed his father’s clothes about impatiently, search-
ing for the keys, and, having found them, he unlocked the
heavy polished chest that stood in the corner and hunted for
money in a drawer with which he seemed familiar. But noth-
ing was to be found there beyond a piece of paper and a little
gold necklace of old-fashioned and clever workmanship, to
which a seal and a wedding-ring were attached. He opened
out the paper and found on it a short column of figures
showing the sum of his father’s debts. In addition to the
 JORN UHL 247
heavy mortgage, there were bills of promise amounting to over
£500. Underneath their father had written in a careful copy-
book hand, “ I am at the end of my tether.”
“Ho! ho!” said Hinnerk, “so that’s how things stand!
Here we've got it in black and white before our very eyes,
and I’ll wager Jörn needn’t expect to be long in possession,
either. Hell be badgered and baited to death over these bills,
and then they'll wind up by driving him from the farm
altogether. It’s no use, Hans, we must pack up and be off.
There’s nothing to be had here. Not a single rotten old
board on the whole place can we call ours any longer.” He
took up the little chain, tore off the pendants and gave them
to his brother. Later on Hinnerk lost the chain at cards.
Hans, however, has kept the golden trinkets to this day in
memory of his mother, and always wore them on his watch-
chain even after he had had to sell the watch itself to buy
bread for his children.
They took one more look around and went out. Old White-
head was pacing up and down the big hall, and said to them
as they reappeared, “ Not found anything? Will you take your
hundred pounds, then, after all?”
“ Can we get the money to-day?”
“At four o'clock this afternoon our agent will be at the
Hollanderei to meet you. He will go with you to the notary.”
Then they went out and packed their Sunday clothes up in
the little portmanteaus they had once used in their soldiering
days. They gave orders that the horses should be harnessed
and that Jasper Cray should drive them. Jörn followed the
latter into the stable. ‘‘ The turn-out belongs to me,” he said,
in a proud, harsh voice, “and I hold you responsible for it.
See that you have it back here at the Uhl in good time this
evening.”
And outside, as they stood beside the buggy, gazing once
more over the farm as far as they could see, over the broad
fields that lay west of Ringelshorn, and formed the most val-
uable part of the estate, they grew silent and grave. Hinnerk’s
face was white as he stood there grinding his teeth. Hans
said to his youngest brother, “ Father is the most to blame,
but we haven’t acted as we should, either. It’s only right, I
suppose, that you should be master here. See that the old
248 >. JÖRN UHL
place doesn’t fall into the hands of strangers.” He turned
around and got up into the vehicle.
Then they drove off without casting a single look behind
them.
Jörn stood gazing after the buggy for a long time, plunged
deep in thought; then he turned toward the door, and found
Thiess Thiessen’s little thin figure standing there beside old
Whitehead.
“ Jörn, laddie!” he said. “ This old man, that I’ve known
for thirty years and more, has sent to Hamburg for me to
come and give you my advice in this fix you’re in. Jorn, my
lad, as I’ve always said, what has the past got to do with us?
Let the dead rest in peace. What do we want with Wulf
Isebrand or with Napoleon? Yes, indeed, I'll say the same
of my sister, too. May she rest in peace. And that’s enough
said on that point. But it’s whats ahead of us, Jörn, that we
must look to, and look to right well and carefully. We must
have a care, Jorn, we must have a care what we do. The
things that are still to happen in the world’s history, that’s
what our trouble is, Jorn. And as far as you're concerned the
rest of the world’s history now lies right at your very feet. . . .
I was with your father a moment ago, and Wieten has told me
everything. Come along inside. Those marplots of brothers
of yours are gone. Good sense now reigns at the Uhl. Come,
we'll have a cup of coffee, and, what’s more, we’ll drink it in
your little bedroom by the window. I’m to give you kind
regards from Lisbeth — a thousand of them, I believe she said.”
 CHAPTER XVII.

WHEN of a sudden some great event like a mighty giant

bursts in upon mankind, brushing them with sleeve and gar-
ment as it passes, the souls of those who are touched start
and tremble and remain quivering with emotion for a longer
or shorter time, according to the greatness or suddenness of
what has happened. It is then that the nature and character
of mortals reveals itself, their tongues grow voluble, and their
ears sharper. “They are then like land that has been ploughed
deep and that sends up a strong odor of the fresh earth.
They were sitting in the little room. Gold-rimmed cups
with blue flowers on them were standing on the chest. The
two old men had lit their short pipes and began to console
the down-hearted youth from the high vantage-ground of their
long experience and settled position in life.
“We want to do what we can for you, Jorn,” said White-
head, putting on his pleasantest look; “but at the same time
we want our money back.”
“ Especially the latter,” said Thiess.
“ At present,” the old man went on to say, “the farm is a
little too heavily mortgaged; for there are still certain bills
of promise to be taken into consideration, and the working
plant is none of the best. We should be losing money if we
brought the farm under the hammer, so we’re going to hand
it over to you, my lad.”
“ You see, you’ve got to earn the money for them, Jorn,”
said Thiess.
“Yes, our money for us, and the farm for himself. ‘Then,
later on, when prices rise, as they do after every war, he’ll
be able to work off the debt little by little, till the day comes
when he can say, ‘ The farm’s mine!’ ”
“ What do you say to it, Jörn? ” asked Thiess.
“ What do I say to it?” cried Jorn, and it was the first time
249
250 JORN UHL
in his life that he made a quick gesture to help out his speech,
thrusting out before him his two great empty hands. “Is
father to be carried from the farm in his bed? Am I to let
the old place go? All that I can do to hold on here, that I
promise you I will do. You can make sure of that, Thiess.”
“Good!” said Whitehead. “Now let us talk about some-
thing else.” He puffed vigorously at his short pipe and looked
benignantly at Jorn, who was now sitting there with that
same old inscrutable look on his face.
“You must marry,” he said to Jörn. “It’s not a good
thing for man to be alone, either by night or by day, in joy
or in sorrow. You've a bit of an inclination to fight shy of
double harness.” And he asked him, half in jest and half in
earnest, whether he should choose a mate for him. “I know
some nests with golden eggs on the Geest,” he said; “ you'd
be helping yourself and us at the same time, Jorn.”
But Jorn only said, “The housekeeper will stay on at the
Uhl. A wife I’ve no need of.”
As he said this, the fair-haired Lena had come into the room,
bringing a jug of cream for them. She caught the words of
the new-fledged young landowner, and gave her head a proud
toss as she thought to herself, “ Don’t we think we’re wise,
to be sure.”
“ Do you know what, Jorn?” said old Whitehead, genially.
“ I knew that housekeeper of yours more than forty years ago.
I’ve a mind to tell you both, but especially you, Jörn, what
I know of her young days.”
Lena Tarn was about to leave the room, but he said to her,
“Tf you’ve time, my girl, you can stay and listen, too. It
will do you no harm to hear the story. There’s something of
olden times about it. It might have been dug out of Rudens-
berg where the old Huns’ graves lie. The story’s as old as
the world and as deep as man’s life. It’s a long, long tale,
but I'll cut it short, and tell you only the parts that have to
do with Wieten Penn.”
Having said this, the old man opened his eyes wide, took
a few pulls vainly at his pipe, and laid it beside him. Lena
Tarn sat down near Thiess Thiessen, whom, together with
Whitehead, she had seen to-day for the first time, and thought,
“They're a queer trio, and no mistake.” While the story
was being told, she looked from one to the other, with eyes
 JORN UHL 251
full of droll fun and curiosity. She was far more interested
in these three people with whom she was sitting than in the
story itself. But it must be confessed that it was Jörn she
looked at most, quietly admiring his long, grave face, with its
deep-set, quiet eyes. She looked at him without shyness, but
with a kind of trustful curiosity.
“ Well, in my young days there lived in Schenefeld a young
fellow who had his share of good looks and plenty of pride
in him, although he came of poor parents. He and I went
to the Board School there together. He had always been fond
of horses, and so later on he got a place as stable-boy on a
big estate near Schenefeld. He did his work well, and always
went about the place looking a bit gloomy and never had a
word for any one. He never seemed to show what fire and
life there was in him, except when he rode the horses along
the track that ran around the farm. The master had an only
daughter, and this girl used to gaze at him, and go from one
window to another, following him with her eyes as he rode
along, and her glance grew bright and her cheeks flushed.
But as for him, he had no eyes for anything but his horses.
One day, after she had been watching him as usual, she went
into the stable just as he had brought the horse in, and was
about to groom it, and tried to get him to talk to her a bit.
But it was always the same — he spoke coldly to her, but
kindly enough to the beasts.
“Then she made up her mind to go one step farther. She
wanted to show him that he was on the wrong track if he
thought she looked down on him because he was only a servant,
and that he must show that he had the pride that belongs to
honest poverty. So when a good chance came she said to him,
‘Td like you to know that in my eyes you’re better than all
the farmers’ sons in the land put together.’ As soon as she
had said it, she rushed away up into the high loft behind the
pigeon-house, and didn’t come down again for two hours or
more.
“Its not rightly known exactly how far this warm-hearted
girl went in her admiration for him. Be that as it may, a day
came when she threw her arms around her father’s neck and
told him that for three nights she hadn’t closed her eyes, and
that she must and would marry the groom. Well, her father
252 JÖRN UHL
had a soft heart, and she was his only child, so he gave his
consent. Its said that he did it with a heavy heart, though.
“ Anyhow, its certain enough that she had let him know
too plainly how fond she was of him, and it made him look
down on her a bit. She wasn’t the sort of girl whose picture
he, as every young man does, carried in his heart. She was
a soft, dreamy creature, hot-blooded and sentimental. The
sort of wife for him would have been a woman with quiet, plain
ways, with a big, stately figure, and plenty of womanly dig-
nity, too.
“The very next day after the wedding, he spent the whole
morning among his horses, looking them over and sorting
them out, and on the following day he drove in to market and
bought and exchanged horses. His wife stood at the bedroom
window and gazed after him with eyes full of angry tears.
“ First a daughter was born to them, and in the course of
time a son, but it brought them no closer together; just the
opposite, in fact. For now that she had the children around
her, he thought he could go his own ways more than ever.
They were the ways of a diligent, capable, honest, business
man. He went in chiefly for horse-dealing, and made a name
for himself in this particular line. His wealth increased, and
in the course of years, through having to do with cavalry
officers who bought horses from him, he became a man with a
good knowledge of the world and of polite and easy bearing.
“The more his affairs prospered the more his inborn dis-
position prompted him to look upon a steady, sober effort to
get on in life as the only aim worthy of an intelligent man.
Everything connected with what people call ideals he looked
at askance. This one-sidedness was fostered in him, too, by
the sight of the soft and fantastic life of sentiment, as he
deemed it, that prevailed in his home, and was exhibited in
his wife, and before long in his children as well.
“The husband was always away from home, and so the two
children were wholly and solely in the mother’s hands. They
didn’t go to school, but their mother taught them at home.
There wasn’t much of the schoolroom style about the way
she taught them, but, all the same, the children got on so
well that the school authorities had no reason to interfere.
They were taught chiefly by means of the tales and fairy-stories
that their mother told them, and which they had to repeat
 JORN UHL 253
to her in their own words. And she made it a rule that the
books containing these stories should remain locked up in a
cupboard, and never permitted the children by any chance to
take one into their hands. All their pleadings to be allowed
to see these books were in vain. Sometimes, on fine days in
summer, or on holidays, the three of them would dress up in
finery that had belonged to their grandparents, and that lay
in a trunk in the attic; so they decked themselves out in grand
costumes, acting the tales they had so often heard. Or again
they would go, clad in their simple every-day clothes, into the
woods, and pass away the afternoon in some glade, sitting
camped around a fire, pretending to be gipsies or fugitives or
anything else that happened to occur to them. And in these
games and rambles they always used to let a little orphan girl,
who lived with them, take part. She had been handed over
from the poorhouse to help at the farm. And her name was
Wieten Penn.
“It seemed like the life in some happy fairy-tale. Human
life itself, in all its fulness of promise and strength, and all its
gay and manifold variety, was here environed with a world
that for other eyes seemed out of joint, but which was, in
truth, fraught with freer and deeper significance for those who
could see deeper.
“Tn this sort of make-believe the lonely wife found some
small substitute for the lost love of her husband. He would
only shrug his shoulders or make some satirical remark, and
then go away to his business, forgetting all about his wife and
children amid the affairs of the day.
“The mother was blind to the way in which the boy, who
had inherited far too much of her peculiar nature, was sinking
deeper and deeper into a world that existed only in dreams.
Had he lived it is certain that people would have heard more
of him. He had such a quick insight that the nature of things
was as clear to him as crystal. But he was absolutely without
will of his own and had no father’s hand to guide him. So he
grew up like we often see a young pear-tree do when it’s never
pruned, far too slender and pliable.
“The mother was gradually sinking into weak health, but
she was too inert and also too shy to get a doctor’s advice;
so, after a long, wearisome illness, she died. At that time the
254 JORN: UBL
girl was about sixteen years of age, and the boy and Wieten
Penn were about fourteen.
“From the time that their mother’s eyes were closed, the
three children were left to drift helplessly. As long as the
dead body remained under the roof they wandered aimlessly
about the house, and were afraid to look at their father, who
seemed quite a stranger to them. When evening came they
would slip away up to the attic with Wieten Penn, and take
out the old clothes that they had so often played with, and
would consult softly with each other as to which game they
would play. The boy straightway forgot his dead mother.
His eyes would gleam and he would give way to all sorts
of fantastic pictures that thronged upon his mind. He would
fling the robes around him, and in this guise would be for
going down into the big room where they had always played,
until the others called to him not to make so much noise.
“ But when the day of the funeral came, and the whole house
was empty, — no one but their father’s sister had stayed at
home, — the children ventured forth, and, having dressed
themselves in their fantastic costumes, slipped into the room
where, only half an hour before, their mother’s coffin had
stood, and where flowers and wreaths were still lying scattered
about, and there, with hushed voices, they began to play.
Their mother had always taken such innocent pleasure in their
games when she played with them there, and in these last
weeks she had even talked to them about death, as if she
were being invited to some garden festival in May. And so
it never occurred to them to think that they could be slighting
her memory by indulging in their games.
“So they played on, forgetting how late it was, and were still
in the midst of their game when their father came back from
the funeral. He was in a bitter mood, for the minister, in
his sermon at the grave, had plainly said that the dead woman
had been driven into her lonely and almost eerie life by his
coldness and reserve. He had no sooner returned home than
his sister told him where the children were and what they
were doing. When he heard this he cast the remnants of his
self-restraint to the winds, and all sense of justice forsook him.
In his blind rage the thought took possession of him that these
were the wretched children that his wretched wife had brought
him. Unobserved, he approached the open window and watched
 JÖRN UHL 255
them awhile at their play; then he went in and chastised the
terrified boy whom he recognized as the leader, and then
locked the three of them up in the chaff-room.
“Henceforth he kept the children under with a stern hand.
Rightly thinking that they must not be left so much together,
he made the girl busy herself all day long, under her aunt’s
direction, with household tasks. The boy had to plough, and
go and fetch in the cows, and put his hand to any work that
might arise. But the lad soon showed that he hadn’t the
slightest natural aptitude for such affairs; he took hold of
things so clumsily, and could never arrange the parts of his
work properly together, but would stand there helpless till
some farm-laborer showed him, with a grin, how easy the
thing was. Often when his spirit would fain have opened
itself to all sorts of kindly and genial impressions, such moments
of helplessness and clumsiness would come and bring upon
him the laughter and jeers of those around him, and his soul,
which dwelt in a house so clear and light and airy, would,
in its terror and dismay, shut all the doors and veil the win-
dows and sit brooding in the gloomy, haunted rooms. Some-
times on quiet Sunday afternoons, when the children managed
to get up into the attic together, he used to rummage among
all the frippery there and take the gay mantles and the paper
crowns, which make folk happier and are therefore truer than
many a one of gold, and the red shoes with their tiny bells, and
would gaze at them long and dreamily. ‘Then he would lay
them away again in their places, the tears running down his
cheeks.
“ That spring-time — it was toward the middle of the month
of April, when Spring is longing to break forth, but cannot,
because of the cold winds that hurl themselves upon her every
night and thrust her back — that spring-time, I say, the boy
had to plough all day long in a big sloping field that lay
at some distance from the village. On the lower slope lay a
stretch of land in which, between the high grass and all sorts
of underwood, a number of deserted marl-pits lay, full of deep
water. The folk thereabouts, and particularly the children,
used to avoid the place, for it was held to be eerie — and
haunted and eerie it really. was. The waste uneven ground
was all overgrown with wild, rank weeds, and these steep-sided
pits, in which, far below, lay the still unruffled water, aroused
256 JÖRN UHL
in people the mysterious feeling that the earth had here great
gaping wounds that men had left untended, and it seemed as
if in those dark hollows there might lurk evil gnomes, waiting
to avenge the wrongs of their mother-earths
“ For three whole days he ploughed there, taking his dinner
with him in the morning and returning at night. Each
evening he came home sad. On the third day it happened
that the children had a short hour that they could spend
together in the attic, and there, after sitting silent for a long
time, he told his two playmates how, early in the morning,
before the sun had risen, and again in the evening, when it
had sunk behind the hill and the mirk was gathering over the
marl-pits, he had heard a voice that seemed to come from a
wild, deserted spot there — it might be the voice of a girl or a
feeble old woman, but it always cried, ‘ Come here, come here!’
“ He had got up on hearing it, and was so full of fear that
he had had to wipe the drops of sweat from his brow, but all
the same he longed to go toward it. Fear and love had drawn
him first one way and then another. When he had told them
this, he rested his head on his hand and looked at them.
“ At first his sister shook her head when she heard the story;
then a tremor ran through her, as if one of the monsters out
of the depths of the marl-pits had been making a clutch at
her, and for awhile she looked at her brother with scared eyes.
‘Then she suddenly broke into a loud laugh, and declared the
whole affair to be nothing but a pack of nonsense.
“For since her mother’s death a great change had taken
place in her. The daily tasks which she had now to do, and
which brought her into contact with all sorts of people, awoke
and strengthened in her nature everything that she had in-
herited from her father. What had terrified and darkened the
soul of her brother, who was of a more delicate and unpractical
nature, she approached, as girls do, tactfully and gracefully and
with frank curiosity. Like one who wakes from some op-
pressive dream she looked into the real life around her, and
it filled her with delight. But not being able to shake off all
at once the influence of that old fantastic world, she, so to say,
took the king’s mantle and the red shoes with the bells on
them with her into her new life. Into it she went reeling
rather than walking, still half-drunk with sleep, and all the
more so because she had inherited a considerable part of her
 JÖRN UHL 257
mother’s passionate nature. She had also got her young brown
eyes from her, that were always full of a soft, limpid brilliance.
But she found her life’s happiness for all that. She came across
a young man belonging to the village, a poor tradesman’s son,
who had come back home during his convalescence, after having
made his first deep-sea voyage as third mate. He had been
taken ill while abroad. The young people met one day on a
lonely path through the fields, and had exchanged a few foolish
words. They had become so smitten with each other, that all
the rest of the world was hid in a fog as far as they were con-
cerned. And so she couldn’t but laugh, now that she was
free from that unreal world of fantasy, when she heard her
brother’s tale. Soon afterward she went out of the room,
away down into the apple orchard, where the third mate was
standing waiting behind the thick sloe-bushes. Their other
playfellow, however, little Wieten Penn, listened with glowing
cheeks and open mouth to the lad’s tale, in which those
mysterious powers that had hitherto stood mute and with
closed eyes, far off in the mists, now for the first time called
with voice and glance. And Wieten felt so fond of the lad,
too, because he was kind and clever and had such strange,
brilliant eyes. She had grieved deeply that of late she had so
seldom been able to speak to him, and one night she had
stood at his bedroom door, wishing to talk to and play with
him. And now, unknown to herself, she was glad that his
sister had left the room and that there was a mysterious some-
thing in common between them. She said how sorry she was
that he looked so pale and sad, and began shyly to stroke his
cheek, and at last she kissed him. “That pleased him more
than anything. For although there had been so much talk
about kissing in the pieces they had played, he had never
really known what it was. Now, after their childish fashion,
they tried it for themselves, first this way, then that, to see
which was best, and grew fervent and laughed and were like
angels in heaven. And this trustful child would almost have
kissed him into health again with her young rosy lips, but
that he had too much of his mother’s weakness in him. He
relapsed into his fit of brooding and fear, trembling and ask-
ing, ‘What am I to do? Shall I go if it calls again?’ Then
she promised him that she would run across the next morning
from the cow-paddock where she would be milking, and see
258 JORN UHL*
how he was getting on. That same night he implored his
father to give the work in that field to some one else, but did
not speak of the cause of his request. “The father saw the
boy’s fear, but determined by dint of austerity to force him
under the yoke of his so-called ‘lifes work.’ The boy’s re-
quest, which reminded him of old guilt, was refused with a
contemptuous shake of the head.
“ And so the catastrophe happened.
“Tt was a cold, raw, gloomy morning in spring. Broad
banks of fog still lay like monstrous sluggish animals, dull
and inanimate, in the hollows of the fields, and yet some dim
spirit of life seemed to be gently stirring over the land. It
seemed as if multitudes of young creatures, bound in sleep,
were awaiting some whispered word of the Creator. ‘The
west wind was blowing softly and evenly in from the sea, like
the prelude to a play that is about to begin, but the Night
was still queen, and her ‘Terrors still held sway, — princes
greedy to do the deeds of darkness before the sceptres should
drop from their hands.
“Then came Wieten, hastening straight across the fields
toward the paddock where the lad was at work. He was at
that moment ploughing down-hill, and so did not notice her.
He was walking with feverish steps behind the horses. His
body was bent forward as if he was listening to something.
Then he suddenly shook his head and clenched his fists, letting
go of the plough-handles. She thought he was talking to
the horses, as ploughmen often do, and came nearer and nearer
to him. But all at once he raised both hands, crying, ‘I’m
coming, I’m coming!’ and with a few bounds he reached the
underwood. In the dim light she saw him plunge forward
and disappear. “Then she lost consciousness and fell. The
sun rose.
“An hour later a dairymaid came to the field to look for
her, guessing that she had run over to the ploughman and
was loitering there after children’s fashion. There she found
the team of horses standing motionless without a driver, and
the child lay face downwards in a fresh-turned furrow, not
far behind the plough. She was restored to consciousness, and,
trembling and weeping, told them what she had seen. After
that she lay for many days tossing in fever. "Toward noon
they found the lad drowned in one of the marl-pits.”’
 JORN UHL 259
Old Whitehead took up his pipe, and held out his hand
toward Thiess, without saying a word. ‘Thiess understood
and struck a match for him.
“Why make a long story of it? His father came home
late that evening and found the boy lying on two boards in
the big room. He bent over the body with an intent look,
then gradually straightened himself up again. On the day
of the funeral, when his neighbors would fain have expressed
their sympathy, he said, ‘What’s the good? My wife and
her son were two useless, unpractical people. Down there in
the silence and stillness of the grave they’re in their proper
place.’
“ A week later he heard about his daughter’s love-affair, and
in short, harsh words he bade her give her lover up. She,
however, was as stubborn as he, and told him she meant to
be happier than her poor mother, and refused to break with
him. So he drove her from the house.
“From this time on he went down-hill fast. For eight
weeks of wretchedness Wieten Penn, an inexperienced child,
was in the house alone with him. He neither looked at her
nor deigned to speak a word with her. At first he was nearly
always away from home, trying to buy and deal as he had
done of old. But, as he sought to get the assent of those he
dealt with to his stern and gloomy thoughts, his business friends
one by one withdrew from him. In their place came men
of shady character, forcing themselves on him, taking pains
to agree with him, and leading him still deeper into darkness
and defiance. At last he beheld himself enmeshed by evil as
by a serpent, but blood-guiltiness and obstinacy prevented him
from breaking his bonds. As it became clearer to him that his
struggle was a struggle against the Eternal, against what lies
at the very foundation of all things, and that this struggle being
against human nature must be vain, he conceived a horror and
disgust of himself and his life. The poor child dwelt four
days and four nights more, alone with him in that house. Full
of bitter fear and foreboding, she saw him wandering restlessly
from room to room, and heard him talking desperately to
himself. On the fifth morning she found him dead.
“That, Jorn, is the story of Wieten Penn’s girlhood, the
woman who is now sitting at your father’s bedside. She
came down to the Marsh and took service here at the Uhl.
260 FORNT
Owing to all the fearful things she had seen, her youth was
broken off like a flower. She saw apparitions and had what
people called second sight, and became distracted and gloomy.
Silly folk gave her the name of Wieten Klook, and so did
what they could to drive her back into herself. But your
mother, Jörn, who was kind-hearted and trustful, took her
by the hand and helped her. Yet she’s always remained
strangely serious, and is often pensive and dejected. She’s
not the proper sort of companion for a man like you, Jorn
— for you have the same heavy blood in you as she. You need
a good young helpmate, especially now that you’ve got a difficult
task before you.”

Having ended his story, Mr. Whitehead took his walking-

stick and said it was time for him to be going. He had the
horses put into the buggy and drove into the town along with
Thiess Thiessen. Jörn Uhl went to his father’s bedside and
released Wieten Penn. As she left the room he cast a long
look at her.
He spent the night in the big armchair in which his mother
had sat on winter nights, watching by his father’s restless bed.
As he sat there pondering, his thoughts wandered away in two
different directions. Now he considered how he would arrange
this or that on the farm, and wondered what the future would
bring forth; and anon he was in the midst of the strange and
shocking events that old Whitehead had been talking about.
And gradually, as the darkness of night grew deeper and
midnight came, he heard the west wind. soughing and rustling
in the poplars and driving the rain like scourges against the
window-panes, and saw the sick man gazing with vacant eyes
at the ceiling; and he thought of the doctor’s words, “ Your
father may live a long while in this condition, but he will
never regain the use of his limbs.” ‘Then for the first time
there came into Jorn Uhl’s soul the feeling of the insufficiency
of mortals’ strength, the feeling of man’s need, the feeling,
“Whither canst thou flee, O my soul, in thy great distress
and loneliness?” And now it was a good thing fer him, after
all, that he had once heard of the “ Father, which is in heaven,”
when he was a lad at school, else he might in that hour have
been filled with fear of the dark towering forms which stood
scowling around him in the night, and might perchance have
 ORRIN] SUE, 261
worshipped them. But now, in his hour of fear and faith,
he turned to those unseen, strong, and blessed powers which
are in the Gospel.
And that was a mighty step for this Jörn Uhl, who had
hitherto been so self-confident, to take. For, as a wise man
has rightly said, it is to the humble alone that God’s grace
is given. Only to those who seek earnestly and ask questions,
many and serious— only to those who admire and wonder and
humbly worship, do the gates open that lead to a fair, wide
humanity. To the heights and depths of human life, in all
their wonder and beauty, only the simple and ignorant attain.
 CHAPTER XVIII.

On no other farm in all the Marsh was such hard work done
as at the Uhl that summer and autumn. Every morning
at four o'clock, when the watchman made his last round, he
would stand for a moment on the so-called Westereck, and
blow the three prescribed blasts on his horn in the direction
of the Uhl, and wonder-to see lights already moving in the
long stables, and the glow of flames on the hearth of the home-
stead.
Jorn Uhl ruled with an iron hand. That night, to be sure,
he had fallen to praying, but now it was no longer prayer
but work that filled his thoughts and his life. His nose seemed
to have taken a more imperious curve, and his deep-set eyes
seemed to dart still sharper glances from their depths. He
grew somewhat taller and gaunter and austerer in his ways.
His nickname of Provost, that had been forgotten for seven
long years, now came up again on the farm. Nor did all
these changes come about without offence to one and another,
and many a bitter word. Jock Ebel, known in the village
as “ Hm” Ebel, and who had stood for thirty years and more
in the ditches of the Uhl, came in a bad temper into the
servants’ room one evening when Jörn Uhl was in the act
of paying off a man who had refused to do the task set to
him. “It’s not in human nature to stand it,” he said, “ it’s
not in human nature to do what the farmer wants of us. I’ve
seen a good deal in my time, I can tell you. In the year fifty
I was blown up with the arsenal at Rendsburg, but I came
down again all right that time — hm, yes, that I did.”
“Well, and what are you driving at?” asked Jörn Uhl,
feigning surprise, though he had long feared that it would
come to this.
“Tf the master . . . if the master thinks he’s going to grow
rich in three days, why, let him, I say, let him. But I don’t
262
 JORN UHL 263
see as how thats any reason why I should work the skin off
my fingers for him, all the same.” He wiped the edge of his
spade and went off. Nor did he put in an appearance next
day, but sent his little ten-year-old daughter over. She had
an idea that she ought to speak High German in the big
stately farm-hall with its dim solemn light, where the tones
of her voice sounded so grand and fine; so she said, “ My
father’s compliments, and he’s cleared out, and isn’t coming
back again. Hes gone along with Krischau Luhr and his
bullocks to Husum.” And with that she squeezed out of the
door. It was a great moment in the life of this poor laboring
man’s child, to be able to say such big words in that great
room with its flags of black and white marble, and its high
carved chests and cupboards. For years and years after she
could hear the wonderful tone of her voice as those walls had
echoed it back. But now she is happily married, and has a
good-tempered husband, and might well venture a loud word
or so if she would. Yet she always speaks in a humble voice,
as if she still feared the echo of the words she had used that
day at the Uhl. Her husband once asked her where she got
her quiet ways and her soft voice, and whether it had aught
to do with that day at the Uhl. She pondered a little before
answering, then she said, “No; I'll tell you where I got it.
For two years, whilst father lay sick, I had to go begging.
And in many a farmer’s hall I had to do my begging in humble
enough tones, and that’s how it is.” As she had said that, she
threw herself into her husband’s arms and laughed.
The two ploughmen at the Uhl resisted Jörn’s efforts to spur
them on with a pertinacity equal to his own, and many a harsh
word fell between them.
“When you’ve filled in the forenoon up till twelve o’clock
with a little ploughing, you reckon you’ve earned your dinners,
I expect?”
Then the elder of the two spoke up: “ And if you had your
way, sir, we’d have worked ourselves to death before twelve
o’clock every day, and wouldn’t want any dinner at all.”
At this the boy, who was seated on the back of the near
horse, could not help laughing. But the tall farmer, with
two long, quiet strides, came up to him and gave him a slap
that left his ear red for the rest of the day. Directly the
264 JORN WHHL.
Provost was out of the way, however, he laughed again, with
his roguish eyes full of tears.
It seemed as if things would not go well in the kitchen,
either. Almost all day long Wieten had to be at the sick
man’s bed, for he would grow restless and cry like a child
when she was absent. And then the maids in the kitchen
did not care about carrying out Lena Tarn’s orders. Jorn
talked the matter over with Wieten, and they both agreed
that it was better for Wieten herself to give up all her time to
nursing the old man, and while sitting at his bedside she could
go on with her knitting and mending and sewing, as usual.
The kitchen and dairy, on the other hand, were to be under
Lena Tarn’s control, but in important matters she could come
in and consult Wieten.
“ Yes, that’s a good arrangement, Jorn. It'll be a comfort
for me, too, to have that load off my shoulders. I’m sixty
now.”
So Jorn, with a stern, proud look on his face, and with de-
termined lips, went into the kitchen, and, in a few words,
made things clear to the assembled petticoats. Lena ‘Tarn,
who was standing washing up the dishes, with her sleeves
rolled up showing her white arms, gave a short nod of assent
with her fair head, without stopping in her work, not so
much as looking around at this most deliberate speaker. ‘The
second servant, however, shot out of the kitchen like an arrow,
slammed the door after her, and left the farm that same after-
noon.
Winter drew on apace. Jorn Uhl, with his long legs and
heavy stride, went about his fields thinking over a plan he
had of draining part of the farm-lands, and of carrying out the
work himself in order to save wages yearly. He measured
it off, like a certificated surveyor, and took the grades, and sat
in his room drawing up a plan of the whole farm, which now
belonged to him.
Spring came. May-day brought new people to the farm
who knew nothing of the young farmer’s sudden rise in the
world, or of Lena Tarn’s promotion. From that time forth
things went better. Jérn’s voice rang surer and fuller across
the farmyard, and he was able to go to Wieten Penn, who
sat at the window looking out over her spectacles at the farm,
and say to her, “ That Lena is making a fine job of it. There’s
 JORN UHL 265
go and gumption in her. You can be quite easy about the way
she’s managing.”
Then came the tenth of May. The clear sun hung white
in the blue depths of the sky, and the vapors mounting from
the earth were pierced and transfigured with his light. Away
in the distance, along the North Sea dikes, the mist lay bluish
white. Old Dreyer passed by the farm that day, striking his
walking-stick firmly and cautiously on the ground at every
step. “ Jorn,” he said, “this is the one and twentieth time
that I have brought my cattle out to the pastures on the tenth
of May.” Jorn waited till the old man had vanished in the
distance, then he shouted into the big hall so that it rang
again: “ Come, let us drive the cattle out, and you women-
folk can help, too.” And thereupon forty oxen, two and three
year olds, strong beasts, were led, one after another, to the
door, and let loose. They took the great farmyard by storm,
and filled it as children do a playground with a shuffle of
feet and the sound of their cries. With five men they managed
to master them. Mighty was the sound of Jorn Uhl’s voice,
and mighty were the cracks of his great stock-whip. He stood
at the top of the rise, in front of the big barn-door, and pointed
out the way. At last they were all got out of the yard, and
brought to the dike road. Two of the men went with them.
It was a relief to every one.
The ten horses which were then let out were led away by
the head man and one of the youngsters. Two foals trotted
prettily behind, and the cavalcade was brought up by the old
mare that had come from the Haze with Jorn’s mother as a
kind of supplement to her dowry, for a mare had been promised
to the daughter of Haze Farm. This mare was permitted to
finish its days in peace at the Uhl.
Then came the cows, eight in number; big, red, speckled
marsh cows. Just behind the house, in an old meadow that
had never seen the gleam of a ploughshare, they had their
pasture, so that they might be handier for the milkmaids. ‘The
women led them. A ploughboy who tried to catch one of
them, although he went about it craftily enough, was treated
with scant ceremony. The rope was torn from his hands, and
he got full proof that he was but a clumsy fellow. And in
this fashion the milkmaids, with Lena Tarn in front in all her
stateliness, went down the Wurt. The sunlight, finding its
266 | JORN UHL,
way through the branches of the poplars, set her hair all afire,
till it gleamed like the coat of the red cow walking on in front
of her.
But an interruption occurred. The big three-year-old bull
had managed to break loose, for he had found the fast-emptying
stable too monotonous for his taste. He suddenly appeared
standing at the stable door, and came sauntering calmly over
toward the women and cows. It was a fortunate thing that
Lena Tarn, who thought of everything, had brought the three-
legged milking-stool with her. She confronted him with blaz-
ing eyes, and cried, “ Stop, you good-for-nothing!”’ for she was
no friend of his, and threatened him with the stool. But the
bull took not the slightest heed, but came on, looking the
picture of assurance, strength, and defiance. Lena Tarn threw
a quick look, full of biting scorn, at the men-folk who were
standing, whip in hand, higher up near the barn door. “ Why
are you standing there, you butter-fingers? ” she cried; and,
raising the stool, she brought it down with a crash on the
bull’s head. ‘This gave him such a start that he made off in
the other direction, where he fell into the hands of the men.
All that afternoon Lena Tarn’s cheeks would redden and pale
alternately at the thought of the glance the young farmer had
cast at her, and she was full of a secret joy, mixed in some
strange way with fear.
Last of all came the calves, more than twenty of them.
They behaved worse than so many school-children, and that
is saying a good deal. Six of them that had been born in
the stable and didn’t know what water was, or earth, or air,
tried first of all to fly, springing high with all four legs in the
air at once, and then stood stiff-legged and riveted to the spot
with astonishment that they should come down to earth again.
They could not get over their amazement, and could not be
persuaded to budge. Presently two of them discovered the big
ditch and sprang into it with a mighty leap. The youngster
who had hold of their rope got no time to reflect whether it
would be better for him to throw in his lot with theirs, or
whether it was wisest to part company. So he had to jump
with them. And there stood the three of them up to their
necks in the dark water, all three overwhelmed with astonish-
ment, gazing helplessly at each other.
Then the farmer got angry. He scolded “ that young block-
 JORN UHL 267
head,” as he called him, who didn’t know how to blow a cow-
horn yet, laid his whip down near the wall, and came striding
down from his eminence and went in among the men and
cattle. It was high time, too, to put a stop to the hubbub,
for the girls were standing by the stable door screaming with
laughter, and Lena Tarn stood by the hedge-gate with a
contemptuous look and a frown on her face. Half-way down
the slope he caught hold of the halter of the chief offender,
who had not yet recovered from his astonishment and was
staring stupidly around him, and tried to lead him away. But
just at this very moment a thought occurred to the beast, some
inspiration or other, and he went helter-skelter down the steep
Wurt. Away went Jörn’s cap. The earth trembled. The
kitchen wenches shrieked. “There was a bold leap and a great
splash, and there stood the whole five of them in the water,
all five wondering what was the matter. ... At last every-
thing was got into order, “ because we lent a helping hand,”
the girls declared, and at last silence again reigned on the
farm.
Lena Tarn went back to the kitchen. The look on Jorn
Uhl’s face as he saw her brandishing the stool at the bull
haunted her. Generally she was merry enough, but in the
last few days she had been somewhat unwell, and this had
made her rather ill-tempered. Her face now wore a slight
frown, and she even strove to look as sour as she could. But
as soon as she began to go about her work and felt that
new, fresh health was streaming through her limbs, her face
completely changed. She went hastily to her room, unlocked
her door, and presently came back. Her eyes were bright
and half-shut, blinking roguishly in the sunlight. She smiled
thoughtfully to herself, and suddenly when she thought of the
young farmer’s plunge in the water she burst out laughing
and began to sing.
Neither did Jörn Uhl quite recover his peace of mind that
day. His sharp plunge into the water had roused his blood,
and the spring sunshine did its share too. It blew the
strength of youth into men, and forced them to breathe deep,
and look into the gay world; to lay their heads back and
try to find the lark, singing its heart out somewhere high up
in the sky. He had a feeling that it was a sort of holiday,
and he thought he might keep it by going into the village to
268 JORN UHL
pay the taxes that were due. So he put on his Sunday coat
and walked slowly across toward the village, looking at the
lusty young wheat and thinking of Lena Tarn the while.
“ Her hair is piled up on her head like a helmet of red brass
that’s slipped down on to her neck, just like the one that
French cuirassier had on the back of his head. I remember
how he sat there on a tree-stump with a hayband bound
around his thigh, that evening at Gravelotte. When she’s
‘busy,’ as she says, she just keeps her eyes fixed on her
work and hasn’t a look for anything else, but if you begin to
talk to her, or if she’s talking to any one, her laughter comes
bubbling out like a spring. She seems to think that one
ought never to be grave and serious except when one’s work-
ing. ‘It’s the natural way of things,’ she says. “There’s no
betwixt and between- with her. She'll either be downright
angry about a thing or downright good-tempered. Mostly
the last, though; except to me, that is; for she’s often pretty
short with me, and often as not real snappy. It was a great
joke for her to see me careering into the water with that
mad brute of a bull. If only she dared, she'd like mightily
to remind me of it three or four times a day, out of sheer
devilment.”
As he went along with such thoughts running through his
head, he met old Dreyer. Old Dreyer was a man who would
never walk along the broad street that ran through the middle
of the village, but always preferred the paths where he had
green grass under his feet and could have ploughed land on
both sides before his old eyes. The young farmer slowed
down, so as to let the old man with his sober gait walk along
beside him, and listened, as he had so often done, to his scraps
of wisdom and good advice, which were always clenched by
an appeal to things that had happened in their own times or,
often enough, in the lives of their fathers before them.
“And above all things, Jorn, — how old are you? Twenty-
four? Don’t go marrying, Jorn! Not under no circum-
stances whatever. “That would be just the foolishest thing
you could possibly do at present. Every time of life has its
follies, Jorn, and yours would be marrying. For my own
part, I waited till I was in the thirties, and then I made a
careful choice. She brought six thousand marks with her,
Jorn, and that was a deal in those days. You daren’t do it
 JORN UHL 269
under fifty thousand, Jörn. Give yourself plenty of time,
lad, that’s my advice to you.”
“ Of course. TIl do well to wait at least another ten years,”
said Jorn; “that goes without saying. Wieten’s hale and
hearty yet, and can look after things for many a day to come.”
At the bend of the road he bade the old man good day
and hurried on, thinking to himself, “ The old chap’s not so
clear-headed as he used to be, not the slightest doubt about
it. I noticed it to-day more than usual. Beautiful mild air
it is to-day. It’s pleasanter to walk by oneself, by a long
chalk, and let one’s thoughts go helter-skelter where they will,
just like the calves did this morning, than to tramp along with
old Dreyer listening to his words of wisdom. By this time
I ought to know pretty well what’s the sensible thing to do.
I haven’t frittered away my time without getting a single
thought into my head like those brothers of mine. As for
marrying, that is, just at present, I mean, just catch me at it.
Time enough after I’m thirty.” He took off his coat and hung
it over his arm, and his white shirt-sleeves shone like those
of the good son in the parable when he was returning home
from the fields and heard the singing and dancing.
“ She looked fine when she let the red bull have the stool at
his head. Like a three-year-old horse when it rears. She
didn’t look so nice yesterday, though, and her eyes weren't
so bright. She spoke crossly to Wieten, and then said to her
afterward, ‘Don’t be annoyed, Wieten, I’ve not slept well,’
and laughed. Queer creatures they are! Not slept well?
When a body has buzzed about the whole day, as she has to
do, she ought to sleep like a log. But I suppose it’s got some-
thing to do with Maytime. I can only say it’s a good thing
that the men-folk keep reasonable, else the world would get
clean out of joint every spring-time.
“ Wonderful air! It seems as if one was drinking it, and
it tastes good, too. It’s a good thing after all that I came
home safe from the war, and that I’m still young and have the
big farm, so as to show them what’s in me. And later on, when
I’ve got a firm seat in the saddle, I'll choose a bonnie wife
for myself, with plenty of money and yellow hair. ‘There are
rich girls, too, that are just as lively and fresh, and look just
as taking and stately. New girls are always shooting up every
1 Vide St. Luke xv.25. (Translator’s Note.)
270 JÖRN UHA
year as thick as young grass. Heaven alone knows where they
all come from. There’s no need for it to be this particular
one.”
He put on his coat again and entered the long lane of lindens
that ran through the village. The parish clerk, who was so
hard of hearing, was standing there before his door, not in
the best of moods. For in the course of the day there had
been no fewer than six births registered, and each father had
sat a full hour in the comfortable easy-chair, and discussed
the state of things in the village and in the world in general,
his neighbors and the schoolmaster, and had wound up with
a long account of his own doings. And all the while the
parish clerk had sat there thinking, “ There’s something better
you could be doing than everlastingly bringing new children
into the world, giving me so much trouble every year with
all this scribbling on your account. Man! you ought to just
go away and mind your ploughing, I tell you.”
“Uhl,” he said, ‘one would have thought that the war
would have caused a falling off, but, bless me, not a bit of it!
Just the opposite. Four men of our parish fell in France,
but what difference does that make? Why, there’s six christen-
ings for to-day alone. And at Jen Tappe’s, who got his arm
shot off at Le Mans, there’s something on the way again
already. We won't have more than fifty deaths this year,
Jorn, but over a hundred births. Where’s the food to come
from? Can you tell me that? The country doesn’t grow
any bigger, and every cow needs six bushels. ‘The public’s
growing too fast, Jörn, far too fast! But, bless me! come
inside, man.” So he chatted on, and with blinking eyes counted
over the gold pieces that Jörn laid on the table, turning each
piece over twice, and then he entered the sum carefully in the
accounts.
Jorn Uhl, as a rational being, as a taxpayer, and as the
holder of a large farm, thought these views perfectly correct, |
and talked the whole matter over with the parish clerk. “ What
the deuce is to be the end of it if people go on increasing
at that rate?” And finally he said, emphatically, “ Marrying
under twenty-five will simply have to be forbidden.” And
with these words he departed, full of the proud consciousness
that he was of the same mind as so sensible and experienced
a man as a parish clerk in a matter of such great importance.
 iO REN UE TS 271
And again as he went along the path through the meadows you
could see his shirt-sleeves gleaming in the distance.
As he turned into the farmyard he noticed a man sitting
on the white wooden bench between the lindens. He looked
like a laborer wearing his best Sunday coat. He must have
been quite sixty years of age, and he had a full, gray beard,
and thick gray hair that lay heavy over his forehead, and in
spite of his broad, good-humored features he looked like a lion
with a gray mane. He had rested both hands on the top of
his oaken staff, and was weary and travel-stained. Lena Tarn
was standing beside him with a strangely earnest face; she
pointed to Jörn, saying, “ Here comes the master.”
The old man stood up before him and shook hands with
him. Then he sat down and began — after the fashion of
people in those parts—to talk about the weather and the
crops. Lena Tarn brought out the coffee without a word,
then sat down opposite them and set to work to mend a cloak
that Jorn had brought with him from the war, and that had
belonged to a French soldier.
“I have come about a certain matter, ... ”” the old man
said. “My wife gives me no peace. You-used to be in
Captain Gleiser’s field artillery, usedn’t you? Well, Geert
Dose was there, too. He worked for you after he'd served
his time as a soldier, I’ve heard. Well, you see, he was my
SOM. . -
“ He was one of the first to be wounded.”
“Well, his mother won’t give me any peace. Every evening
she wants to know whereabouts his wound was, and whether
it’s a bad thing —I mean, whether he had to suffer long after
he had got it. She fancies about nine days. He was a strong,
healthy young fellow, and it must have been hard enough on
him. And she’d like to know whether he said anything at the
last.”
Riese core
The old man seemed to have grown a little smaller, and was
looking with fixed, mute gaze over his hands into the sand.
“I want you to tell me how it all really happened. They
say you were with him at the last. Then I can tell her after-
ward as much as I think she can bear.”
Jorn told him quietly all about Geert Dose’s wound and his
longing to be home again, and his death, keeping nothing back.
242 JORN: UHL
Lena Tarn had never in her life seen or heard anything
but such things as happened in her own little village, nor had
she ever troubled herself about things beyond its borders.
The word “ war” had always summoned up before her a great
fiery, kaleidoscopic picture, with bright, round clouds up above
and burning houses down below, and between them hosts of
men running and riding — the general with his breast covered
with orders, the soldiers with their hurrahs and waving of
helmets, their bivouac-fires and Te Deums. All that she had
read in her school-books. Of the gruesome and heartrending
misery that soldiers have to go through she had heard nothing.
She listened to Jorn’s words with face all drawn with pain
at the very recital of such woes. But in the depths of her
soul a secret joy was all the while dancing and laughing, and
she kept saying to herself, “ You’ve come back safe and sound.
You’ve come back safe and sound, Jörn Uhl.”
The old man did not say much more. He soon got up
and went silently on his way. The farmer accompanied him
to the end of the lane, the first and last time that he was ever
known to do any one this honor. For a long time he stood
looking after the retreating figure plodding along the high-
road with stiff and heavy gait. “ The old fellow has a long
walk of sixteen miles before him, a weary road, and a weary
home-coming,” thought Jorn Uhl.
Returning through the poplar lane, the pleasantness of the
Maytime again came over his spirit. Through the gently
swaying trees, now all in tender leaf, he caught glimpses of
the sunlit space in front of the long, quiet homestead. He saw
its long, lofty roof of dark gray thatch, and its windows
glimmering in their green frames. He saw the broad, spread-
ing vine clambering around the door, the white deal seats and
little table beneath the trellis, and Lena Tarn sitting there
with her proud, saucy air and all the perfume of her fresh,
full youth about her.
As he looked, a phrase occurred to him that he had read in
some stray newspaper once when he was a soldier away in
France on actual service, a flowery Christmas article about
Peace, and the Works of Peace. This expression had pleased
him hugely at the time, and the beautiful picture of a land at
rest now recurred to him. In his clumsy fashion he turned
the phrase into question and answer after the manner of the
 TORN WHE 273
catechism: “ What are the works of peace? — The works of
peace are ploughing, sowing, reaping, the building of houses,
marrying, and the rearing of children.”
Lena sat there with head bowed so low that she did not
look like the same girl. The May sunlight was laughing and
pointing its radiant fingers at her bowed head. “ Look you,
Jorn Uhl, look how it sparkles. But have a care lest you
touch it, it’s all quick with fire.’ ‘The air lay soft the while,
smiling and will-less in the arms of the May-day sunlight, as
though faint with its own ecstasy. As Jorn tried to pass her,
Lena Tarn, without looking up, pointed to a little blue note-
book that lay near her on the table, and said, in a snappish
voice, “I just want you to go through the butter accounts
with me.”
Now, going through the accounts with him was a thing she
always did with ill grace, for it seemed to her to imply a
certain distrust. It had to be done, though. She gave the
note-book another contemptuous push and straightened herself
a little. Jorn sat down by her side and began to go over the
items, one by one. To show her dislike for such interference,
she had written them so badly that he could not make head
or tail of some of them. She had to bend her ruddy head
over the book that he held in his hand. Jorn was suddenly
conscious of a telltale light in his eyes, and tried to frown down
these flighty fires. Then with great care and precision he
began casting up the figures to see whether Lena Tarn’s total
were correct or not. She meanwhile was busily engaged in
fitting a patch into the old cloak, cocking her head first on this
side, then on that, to observe the esthetic effect of her handi-
work, and singing and humming like a bumblebee when per-
chance it alights on the rim of a buttercup, and to its amaze-
ment and indignation finds another already in possession. Before
very long he found himself listening attentively to her singing,
and his figures began to dance and get all mixed up together.
Then he grew angry with himself and got up. “I'll go and
finish the sum inside,” he said.
“ Its the best thing you can do,” said she.
In the evening, as twilight was falling, he sauntered along
the cross-road to see whether the cattle that had been let out
into the open were all right. In former years he could stand
by the hour behind his beasts, thinking over their past, and
274 TORN ‘UHL.
planning for their future, but this evening he had no eyes for
them, and soon turned back home again. When he had reached
the farmyard he looked around him, and, seeing nobody, he
laughed softly to himself. Late that evening it began to rain.
He was sitting in his little room at the open window smoking
his pipe, and feeling— as he mostly did at this time, when sit-
ting there beside the big chest in this little kingdom of his—
thoroughly comfortable. In such hours a longing for the more
genial side of life awoke in him. It was a thing he must have
inherited from his mother’s side of the family. As a rule,
when evening came, he would sit there in the quiet conscious-
ness of a day’s work well done, pondering and making plans
for the future, portioning his life out in thought, as a child
does some big Christmas cake that seems to it so big that it
can never come to an end. But to-night Jorn began to brood
and philosophize again after his old fashion, thinking how few
sunshiny days had been his, and wondering whether things
might not be so ordered that he might some day get out of
this land of gloom and cold winds for awhile. What had his
life been hitherto? he asked himself. He had left behind the
cares of his boyhood only to be loaded with debt as a man.
He had escaped the field of Gravelotte only to come to new-
tilled land, where it was heavy walking. And it was the same
with everything else. So when he came to think things over,
it seemed to him that it was high time for him to expect to
have a little of the softer, milder, and more genial side of life,
too.
In the house not a soul was stirring. Outside the rain was
trickling and gossiping. A soft twitter of birds came from
among the apple-trees. Amongst the bushes there was a feel-
ing as of buds longing to break forth into leaf and blossom.
Heavy globules of rain were hanging on every tender stalk,
and each crystal drop that fell seemed like some dainty, tiny
being sliding earthwards from twig to twig. Jörn looked out
into the night and listened. It was, he thought, as though he
heard some light spirit of laughter, and the opening of leaves.
Around his window multitudes of little creatures were on the
wing. Gnats and midges were darting up and down, spiders
were on the move, comrades were being sought and found, and
each sped on his own particular errand. The figure of the
Sand-lass.flitted through Jérn’s memory, and those proud forms
 JORN UHL 275
on the picture lying in the old chest came up before his eyes.
He thought and thought, and gazed away into space, and his
mind came back to Lena Tarn. He saw her sitting by his
side on the white deal seat bending over the book, and saw the
gleam of her beautiful neck through the fair, ruddy ringlets.
He roused himself from this dreaming and sat up a little
straighter on the chair, saying to himself soberly and slowly,
“The Works of Peace.”
The door creaked on its hinges, and Lena Tarn came in;
there she was, standing hesitating on the threshold.
“Come in, Lena,” he said. “ What is it you want?” He
was so excited he could hardly speak.
“T wanted to get the book. I thought you were still away
on the roads.” She went over, and began looking about the
shelf for the book.
Then he spoke to her again, and said: “ You haven’t been
in a very good temper these last few days, Lena. Is there
anything you’re in want of?”
She tossed her head and said, curtly, “ Everybody is in
want of something now and then, but it’s a feeling that always
goes by.”
“ I suppose you’re glad that Wieten’s got to sleep with her
patient, and that you have your room all for yourself.”
“Why? It’s all the same to me. When one has a good
conscience, it doesn’t matter a straw whether one sleeps alone
in the room or with somebody else there.”
“Then you must have a bad conscience, lassie, for last night
when I was coming through the passage I heard you calling
out in your sleep.”
“Did you? . . . I suppose I wasn’t feeling well.”
“What nonsense; just fancy, you not well. It was the
moon that did it. The rascal moon was shining full into your
bedroom.”
“Oh! it may have been something quite different.”
“No! I tell you it was the moon.”
She gave him an indignant look. “Oh! a lot you know
about it. I didn’t call out in my sleep at all, as it happens;
it was three calves that had got out, and were jumping about
in the garden. I saw them clearly in the moonlight, and it
was them I was calling.”
276 JORN TOHE
He laughed mockingly. “ Faith, they must have been moon-
calves, with a vengeance.”
“Oh! you think so, do you? Well! maybe they were,
but this morning I had to take them back, and found the stable
door open. I suppose the stableman was away courting last
night. Your eyes are always darting about and spying into
every corner, so I wonder, Jörn, you didn’t notice anything
O ENA
“What! do you call me by my Christian name? ”
“You do me, too! I am almost as big as you, and yov’re
not an earl, are you? And I’m sure I am just as sensible
as you are, if it comes to that.” She tossed her head pretty
high, and as she snatched the book down from the window-
shelf as though she were saving it from the midst of flames, he
saw the splendid anger in her eyes.
“ Be on your guard against the moon, lassie,” he said, “ else
youll be having to go calf-hunting to-night again.”
He was now standing in front of her, but didn’t dare to
touch her. But as they looked at each other, each saw plainly
how it stood with the other’s will. He had again that same
look in his eyes that he had had earlier in the day —a vic-
torious, impudent look, as if he was saying to himself, “I just
know exactly how such maidens’ scorn is to be interpreted.”
Her eyes said, “ Oh, I’m much too proud to love you. Oh, I
do love you so!” She still lingered at the far end of the
room, as though to give him time to say something more, or
to catch hold of her. But he was too dull to think of that, and
laughed, in order to hide his confusion.
Night came on. It was a quiet, wonderful night. There was
still a sound of whimpering in the trees, like a child weeping
softly in bed at night when it has been left alone and is afraid.
Now and again there was a glimmer of lightning on the
horizon, as when a mother comes into a room with a light
to see if the children are asleep. And there was a gentle
breath of wind, as when a mother croons a cradle-song. The
moon, besides, was shining almost full, her face a little pinched
as yet, and stars from all the sky showered down a myriad
golden spears, so that all things on earth had to crouch in
silence and hide themselves away. Even the people who were
still abroad on the roads spoke softly to one another.
Jorn Uhl had sat down. He now got up again, saying,
 JORN UHL 277
“Tl just go and have a look at the moon; it’s a wonderfully
clear night.”
He took the high stand that he had made himself, and
brought the telescope forth from the old chest. Instead of
the old, buckled spy-glass, he now had a fine night-glass with
a three and one-half inch objective. One of the masters of the
town Grammar School, who had heard of the astronomical
leanings of the young farmer, had paid him a visit one day,
and had chosen it for him. It was the first and last luxury
Jorn had ever allowed himself.
But as he was creeping across the middle hall as noiselessly
as possible, he saw that her bedroom door was still open, and
she came to the threshold and leaned against the door-post.
“ Still up, Lena?” he asked, surprised.
She said, “It’s not very late yet.”
“The sky is so clear, I thought I’d have a look at the stars;
if you feel inclined you can come, too.”
At first she did not move, but presently he heard her follow-
ing him.
He set the tripod in the middle of the lawn, and said, “ You
ought to have been here last Sunday midday, I had the moon
and some of the biggest stars on view.”
“You don’t say so! Just fancy stars being in the sky at
noonday? ”
“ Of course, lass! Where else could they be? ”
“Oh!... I hadn’t thought of that. I thought they were
like night-watchmen, abroad by night and in bed by day.”
Jörn shook his head emphatically. “ What strange notions
you get into that head of yours! But did you really think
that was it? ”
“Yes,” she said, “ you don’t need to look at me so hard; I
really thought it was so.”
But he didn’t feel sure how to take her. There was a
roguish twinkle in the corner of her eyes even when she was
in earnest.
He moved the telescope, and began searching over the sky;
at last he adjusted it and said, “ Now peep in there! ”
She was somewhat clumsy about it, so that he laid his hand
on her shoulder, and asked, “ What do you see? ”
“Oh!” she said, “I see. . -T seea. . . a big farmhouse,
all afire. It has a thatched roof. . . . Oh! it’s all in a blaze,
278 JORN UHL
roof and all. Sparks are flying away over it. It’s a regular old
Dittmarsh farmhouse.... Oh! but I would never have
believed there were farmers and farmhouses in the stars. What’s
the name of the star, Jorn?”
“Well!” said he, “thats the best thing ever I heard of.
No, lass! . . . you’ve either a screw loose or you’re a down-
right rogue.”
“Whats the matter now?” said she, looking at him in
astonishment.
“ You’ve too much imagination,” he said, gravely; “and in
science imagination does harm. . . . What else do you see?”
“I see... a broad plank at one side of the farmhouse;
it’s quite dark, for the burning farmhouse is behind it. But
I can see deep into the burning hall. Three or four rafters
have already fallen in and lie burning on the floor. Oh, that’s
a dreadful sight. Show me some other house that’s not afire.
. . . A house and a farmyard I’d like to’see where they’re just
busy driving the calves out.”
He burst into a loud laugh.
“ You rogue, you,” he said, “ you’d like to see your milking-
stool aloft there in the heavens, too, among the signs of the
zodiac, wouldnt you? Like this— raised high above your
head.”
“Tt’s you that ought to have got the stool at you! I won’t
forget that day in a hurry, you . . . and the way you looked
at me. That you can be sure of!”
He had never let any one take part in his star-gazing. Now
he wondered and rejoiced at her delight and amazement. “ You
never thought of such a thing as that, eh, lass? What you
just saw is a nebular star, and his name’s Orion. You know,
that’s the sort of star that’s still uncondensed.”
She said, catching her breath a little, “I can quite under-
stand what a pleasure it is for you.”
He nodded and said, “ Now you talk so sensibly, lass, Vl
let you have a look at the moon: Just wait a moment.”
“Any one would think you owned it all to hear you talk.
“Hi! this way with the moon!’ ”
He put her into the right position with her eye to the tele-
scope, laying his hand on her arm as though she were but
an awkward child.
Now her astonishment knew no bounds.
 JORN UHL 279
“What are those big dints in it? Just the same as in our
copper kettle, for all the world, when it’s polished and hangs
over the fire of a morning with the glow on it.”
“ Those dints, as you call them, are mountains and valleys.
Can you see the mountain-peaks away on the edge, to the left?
They’re lit bright on their left side by the rising sun, and on the
right their dark shadows fall over the land.”
She shook her head in amazement at all she saw and heard,
and lost sight of the vision in the glass and stood upright again,
looking up into the sky with her naked eye.
“ I used to hear about all these things at school,” she said;
“about the thousands of miles distance, and the circumference,
and all that. But I never believed Dominie Karstens when he
told us about it. I knew he didn’t tell lies, but I thought it
was some traveller’s tale somebody had taken him in with. But
now I’m inclined to believe it’s true.”
“ Oh, are you! . . . and now you've seen enough and have
talked enough wisdom for once. Go back into the house.
You'll be catching cold, too, and then you'll be dreaming again
and seeing I don’t know what in your dreams. Will you be
able to sleep?”
elem tox”
Again he was tempted to put forth his hand and seize her,
but respect for her held him back. He dare not, he thought to
himself, take hold of her thus as it were like a highwayman.
“ Be quick,” he said, “ and be off with you.”
She went away and left him there. He turned the glass on
the middle star of the pole of Charles’s Wain, and then back
on the moon again, observing the outlines of the seas. He
wanted to finish the drawing of a map of the moon he had
begun. The time flew by. He was quite absorbed in his task,
standing there in the middle of the lawn, flitting noiselessly
backwards and forwards about his instrument. He cast aside
that stir of young life that had breathed so hard at his side an
hour before, and came back into his old tracks, saying to him-
self that old Dreyer was right. “ Thats the one folly you
must not commit, Jorn!” ... “And yet—a fine, good-
hearted creature she is. . .. Happy the man around whose
neck she puts those arms. . . . Her eyes are splendid even now,
but what will they be when they are once lit up with love and
trust in the man she loves!”
280 JORN UHL
`

Owls were flying from tree to tree, or sitting on the branches

gazing at this night-wanderer with their wide, lidless eyes. A
little company of five hedgehogs were squatting by the heap
of stones near the alder bushes, quarrelling and making peace
again with low grunts. From the fields came the sounds of
night, now a cry of some sea-gull, now the far-off lowing of
cattle. . . . A chain clanked and jingled against some horse’s
hoof, and wild geese were flying high away over the farmyard
with a soft whirr of wings. . . . He heard it all; but it was
all so familiar to him that he did not take its meaning to heart.
But suddenly, while the scream of the wild geese went by above
him, he seemed to hear not far above the roof and then on the
walls of the house the faint cry of a bird and of the weak
beat of wings. He looked around and thought: “ What! are
the wild geese fiying through the garden, then?” But while
he was still looking in that direction a human form, a woman
clad in white, appeared under the eaves of the house, holding
one hand over her eyes and groping along the wall as though
seeking an entrance where there was no door, and talking to
herself the while with quick, excited words: “The calves are
in the garden,” she was saying; “ you must keep a better watch
on them; get up, Jörn, get up, I say, and help me.”
Jörn Uhl came with a few long strides across the lawn and
called her name softly: “I’m here already. ... It’s me...
There! there! Now be quiet, lass. ... It’s me... No-
body else is here.”
She had suddenly grown silent, and began rubbing her eyes
with the back of her hand just as a little child does when it
wakes; and all the while she kept complaining after children’s
fashion. Then Jörn put his arms around her and told her
where she was, and led her to the stable door, and tried to
comfort her. “ Don’t you see, here is the stable’door. It was
here you went through, you old dreamer, you; you’ve been
through the whole length of the stable in your sleep. Have
you been after the moon-calves-again? Aren’t you a goose,
eh? ... There, there, you needn’t tremble so. You'll soon
be back in your own room now.”
When at last she clearly understood her plight, she was
terrified and put her hands to her face, uttering cries of shame,
“Oh, oh! how dreadful! how dreadful!” But he caressed
her and took her hands from her face, and said affectionately,
 JÖRN UHL 281
“ Now give over weeping, lassie, and just let things be as they
are.”
3)
So they came to the open door which led into her bed-
room.

It must have been a remarkable night; for not only did

half the calves break out of the meadow, — and had really to
be hunted out of the yard and garden next morning, — but the
stableman himself had not come back home at all that night.
He came home toward dawn, straight across the fields, hum-
ming a tune to himself. When he saw the young farmer, who
was striding along by the side of the house with hasty steps
and his eyes on the ground as though they were seeking for
lost footprints, the latter said, “ I am about full up of life in
single harness, master. If I can find a good ’un, come Michael-
mas, I’ll marry her.”
After morning coffee Jörn Uhl put on his Sunday coat and
went into the village. The parish clerk was in a better
humor than yesterday. He no longer expressed his astonishment.
As parish clerk, registrar of births and marriages, church ac-
countant, and fire commissioner all in one, he had had many
an odd experience. He knew, too, that there’s nothing stranger
and deeper than a marsh-farmer.
“Right, Uhl,” he said, “it isn’t good for man to be alone;
we must een give him a helpmeet, or he'll be in a mess.
Maria Magdalena Tarn, only daughter of the Katner, Jasper
Cornelius Tarn, of the village of Todum. Well write it
‘ Kätner, Jorn, although not a soul uses the word in these
parts. But in the Prussian printed forms that’s the word that’s
used for cottager nowadays. And as it’s the Prussians that
have woke us up out of our sleep, I suppose they ought to
have the sending of us to work, too. So that’s all right. Nine-
teen years of age! Still young, Jörn. But they get old of
themselves, and that’s a fact.”
When Jörn was coming back, he found as he was passing
through the orchard a wild goose lying not far from the stone
bridge by the garden gate. It was still alive. He killed it,
and took it into the kitchen with him, where Lena Tarn was
standing before the fire, with her cheeks all burning. He
showed her the bird, and said: “It had broken one of its
wings, and was lying on the garden path.”
She threw a quick glance at it and said nothing.
282 JORN UHE
`
“Well,” said he, “ and now I’d like to know what you think
of me, eh?” As she made no reply he came a little closer.
“You have always been high-handed enough, especially toward
me. Now toss your head and scold me to your heart’s content.
I’ve deserved it.”
She remained silent, only laying both hands to her temples
and gazing into the fire.
He drew one of her hands softly down from her head, and
holding it fast in his led her through the hall and out through
the door into the front house. She followed him will-less, her
eyes bent on the ground, the other hand still up to her head.
In the big room he brought her gently to the armchair by
the window, and pressed her into it. “ There!” he said, ten-
derly, “ now we are all by ourselves, Lena. You're sad, dear
lassie, and very angry with me, are you? And is all your pretty
laughter gone?” He seated himself on the arm of the chair
and began to stroke her hair and cheeks, and her hands which lay
in her lap. But she did not look up at him. “ Here, in this
chair, Wieten says, mother used to sit many a Sunday afternoon.
That’s your place now.”
She still said nothing.
“Tve been to the parish clerk’s and have arranged every-
thing, and we're to be married in June. . . . Have you still
no word to say?”
She clasped her hands and said: “ You mean that will make
everything right again.” And she hid her face in her hands
and wept.
Then he began to stroke and kiss her: “ Come, come, give
over weeping, dearie. Why! arent you my own dear little
sweetheart and bride! Cheer up again, now, do.” And not
knowing what better to say, he said, “I won’t do it again.
Only laugh once more.” At last, at a loss for any other word
of endearment, he coaxingly called her “ Redhead.” ‘Then she
had to laugh; for that was the name of the best cow in
the dairy, the one that always stood foremost in the stall.
She raised her head, and looked at him long and steadily. . . .
And then Jorn Uhl came into the land of softness and heart’s
ease, which, as he thought, he had long since deserved.
 CHAPTER XIX.

Ir was a happy year. These two young folk were proud of

one another, and of the stately farmstead which they managed
with such old-fashioned gravity and earnestness. Old Farmer
Uhl had never recovered the use of his limbs, but had partly
shaken off the first torpor of paralysis, and was able to sit
up all day in a large armchair. His appetite returned, and
he enjoyed his pipe; he had regained his power of speech suff-
ciently to make the people in the house understand his growls
and exclamations. His youngest son came into the room every
day, and walked up and down without looking at the old man
sitting there, and reported all that had been done on the farm
the day before. His father said not a word. But as soon as
his son had left the room, he called everything Jorn did stupid
and wrong. When he was in the middle of his abuse, however,
Wieten Klook would begin to talk about his wife: “ Once, I
remember, my mistress said,” . . . or, “ Once there was nobody
at home here, except me and Mistress Uhl, and she grew
cheerful and told me this story,” . .. or, “I remember just
before little Elsbe was born, she that’s now been thrown away
on that good-for-naught of a Harro Heinsen.” . .. Or she
would begin praising Lena Tarn and the busy, thrifty way
things were managed by her. Then the old man would grow
silent and sit there with half-shut eyes, his wry mouth looking
still more wry. He had quite lost that gay, jovial way of
laughing that had belonged to him in days gone by.
Jörn would be back to work by this; and while he went
about his tasks would be worrying about to-morrow and the
day after to-morrow, and thinking whether he should sell his
corn and his cattle now, or wait awhile, and whether he would
ever be able to get together the interest that was due on the
10th November. He was happy and proud enough, no doubt,
when he thought of the trust reposed in him, and of the fine
283
284 JORN UHL
estate given into his charge, despite his twenty-four years,
and of the fresh and blithe-hearted, thrifty wife he had by
his side. But he never had a chance of enjoying his happiness.
He drank of it, as a stag fleeing before the hunters kneels down
in haste on the edge of a brook, and then, its thirst half-
quenched, has to rush off once more at the sound of horns
and hounds growing nearer.
The young wife did not worry. But she worked and worked
from morning till night. She didn’t spend a penny without
having something to show for it. Thiess had given her a
few yards of gray alpaca as a wedding-present. Out of it
she had made two simple dresses, with wide sleeves that could
be tucked back from the wrists. In these dresses she now
worked, healthy and merry, and every day looking prettier, her
arms well browned and bare to elbows, and as she worked she
hummed and sang.
Now she was in the kitchen. ‘‘ Gretchen,” she would say,
“look smart now! The quicker you are with your hands the
quicker you'll get a husband.”
“ Faith! and a nice thing to have when you’ve got him!”
“What! when he’s a good one? ”
“Are there good ones?”
“ Minx, do you want to make out that my husband’s not
good?”
“Oh, him! The farmer!”
“Now just hold your tongue! Do you think I am going
to banter words with you about my husband, then? But look
to it how you catch one for yourself, lass; I tell you it’s a
piece of work. . . . Now I must be off to the calves.”
Now she was in the byre with the youngest calf. “ They’ve
taken you away from your mammie already, you poor little
Redhead. Drink, or I'll give you such a whacking. I am
your stepmother. Thats right. . . . Phats the way to do it.
Had enough? well, lie down and sleep, then. Shall I sing
you a lullaby? I know cradle-songs enough, God wot, for
the time I shall need them. ‘Don’t look at me so stupidly,
Redhead, I tell you I have got no time. When the farmer
comes by with those long legs of his, remember me to him
and tell him he’s a rogue. When you're bigger you’ll have
to lead him a dance down into the old moat, like your brother
 JORN UHL 285
did last year. He has deserved it of me. A pretty pass he’s
brought me to.”
And while she was standing by the wash-trough the little
children of the workmen came by and commenced chatting
with her. They talked on quietly for a time, then suddenly
the children pricked up their ears. They had heard a low
chirping.
“Oh, Neusche”’ (that means “ neighbor ’’), “ what little bird
is that that goes cheep, cheep?”
“ Listen.”
“Oh, Neusche, where’s the little bird that goes cheep,
cheep?”
“ Listen, again.”
“ Oh, Neusche, you’ve got the little bird that goes cheep,
cheep, there in your breast! ”
Then she knelt down before the children and opened the
bosom of her dress, and showed them a little chicken she
had found half-frozen to death, and which she was warming
between her breasts. It cheeped away as she set it down,
still wrapped in a little woollen cloth.
The children were astonished, and Lena Tarn laughed
and said, “Children, you must tell your mother, ‘ Mother
Neusche’s got a little bird that goes cheep, cheep!’” Now,
that’s the way people in those parts have of saying that a
woman is with child.

Toward the end of harvest the thrashing-machine came

into the village. “There was a miserly auld wife who had, as
she thought, paid too dear for her silk skirt. So she
determined to make it up out of the wages of the thirty men
working with the machine. She had a certain pot of rancid
fat in the kitchen, and therewith she baked them a number
of stiff, hard pancakes. The men sniffed at them, tried to
bite them, then with one accord they arose up from their seats,
and nailed the two and seventy pancakes like so many Witten-
berg theses to the great door of the barn, and then, having
fastened ropes to the heavy machine, drew it away out of the
farmyard with shouts and singing. The man in charge of the
machine now made haste and went about to seek for work for
the day, and well he knew he wouldn’t find it so quickly; one
farmer, whose wife cooked over frugally, said he wouldn’t
286 JORN UHL
try and force things; another thought ‘he was doing a clever
thing to leave the corn in sheaf awhile longer.
But it was the wives who made most ado. “I tell you,”
said they to their husbands, “I can’t provide for thirty men
all in a twinkle of the eye. In two hours it will be dinner-
time.”
So the machine-master in his quandary came running over
to Jörn Uhl. And Jörn Uhl hastened to the kitchen.
“ Whats your idea about it, Lena Tarn? ”
“Will it suit you, Jorn?”
“To a T, my girl. Ill just set the whole five teams to
work and cart the beans in straight away.”
She gave a quick look around, cast one glance through the
kitchen, and another in the direction of the cellar, and then
she had made up her mind. “Let them come,” she said.
“They'll have to have their meal an hour later.”
Half an hour afterward the machine was busy in the yard
puffing and whirring, and sheaves were flying, and the heavy
black corn went rustling into the sacks.
Lena was not of the worrying and brooding sort. She
lived like a child, with her heart in the present. That is why
she had pleased him so greatly, being so different from him
in this. She lived as free from care as a bird. Think of the
birds of the heavens; they sow not, and yet they have always
enough. She had no desires of her own and no expenses. In
this way she thought we must get on. She thought she could
constrain prosperity by dint of honest work.
Once, it was in autumn, it struck her, however, that Jorn
had something weighing on his mind. He was coming back
across the big yard after having been in the village. Through
the door she saw him (Standing still, lost in thought. She went
out to him and said, “ Are you so worried, then, Jörn? Come
and sit down a little by my side, then, on this seat.’
“I don’t like sitting here, lass. It looks too grand. As if
we meant people to look and say, “Oh, there’s the farmer and
his wife.’ ”
“You are the farmer and I’m the wife. Strange, isn’t it?
Up to the time I was thirteen I still used to walk through
sand and heath, a barefooted girl. And the back wall of my
father’s house was made of turf.” She leaned her arm on the
rough wooden table and rested her cheek on her hand, gazing
 JORN UHL 287
thoughtfully at him. “ But that was just the mistake. You
ought to have had a rich wife, then you’d have had no worries,
you poor old Jörn!”
He said nothing.
She went on in a low voice, “I like work, and I can work,
and I can laugh, too. And if it were only a question of our
daily bread, and clothes to put on, I’d manage to feed and
clothe you and a few children. But more’s wanted in this
case. The work of my hands must turn to silver, and my
singing to gold.”
“Don’t you worry,” he said, comfortingly. “ Pll get the
interest together yet, you'll see. But I’m afraid I’ll have to
sell both the two-year-olds, and Id like to have kept them
another year.”
She felt inclined to laugh again. “I hope you won’t be
getting hold of one of your own children by and by, and
selling it by mistake! ”
“ What will it cost?”
“Oh, you poor old Jorn! what will it cost, eh? Not
much. I'll lie up awhile in Wieten’s room, then Wieten’ll
have two patients to look after for four or five days. “Then
Pll get up again and go about my work.”
He was used to brooding over his troubles by himself
from early childhood. So he had grown into a man who
was like nothing so much as a house with a high wall all
around it. His young wife laughed and sang, worked and
loved, and came with it all no further than to the outer door
of his soul. At times she knocked for admission, but he
did not let her in. She seemed to him to be too kind, too
affectionate, and too blithe-hearted. Why should she look
into that dark, anxious soul of his?
If she had only reached a riper age, and had had happier
days on the Uhl to look back on, she would have become
one of those winsome country wives such as are met with
here and there on farms, who, with their good humour, their
quick wits and quick hands, their energy and their well-to-do
ways, are the very life and soul of the whole farm. But she
was still too young, at the time we are now speaking of, to put
forth her full talents, and was still too much under the
weight of her poverty-stricken youth to act with frank self-
confidence. But as though she knew that she had not much
288 JORN UHL
time left her, she threw on all who dwelt around her a flood
of love and gladness.
Of a night when she was alone with Jörn, she was his
delight. Then as she lay in his arms she would always ask
the same question: “ Things went fine to-day, didn’t they?”
Vest?
“ All the washing’s dry. What about you?”
mb? (Mec. cede
“Oh! I mean what about your work?”
“Well, the bean paddock’s ploughed.”
“ And what a nuisance! do you know what puts me out of
temper?”
“ Yes, I can guess.”
“That I daren’t sing before the servants, you stupid old
Jörn. Before, when I was a young girl, I used to sing the
whole day long; it didn’t matter a straw to anybody what
I sang, nor to you either, although you always went by me
with your nose so high in the air. But now I have to mind
my P’s and Q’s. Nor can I now blurt out the first thought
that comes into my head. That’s almost a worse trial.”
“ Why, you’ve been humming tunes the whole day.”
“ But not singing; e e a Vhat ea Can now?”
“Fire away, then! But not too loud!”
So she sang all sorts of melodies, old and new, mostly old
folk-songs, keeping her voice low and soft. And every now
and then she would hide her head between his arm and
his shoulder, and laugh and exclaim, “I wonder what the
servants would say!” ‘Then she would rest her head on her
hand and lean over him, bringing out all sorts of droll ideas,
and letting them play before him as a mother does with a
chain of flowers above her child in its cradle.
On the morrow she was up betimes and had provided for
the people about the farm, and had given a new-born calf its
first milk. She had an especial love and aptitude in helping
the helpless, new-born creatures. Then in restless haste, and
with quick, dexterous hands, she had put water on to boil.
Then she came in to Wieten, saying, “ The young mottled
cow has a calf, and now I have to...” She tried to laugh,
but could not.
Wieten Klook came over to her and laid her hands upon
 TORING SULELLE, 289
her. You are an imprudent lass,” she said; “come, lie
“cc . . .

down, your hour is come.”

It was a wee, but strong and hearty boy. And although

it says in the Bible, “In sorrow thou shalt bring forth chil-
dren,’ and although Lena Tarn, much to her own astonish-
ment, found herself lying there limp and exhausted, she,
nevertheless, began humming its first lullaby to the little
child on the following morning; and although Wieten warned
them and begged Jörn to insist upon her remaining in bed,
she got up on the sixth day. That day she looked after her
child alone, and even went into the kitchen and brought
water for its bath, singing to herself the while, and was
prouder and happier than ever any queen. Jorn Uhl let things
take their course. He was so proud of having such a strong,
healthy wife, and no namby-pamby. Jorn Uhl was too young
and too stupid.
People said afterward that there had been a draught in
the kitchen. It was late winter, in March, when the wind is
damp and cold, and the air is as sunless as though it would
never be spring again. But it is easy to bring accusations
against God and Nature. The truth is they were not careful
enough. It was fated that Lena Tarn, who had been so
scrupulously pure, was to perish from contact with the impure.
That same evening she lay in bed with flushed and burning
cheeks, without interest in anything, and in the night she
became delirious. She who in her good-heartedness had never
injured a living creature, now in her raving went to every
one in the house, even to the little stable lad and to all the
neighbors, begging each of them for forgiveness if she had
ever done them wrong.
As if summoned together by her terror-stricken, wandering
soul, her truest friends gathered around her bedside. ‘There
was Thiess Thiessen standing suddenly at her chamber door.
The damp March wind had bitten his withered face and
made it look still sharper. He said that Lisbeth had persuaded
him to leave Hamburg with her, so as to have the first sunny
days at the Haze. He came up to the bed but stepped
back at once, trembling all over, such a fright did he get,
and then went out into the big hall and paced restlessly
up and down, rubbing his hands together and shaking his
290 JORN UHL
head. Next morning a bright young form appeared. She
came up to Jérn Uhl, who was standing helpless by the bed-
side, gave him her hand and looked at him with compassionate
glance.
“Lena, dearie,” he said, “ here’s Lisbeth Junker, the little
girl I used to play with when I was a lad. Do you remember
me telling you about it?”
But Lena Tarn remained impassive. When Wieten held
her child for her to see, she looked at it with a long, silent
glance. Mother and child never saw each other again.
Toward evening the fever increased. She tossed about
over the whole bed. They went backwards and forwards in
the room, went to the kitchen and then came back. Lisbeth
Junker stood by the window, her eyes heavy with tears, and
gazed out into the darkness. “[hiess Thiessen stood in the
kitchen by the hearth, stirring the glowing turf with the
tongs. The doctor came for the third time and soon drove
away again. When the driver, who knew him, looked at him,
he saw but hopeless, sorrowful eyes. “The minister also came
and spoke to Jorn Uhl; he might just as well have spoken
to one of the oak tables that stood in the hall. It was a
long, anxious night, a night of helplessness, a night of woe.
Toward morning she grew more restful again, but was weary
to death and could hardly speak. He was “ to tell father that
she had loved him dearly.”
Jorn Uhl sobbed. “ He’s never said a single kindly word
to you, my poor lass.”
She tried to smile.
“ You’ve never had anything but work and worry,” he said.
Then, speaking with difficulty, she: made him understand
how happy she had been. He bent down close to her. She
tried to stroke his hand. She no longer thought of any one
but him; her child, too, she had forgotten, i
That afternoon, when the fever was returning, he told her
that the two new cows had been brought. And she begged
that she might see them. Perhaps she wanted to show him
that she still had interest for the things that concerned him
and so comfort him, and in her fever got hold of the wrong
thing and hit upon his wish.
So the cowherd and the dairymaid brought in the two
 JORN UHL 291
heavy-uddered cows, and led them with firm hand through
the room; she looked up and laughed.
Late in the afternoon the fever again raged through her
body, and she fought with it till nightfall; and then her
strength was at an end. The doctor came in the night. His
buggy lanterns glimmered in the icy wind. He looked at the
sick woman, and called Jörn Uhl aside and said that there
Me no longer any hope. If he had anything he wanted to say
tohen en
Jörn Uhl went back to the bedside, where he had been
standing for the last sixteen hours. Yes, there was something
to be said to her. He stooped down close to her and told
her in his clumsy way how deeply he had loved her.
She tried to look up at him. It was meant to be a long,
long look, full of wonder. It was the first glimpse she had
into his soul. But her eyelids were now too heavy.
After midnight she roused up a little. From the few words
that she said it was clear that she was back in her childhood
on the heath at Todum. She said something about, “ You
have bare feet,” and “ Those are snakes . . .” and “ Here are
some beautiful blue ones. ...” At first her school comrades
from the little school at Todum were with her. They went
with her from bush to bush. The heath stretched out and
had no end, and the others lost heart and wanted to turn
back. “ Yes,” she said; “but must I go on alone?” So she
gave them all her hand. And as she was going from one to
the other, all of a sudden they weren’t school-children any
longer, but there stood the old teacher Karstensen, and his
beautiful dark eyes sparkled just as they did many a time in
the religion lesson, when he pushed Luther’s catechism aside
and spoke free from his heart about the courage and true-
heartedness of the Redeemer. He stroked her forehead, which
was hot from the summer sun, and said, “ And now go straight
on and you will not miss the Uhl.”
And Jérn Uhl was standing there and giving her his hand
to bid her adieu, and kissed her and wept, and she did not
understand how the big, strong man came to be weeping so
like a child. She heard it clearly. And Wieten Klook was
there, too, and many others were around the bed weeping.
Quite clearly she heard their bitter sobbing. Then she turned
her face away and departed from among mortals, pursuing
292 JORN UHE
her way out over the great heath alone, on and on. And
it was very lonely; and it grew dark and her soul was full
of fear. But the farther she went the lighter it grew, as though
some heavy, dark cloud that had covered the sun had now
moved away. And gradually, with the waxing light, she found
herself in the midst of a strange company that came about her.
They came from both sides, very quietly so as not to frighten
her, — single figures, — and some came from behind, approach-
ing her with silent steps. They were forms like those of mortals,
but they had much purer eyes and walked as though they had
never known care, and their garments were as of white silk.
At last they came so close to her and there were so many of
them that she was quite surrounded, and they looked on her
with kindly faces. And she tried to laugh; but they said
she dare not do so yet. The road began to go up-hill, and
toward her there came as it were a stream of light or song—
gentleness and strength came to meet her. Many hands caught
hold of her and led her onwards, and she came and stood before
a form of One most grave and holy, that bowed down and
looked on her with kindly eyes. ‘Then she stretched out her
hand and found suddenly that she had in it a great bunch of
brilliant crimson flowers, and she gave them to Him, and said,
“That is all I have. I beg you to let me stay with you. I
am so very tired, dear Lord! By and by I will work as much
as ever I can. And, if you please, I should like to sing as I
work.”

When it was known in the village that Lena Tarn had died
in childbed, there arose among the women-folk a great run-
ning hither and thither from house to house beneath the lindens,
and in every house was mourning. There wasn’t a dwelling in
Mariendonn village but had the window on the right of the
front door hung with a white sheet. Even old Jochen Rink-
mann, cabinet-maker and funeral-furnisher, who was wont
at most times to do exactly the contrary of what every one else
did; who was so perverse that when a house was on fire
he would insist on having a corner to himself to put out, and
would growl at any one else who happened to pump water on
to it, — even he, I say, now took his blue apron, having nothing
else handy, and hung it over his little workshop window that
 JGRN UHL 293
was nearest the front door, and worked the whole day in the
dim light. And he hadn’t even got the order for the coffin.
When Jörn Uhl came back home — it was the fourth day
after the funeral — he saw the farm-servants and the maids
standing together talking; he sent them to their work. He
stood still in the big hall and listened. Many a time he had
stood there trying to hear which room the humming came
from, or to tell whether that light, brave step was in the
kitchen or in the sitting-room. As he listened now, he sud-
denly heard the loud crying of the little child. He went into
the room; there sat his father by the big Dutch stove. His
pipe had gone out, and he was waving it at Wieten and scold-
ing her for not looking after him; and by the bed stood Wieten
leaning over the child. And the room was untidy and unclean.
 CHAPTER XX.
THERE are some farms in this country-side that are dead.
Avarice or debt, or public disgrace, or evil conscience, or slow,
incurable disease, have killed all the life that was in such
houses, and shut out all that would come in afresh from
without. The earth rolls around, civilization goes its way,
manners and customs change, the nations wage war, the pros-
perity of the people waxes and wanes, but the farmstead out
there in the lonely fields, under the high, dark trees behind
the thickets, does not stir. It stands there still as a nail rusting
in a damp wall. The maid in the inner chamber and the lad
in the stable forget now and again and burst out laughing, only
to strike themselves on their mouths again and be still.
Some day, finally, a coffin is carried away from the farm, or
a closed carriage drives up, and voluntarily or by compulsion
a benighted man gets in and disappears into some madhouse
for the rest of his life; or a couple of old people, man and
wife or brother and sister, with sharp, distrustful eyes, leave
the unclean and stuffy rooms and the tumbledown farmstead
for some dwelling reserved for their old age, fearful of the
night because they cannot sleep for care and worry, and fearful
of the day lest their children should’ come — children whom
they look upon as thieves anxious to steal away their hidden
scrip and debentures. But the farm comes into other hands.
Window-sashes and doors are taken down. ` House-painters
and carpenters are singing in all the rooms. Soon the laughter
of some young wife is heard there. And soon there are flaxen-
haired children playing in the sunlight in the courtyard.
It was a gloomy November. A cold west wind had been
driving through the poplars for days, and there was a sound
in them as of the rush and roar of billows. On one such
evening, Jérn’s two brothers came back from Hamburg.
They made out that they had merely come to have “a look
294
 JORN UHL 295
around” and to see how their father was. But their father
turned his head to the wall away from them. When they
had left the room he abused them, saying that all the Uhls
nowadays were good-for-nothings; he himself was the last of
the Uhls who had been worth their salt. The two visitors
troubled their heads no further about him, but strode grandly
through the house and stables, praising this and finding fault
with that, and prating about a great hay and corn store they
had, and a big cart down there in Hamburg. That evening
they went to the village public-house, after getting Jörn to
give them twenty shillings, as they had “ brought no change
with them.” They came home in the small hours of the morn-
ing. Jörn Uhl did not go to sleep that night; he lay on
his back staring up into the darkness with open eyes, and
pondering over things. He knew that his brothers were at
the end of their tether and wanted money from him. He
had noticed that their coats were patched, and frayed in front.
The blood came up into his cheeks when he thought of sons
of his father sitting like that in the village tavern. Next
morning they said to him, — quite casually, as it were, — “I
say, Jorn, we're going to borrow a small sum from Fritz
Rapp. He offered it to us. In Hamburg capital is every-
thing, you know; whether it’s one’s own or borrowed doesn’t
matter a pin. So we're going to take it. In case of either of
us dying we want you to put your name to the thing.”
“Well . . .” said Jérn Uhl, “ that’s all very well... Tm
deep enough in the mud already, and am no good as a bonds-
man for you.” “ Oh, it’s only a matter of form,” said Hinnerk.
That was the tone they adopted, and their youngest brother
knew not what reply to make them.
So that afternoon the matter was settled, and that same
evening Hans left the Uhl to pay a forged bill with the money
he had received, and save himself from prosecution. Hinnerk,
however, stayed. He complained of rheumatism in his weak
leg, and said that he thought the damp, soft, marsh air would
do him good. He lolled about the public-houses of the villages
around, and bought himself a new suit in his brother’s name.
One evening, toward Christmas, he came into Jorn’s room;
he found his brother sitting there in the twilight, and told
him he wanted ten shillings. Jorn answered quietly that he
should get nothing from him. Hinnerk’s eyes began to glitter;
296 JORN TUOUHE
he said a man couldn’t live without money; he had borrowed
a matter of twenty pounds already in his brother’s name from
Fritz Rapp. Jörn kept control of himself, although his voice
shook; no, he would never give him another farthing; he
only spent it in dragging the disgrace of his family from tap-
room to tap-room. On hearing this, the brutalized fellow
cried out with rage and lifted his hand against his brother.
Jörn’s blood now boiled over, and he caught hold of the
drunkard and roughly bundled him out-of-doors.
From that time forth the limping man kept quiet when he
was at home. He got the farm-servants or passing children to
bring him brandy from the inn, and would sit in his room with
the stableman from the next farm, a loose fellow like himself.
Then he would throw himself on his bed and sleep off his
drunken bout. He seldom appeared at meals. He seemed to
be able to satiate himself on brandy.
Jörn bore all this in silence with dark, scowling countenance.
Old Dreyer had said, “ Don’t let him out of your sight, Jörn!
Fritz Rapp has got some evil hatching against you for not
having paid Hinnerk’s debts. They have been saying they'd
keep him drunk on brandy for a fortnight.”
So when the drunkard wanted to go out, Jörn barred the
way and said, curtly and harshly, “ You stay where you are!”
One day in spring, however, he left the farm. For a year he
led a vagabond’s life in the country around, working only
sufficiently to keep him in drink, abusing his father and brother.
Now and again he passed by the old homestead with his boon
companions, shouting and bragging.
One day in spring old Farmer Uhl got up from his arm-
chair and managed, with the aid of a stick, to walk a little.
Soon he was able to stand and lean against the wall, looking
across the road. And after awhile you could see the heavily
built old man walking barehead, with disordered gray hair,
slouching around the house, and looking out for any one that
might come along that lonely way to whom he might utter his
complaints and abuse, and tell them how Klaus Uhl and his
children were mismanaging the farm and bringing themselves
to beggary. He was quite convinced that he was the Hinrich
Uhl who had founded their house and brought the family to
dignity and importance. Once it happened that his limping
son came by that way when the old man was standing there,
 PORN, UAE 297
and there was such an interchange of foul language between
them that Jorn Uhl could not conceal the shame of his soul
from one of his men who was taking out food to the cattle; he
shook his head in desperation, then in his blind rage he struck
the fork so violently into the wall that the handle flew into
splinters. Such outbursts of rage came over him more fre-
quently this year. His character began to show flaws and to
get a tendency to gloominess and austerity.

The old maid servant, whose hair is getting thin and gray,
looks after things as faithfully as ever, although without her
old zeal and hope. She sits and sews and patches for three
now, for there is the old man and Jörn and the little child to
care for. When the old witling comes in from outside he will
sit down heavily in the big armchair, and growl, “ Tell me a
story!” ‘Then she tells him strange old tales, such as the soul
of this people has invented in its dreams. Some of them are
very silly, others very wonderful, others very eerie. Of an
evening she takes her spectacles and opens the Bible, and will
always choose some part or other of the Old Testament to read
aloud, — strange miracles, great wild deeds, and the stern words
of upbraiding of the old prophets. She has never been able
to rightly make up her mind about the New Testament. By
nature she had a sunny enough disposition; she had been a
soft and loving child in those old days when she used to play
gipsies with Anna Stuhr and her children on the heath. But
the heart-breaking experiences of the years that followed, and
her long, lonely time of service on the big marsh farms, and
the way in which Fate had bound her life up with the
tragedy at the Uhl, all these things had combined to lead her
out of life’s sunshine deeper and deeper into the shadow. In
the darkness and not in the light she now sought for the
Abiding and Eternal. ‘The brightness and greenery of forest
glades no longer seemed to her to be the symbol of the world;
she sought it rather in the gray gloom of air beneath the ancient
ines.
The master of the house, too, was a gloomy, brooding man,
a man whose lips, despite his youth, lie in a sharp, bitter line,
as if they had grown together by dint of long pressing. He
never goes into the village, and neither knows nor cares what
happens there. Church never sees him. His thoughts are
298 JORN UHL
bounded by his own farmstead and do not trespass beyond the
fields of the Uhl, except, maybe, to visit the little churchyard
where Lena Tarn lies buried, and the parish registry where the
taxes are paid, and the grand new house of the Whiteheads
which is not far from the Schenefeld Church.
If any one were to come to him and tell him his country
was in danger and that he must help to defend it, he would
say: “ Country? What country? Don’t you know, man,
that I have my hands and my head overfull already? ‘The
farm is overmortgaged, my father’s a dotard, my brother a
vagabond, and Lena Tarn is in her grave. Don’t come talking
to me about my country.”
In order to save paying extra wages, he himself patches up
doors and mangers and lattices. He goes around the house
with a bucket of lime, putting a stone to rights here and there,
and all the while ashamed of himself before the servants. But
the farmhouse must be kept in good repair, or else old White-
head may come some fine day and say: “‘ The place is going
to ruin. Clear out from the farm altogether!” Yes! From
this farm that has been a source of care to him as long as
he could remember. And what was to be done with those
two inside who are telling the story of the man who found
an iron pot while he was ploughing, an iron pot full to the
brim with silver crowns?
Jörn’s child runs about alone, left to itself to play about
the stables. It has none but taciturn people around it, and
in answer to all its inquisitiveness, learns nothing but sad,
sober, prosy things. So it becomes old-fashioned, and at four
years of age speaks in the drawling country dialect about the
price of beasts and cattle, and tries to play six and sixty with
the ploughmen in the stable corner.
Lisbeth Junker used to come once a year from Hamburg
to spend a few days in the old village schoolhouse. On these
visits she always came over to the Uhl, too, to have a look
at little Jürgen. Her hair and her eyes had still their fresh,
Sunday, virgin look as of old, and her figure was still full
of its old, lithe, proud strength and grace. In her gray eyes
and around her firm rosy mouth deep earnestness of charac-
ter was manifest. She took little Jiirgen on her knees, and
told him with those demure eyes and that high, soft, shy
voice of hers about her life away there in the big city. She
 JORN UHL 299
told him how she still lived there with her aunt, and how
much she liked it. “Our little shop lies near the grammar
school,” she said, “ and not far from a big board school. The
school-children buy all sorts of stationery from us, and ink
and exercise-books, and we sometimes have big orders from
the professors and sixth-class boys.”
Jorn looked reverently at her fine, proud beauty, and
thought, “ How far away she is from me. She is a princess,
and I am a poor, rough ploughman. What business should
she have here in the midst of all my wretched life?” Then
he said out loud to Lisbeth, “ You’re too young for it, Lisbeth.”
She shook her head. “ What else have I to do, Jörn?
What other aim in life have I? It’s better than being a mere
dependent in some strange household.”
Then they began talking of other things. She tried to
lead him to speak of old times; but those times lay far from
him as though hidden behind some vast, gloomy wood. He
was too close beset with heavy thoughts to understand the
shy pressure of her hand and the pain in her eyes when she
was bidding him good-by. Then she would come again on
the second day, perhaps, “ to have a peep in.” But the conver-
sation persisted in flagging. She spoke of this and that, and
asked him all sorts of questions, but with her quick intuition
she soon saw that his thoughts were elsewhere. Then she
went away. On the way home her cheeks suddenly flushed
red with shame. And that night, when she was back in
Hamburg, she cried and cried until she had no more tears.
Once, it was when the child was about three or four, and
had been playing on the roadside, it came into the big hall
with its hand in that of a youngish, fair-bearded man, and
called out, “‘ Father, here’s the minister.”
The other minister, the one who used to go through the
village with such a proud knowledge of his dignity, and preach
so loud and with such assurance about the only orthodox
faith, had been promoted to some city parish. The one that
now came was a man still young in years, of childlike nature,
and one that frankly said what he thought about things.
Everything he said was true, but sometimes it wasn’t pleasant.
He wasn’t the sort of man for the Uhls; these hard, crafty,
cautious men, behind whose words one always has such a
laborious search before one discovers the truth. With the
300 JORN UHL
flight of years he gained more and more enemies. At last the
whole parish was loud in its cries for a new minister in his
stead; they wanted one who was more positive, more officious,
more unctuous, and, moreover, a good card-player.
These Protestant churches, three hundred and fifty years
after Luther’s death, are still unable to tolerate a pastor who
pretends to be nothing more than a simple, honest man.
In these country parishes there is many a sorrowful and heavy
heart, whose sorrow and heaviness, moreover, is all in vain.
At this time, however, he was still fresh and full of hope;
he had only been six months in the parish, and trusted to
be able to carry out his task; by honest love and honest work
he wanted to win all these people over to him, and thus win
them for the Gospel and its high and beautiful message.
So the minister came in and made a few remarks about
wind and weather, and then went on to say: “ Next Sunday
we are going to put up a memorial tablet in the church for
those who fell in the war. So I have come over to ask you to
come, too. I know that you’re no great churchgoer, but you
ought to be present at this festival.”
Jorn Uhl said in a not unfriendly tone, with his eyes on
the ground: “I am in no frame of mind to join in with you.
You will know, I dare say, how things stand with my father,
and what I have had to go through here. I haven’t a jot of
inclination left for public ceremonies and such things.”
“That I can well understand,” said the minister, with a
look of sympathy. “ But it’s not a dance I am inviting you
to. That I wouldn’t have dreamed of. It is a service in
memory of the dead.”
Jorn Uhl looked up with a kindly glance. “No! I cannot
come,” he said; “it’s out of my power. But I'll think on it
when you are together yonder in the church. They are all
brave lads, the whole four of those whose names are going
to be put on the tablet. I stood at Geert Dose’s side when he
was dying. I will come another time by myself and look
at the stone.”
The minister looked at him and liked him. ‘ Well, I must
be content, I suppose,’ he said. Then they shook hands and
bade each other good-by.
On Sunday evening Jörn took his little boy by the hand
and went across fields with him to the church way, and
 JORN UHL 301
reached the churchyard unseen and entered the church. Hang-
ing on the wall in an oak frame he saw the marble tablet
gleaming in the dim light. It had a wreath of oak leaves
around it. There was still light enough for him to make out
the names on it. Beneath the names was written:

“THEY DIED FOR THEIR COUNTRY.”

Jörn nodded. The simple tablet and short epitaph pleased him.
He heard some one else enter the church, and looking
around saw it was the minister. “ Do you like it?” he asked
Jorn.
“Its a good epitaph,” said Jörn.
“ Many members of the congregation wanted something
grander and more rhetorical. . . . If you look at the matter
closely,” he went on, gravely, “every earnest man does the
same as these four men have done. ‘These did it in three days,
or in three weeks, with their sorrow heaped upon them. And
your young wife, Uhl, did it, too, in a few days; she gave
her life for you and the child. Others take years to do it in,
some for their children’s sake, some for the sake of an idea,
or whatever other noble motives drive men to suffer volun-
tarily for others. Yesterday we buried the wife of a work-
ing man. She seldom came to church; but her whole life
was a faithful, earnest struggle for her husband and her chil-
dren. Serving and self-sacrifice, or helping others, or loyalty
to one’s fellow men, call it what you like, that is the real,
human kingship. That is true Christianity.”
“I can well understand that,” said Jörn Uhl. “That’s
a thing that looks one squarely and honestly in the face.” He
nodded and looked at the minister, as though he expected him
to say something more about the matter.
“The Saviour,” the minister went on, “has by His pure
and lovely life and by His most pathetic death, as well as by
His gracious, strong, proud words, cast into humanity a great
stream of thoughts and new life, words like a living flame as
He said. And now one man takes this and the other that,
one church this and another that, and each squats in a corner
with the little rushlight that each of them has taken, and
looks at it and lets it flare or smoke, according as they prefer
smoke or flame, and says, ‘Thats the truth of our blessed
302 JORN UHL
Lord.’ Many add their own bit of truth or even untruth,
many, indeed, even their own wickedness and malice to it.
And in this way the real image of the Saviour becomes so
petrified, so disguised and distorted, that the real nobility of
His face is no longer seen. And yet all the time it’s not
such a difficult thing, even for an unlearned man, to form,
with the sole aid of the first Gospels, a picture of Christ,
wherein the great, leading features of His life and will and
character stand clearly forth. As far as I can see, what He
has to tell us is this: We shall have faith that God in heaven
is always ready, even in our darkest hour of need, to help us
with His strong, guardian arm; with this joyous trust in our
hearts we shall manfully fight against all evil both in our-
selves and around us. With this faith in God, like a strong
wall behind our backs, we shall fight for what’s right and
good and never doubt of the victory, first here, then here-
after. That, according to my idea, is what Christianity means.
But if a man cannot come to have this trust in God — for
it is not every one that can — and yet nevertheless can live a
life of goodness and love, then let us accept him for what he
is and be content and rejoice over him.”
“ Every good man must agree with what you say,’ said
Jorn. ‘ There’s no need for us to stand brooding on one
leg, a thing we’ve no time for. Nor is it necessary for us to
strip the reasoning powers God has given us of all independence
and then to accept whatever folk choose to set up before us,
as though they should say, ‘ Feed, bird, or perish!’ ”
The minister gave a hearty laugh. “ There’s nothing more
certain,” he said, “than that the things Jesus wanted to bring
to humanity were exceedingly simple, direct, and clear. But
really I don’t know what they were unless they were what I
just now said.”
They walked together as far as the edge of the churchyard.
The minister began to ask about Jérn’s campaign in France.
Jorn had thawed a little, and now spoke with slow deliberation
of their evil plight at Gravelotte, and the wet camp before
Metz, and the long, bitter weeks around Orleans. Then he
said he had no more time to spare. “We have a mare in
the stable we expect to foal soon, and the stable-boy who has
been left with her isn’t thoroughly reliable,’ said Jérn. So
they parted, each with a good opinion of the other. The
 JORN UHL 303
minister went into the village to speak with his parishioners
there, and try and soften their hearts, but making no more
impression on them than a dog does with its barking at a
passing wagon. But Jörn Uhl went back to his farm, there to
live through the darkest hour of all his life.
For whilst he was on his way to the church, his brother
had come that way. He had been drinking and brawling all
day in a public-house, and had learnt from the lad at the
stable door that the young farmer was away from home. Curs-
ing and swearing, he forced his way into the house, and
stumbled into the room where his old father was, and poured
out his hate and misery before him.
The old man was already in bed, but raised himself on his
elbow, and stared with dazed eyes at the intruder. ‘‘ What
do you want?” he asked, in a quavering voice. “ I have toiled
hard, and worked in the sweat of my brow, and have stayed
at home all my life, and whenever I had to go to town I went
on foot. I, old man as I am, I curse you and your father.
The house and home and wealth I got together with so much
toil has dazed your wits. Away with you! The whole brood
of you! You're not fit for the sun to shine on.”
“You’re mad,” said the drunkard, supporting himself on a
chair by the bedside. “I tell you, you’re as mad and crazy
as a sow that eats her own young. But it’s a form of madness
that suits your purpose. You were always a good one at
finding out things that suit your purpose. First you manage
the farm like a rascal, and after you’ve squandered everything
you set up in your craziness for being a man of birth.” He
took the bottle that he had in his tattered jacket and drank
and drank. “The whole world’s off its hinges, I tell you.
When people don’t like being what they are, they just take
on some crazy guise that suits them. I’m going to be a
different man from what I am, too. Off, off with this old
skin! It’s too shabby.” He pulled off his coat and flung it
on the bed. “ Good-by, grand-dad, good-by, great-grand-
father, old Adam, you! I’m going to strip this old skin off,
I say. What’s the good of living!” He stumbled out into
the big hall. It was all dark.
When Jörn Uhl came home he found his father asleep.
Wieten was not in the room. ‘Then he went into the hall.
There lay Hinnerk Uhl on the floor near the ladder, and
304 JORN UHL
Wieten Klook and the old ploughman were standing by him.
Wieten told him how his brother had come home. “I went
after him and couldn’t find him, at first. Afterward I found
him here, hanging from the ladder.”
The man went off toward the stable, and said to the lad
who was standing in the doorway with pale, frightened face,
“ Get away back to the mare. This is no place for you.”
When the two had disappeared, Jorn Uhl recovered from
his stupor. He leaned heavily against the ladder and lifted
his hand to his face. And Wieten said, “ Don’t take on so,
Jorn, laddie, don’t take on so.”
The coroner came and the magistrate, and Jörn Uhl was
as cold as ice and as dangerous as broken glass. The magis-
trate asked who was to make the coffin. Jörn answered,
“ What’s that to do with me? ”
“Yes, but we can’t have him buried as a pauper at the
expense of the parish.” -
Jorn gave him a haughty look. “ Why can’t you? Isn’t it
the parish that licenses the tap-rooms where men may drink
themselves into sots? Am I responsible, then, or is the
parish? ... Well, let the parish bury the sot of its own
making.”
That same evening the pauper’s coffin arrived, and was
put into a shed on the right of the cow-stall, which had
formerly been used as a chafi-room.
Jorn Uhl and Finke, the carpenter, put the dead man in.
“ Paupers’ coffins are made beforehand,” the carpenter said.
“ Hes too long. . . . He was in the Life Guards.”
“Tt will have to do.”
Wieten came in, leading the old man by the hand like a
child. In the other hand she had the empty bottle and the
cord. “ Well put them in with him,” she said; “its no use
trying to deceive God. Now He can see his temptation and
the misery he lived and died in.” And so saying, she laid
the things beneath his knees.
Jörn Uhl went away, shaking his head, and left the two
alone. He walked up and down in front of the house like a
sentinel on guard, as if to ward off further shame and mis-
fortune from his home. When he went inside again to see
his father to bed as usual, he found the old man already
undressed. Wieten was sitting by the bedside reading out of
 TORN UHL 305
the Old Testament the story of Eli, the man who neglected to
train his children aright.
“ Jörn,” she said, “I believe he knows to-night that he’s
Klaus Uhl. He asked me just now whether he was the man
who fell on the ploughshare.”
Jörn Uhl came to the bedside and looked at his father,
and said, “Are you comfortable, father?” The old man
made no reply. ‘‘ Give over reading, Wieten. It’s no use. It’s
too late for that now.”
“ Well, as you think best,” said she, and put the book back
in its place. “I was thinking it might bring him to himself.”
“Well, and what then?” said Jorn.

The sun shone. The wind blew. The little lad ran about
the farmyard in sun and wind, holding his hands high above
his head, making believe that he was going to fly. But Uhl
Farm was dead,
 CHAPTER XXI.

Unt Farm was dead. The people who live on a dead farm
mostly grow miserly and dirty. But that was not the case
at the Uhl. Wieten’s hair kept smooth and neat. ‘The little
lad was tidily dressed, like the child of some workman who
has a good wife. Jorn himself now wore a blue cotton suit in
summer and moleskins in winter, and his waistcoat buttoned
up to the throat. Right at the bottom of the old chest lay
unused the dark blue suit he had had made for his marriage
with Lena Tarn. Nor did the hearts of the folk at the Uhl
grow callous or hard. They were guarded against any such
danger by the memory of Lena Tarn and her goodness, and
by Wieten Klook’s quiet gravity; and the young farmer’s
inborn feeling for what is honorable and pure now stood him
in good stead. But there was another danger. It seemed
as if he was going to become a recluse and eccentric. Once
before, when his first love had terminated so unhappily, this
danger had confronted him. Now it was here again. In his
sad and anxious solitude the inclination to brood and ponder
and think out the cause of things came upon him. And this
was so much the worse, since it now found him a man whose
soul was weary and bitter almost to despair. But whereas he
had had to fight his way out alone before, both men and stars
now lent him their aid.
It was a good thing that he now had some inner light to
guide him. It was a good thing that he did not need to
stagger about at random and go reeling into the abysses of
the abstract and transcendental, like a man who takes a run
and springs down from the world into space. ... Up in
heaven the golden hosts still trooped by, with glimmering lance
and shining breastplates. On these he could direct his tele-
scope and find there stuff for quiet and earnest thought.
Behind the house in the orchard, on the edge of the old
306
 JORN UHL 307
moat, there stood an old garden-house, whose walls were still
sound, although the roof was in decay. He set this little
building in order, repairing it and giving it a revolving roof,
and in the little observatory he fixed two firm stone pillars,
and laid the refractor on the one and the transit-instrument on
the other. On the window-sill he arranged a shelf for books
and a clock, and nailed various astronomical tables and charts
on the walls. All this he did for himself without help.
His father had often used this arbour as a place for drinking
and card-playing, and his brothers, too, had often sat there
of a night in company with the wenches with whom they
consorted; and now Jorn, the youngest, quenched his thirst for
knowledge there. Half the night he would sit there with his
charts and glasses, peering deep into a most learned book, and
looking exceedingly wise, with his forehead all puckered and
wrinkled. And at times, astounded by the discoveries he was
making, he would strike his knee with the flat of his hand
so that the room rang again. And good it was that this was
so. It was a leap out of a field full of thorns and thistles on
to a high wall, where cool winds fan the dusty laborer. And
men helped him, too.
The municipality, as it happened, was just thinking of a
new plan for draining the district, a matter which requires a
good deal of exact preliminary work, and costs not only time
but much labor and money. ‘Three years long the council
had been reflecting how they could set about it in the most
prudent and most thrifty way, and whether they could not
manage without the aid of learned professionals, who send in,
as is known, such barbarously long bills. So they came over
one day to the silent, learned young farmer, and found him
sitting there on his farm like a spider in its web, and asked
him for his advice. Jörn thought the matter over for a week,
making diagrams in the big land register half the night through,
often laying his long forefinger reflectively along his long nose,
as though it was its length he was measuring.
At the end of the week he went to the council and told
them that ke, Jörn Uhl, would undertake the whole work,
under their supervision. They should pay him, he said, for
the work he did at such and such a rate, payments to be made
each New Year, if the year’s work turned out to their satis-
faction. They were greatly astonished, and requested him to
308 TORNAUE
leave the room for awhile. There was a long discussion, and
at last his offer was accepted by a narrow majority.
He carried out the whole work in five years as he had agreed,
and reaped a double benefit from it. It put some money into
his empty pockets, and, what was more, the extra work pre-
vented him from giving way to his fits of brooding.
His task also brought him into touch with botany and miner-
alogy. In his tramps about the district, through the Geest
and the-Marsh, and over fen and heath, he collected ali sorts
of plants and seeds of weeds, and rejoiced the heart of the
old professor in town with his specimens; and when new
deep trenches were being dug, he was seized by the desire to
examine and define the different kinds of earth and strata, and
the old professor got from him a number of neatly made draw-
ings with exact reports. So, you see, men helped him.
His little son was growing apace, and would go trotting along
at his father’s side through house and barn with endless ques-
tions, and would ride and drive with him to the smithy. And
one day the boy went alone into the village and brought an-
other little lad back with him to play with him, just as the
lonely dove gets itself a mate. From that time forth, Jorn’s
intercourse with the children helped his thoughts and his ways
of speech to become more childlike. He who had hitherto
tried in vain to hit the right tone in conversation, now sat
between these two little chaps on the form near the big barn
door, and listened knowingly as they conversed, and found the
tone he wanted, and built them a rabbit-hutch, half above
ground and half beneath, as is the proper thing with rabbit-
hutches. When the lad was five years of age, he used to carry
his father’s chain and surveying-rods after him from field to
field. And once when he was six, and heard his father at
the beginning of harvest complaining to Wieten that he’d have
to hire a lad to drive an extra cart, the little fellow got up
and maintained he could do it. And during the whole of that
hot and busy harvest for four whole weeks he drove the big
wagon, and was proud as a king, and crowed with laughter
and drummed with his feet for very pleasure when one of
the men upset the last load of corn by the gateway where
the entrance is so difficult. That had never happened to him,
bless you. Jörn Uhl stood by the corner of the field and saw
the youngster’s delight, and came near laughing.
 JÖRN UHL 309
The child’s parents had been of about equal stature, tall,
broadly built, and lithe; but the boy had his mother’s eyes,
and it seemed as if he had inherited much of her kindly and
helpful nature. When he burst out with his ringing laugh
while playing with the dogs or the children, Jörn would come
to the door and look at the child, and his thoughts would lose
themselves far away. Men helped him, I say.
One evening — it was after that conversation in the church
— Jörn Uhl ventured across the fields to the manse. It was
just past supper-time. The door was opened, and they won-
dered who it was coming at that hour. There stood Jörn
Uhl in his dark gray suit, broad shouldered and square built,
in the doorway. He was asked in, and entered, stooping as he
passed under the low door of the old house.
In the middle of a low room he saw a four-cornered table,
and all four sides of it were occupied. On the one side sat
the minister reading; on the other sat his wife, a natty, some-
what delicate little body, and childless; she also was reading.
On the third sat a girl, some eighteen years or so of age,
a schoolmaster’s daughter, who helped with the housework, a
merry-hearted rogue, and she was reading, too. On the fourth
side sat the minister’s father. He was an old man, and had
been in the wars in his youth and had been wounded at Idstedt,
and then in his after life as a country artisan he had seen
and gone through all sorts of strange experiences. He was
wont to say: “ No need for me to read things in books; my
life’s a book of itself.” He would sit with his chair a little
turned away from the table, and smoke and tell stories that
no one listened to. Only when it was anything new or inter-
esting the others would look up from their books and ask,
“What was that you were saying, dad?” Somewhere or
other, squeezed in between these four anywhere where there
was most space, sat a merry little lad of some ten years of age.
He had no parents and had been put out “to browse at the
manse,” and “get in condition,” as the minister said. He,
too, was reading.
Jorn Uhl came stooping into the room through the low
doorway, and there was no chair for him. At last the girl
stood up and gave the boy a sign, and they both went and
sat on the sofa at the other end of the room, and put a
draught-board between them and began playing eagerly, only
310 TORN TUHI
interrupting themselves to dip into a bag of raisins that had
somehow or other got left on the sofa.
So Jörn Uhl got a seat and talk began. At first the minister
thought the visitor had come with some special object, so he
merely made a few general remarks about the weather and
waited for Jörn to broach the special subject of his errand.
After awhile, as Jörn made no move, the minister saw that
his guest had really come just for the sake of a pleasant hour
together, a thing hed been many a time invited to do, but
without avail. So they began to talk about what was happen-
ing abroad in the wide world, and from that they got to
talking about the stars. It was the minister’s wife that started
the theme, and it went so far that night that Jörn Uhl got a
big sheet of paper in front of him, and with a lead-pencil, which
he gripped like a hay-fork, he sketched a map of the heavens,
and while talking in quiet, deliberate, pure High German, he
took the whole of the pastor’s family with him for a long walk
along the Milky Way; striding slowly forward and following
his nose, he traversed the sky from one side to the other with
them.
Everybody in the manse gave a sigh of relief when the
door shut behind him that night. The minister said: “ Did
not I tell you what a clever, sensible fellow he was?” His
wife answered: “ You were right for once; it went fine.”
He visited them again at the end of a fortnight, and re-
peated his visits from that time forth about once every fourteen
or fifteen days. Whenever the conversation hung fire — for
neither Jörn Uhl nor the minister nor the minister’s wife
were what are called “society talkers ” — the minister would
take down a book and read out aloud. It even happened some-
times that he was so intent upon the book he was reading
that he said straight out that he couldn’t give it up that night.
Then Jörn would talk to the old man about war and the life
of soldiers, and with the housewife about the strange fates of
different people they had known.
When it came to choosing the books to be read aloud, the
minister at first got quite on the wrong track. He hit on
“ Faust” and then on “ Reineke Fuchs.” Jörn Uhl listened,
to be sure, but when they had finished reading these books, and
he was asked his opinion about them, he shook his head em-
phatically, and said, “No, minister, that’s not in my line;
 JÖRN UHL 311
Wieten Klook stuffed me too full of such things when I was
a child. She used to tell us just such flighty and unreliable
stories as these — me and Fiete Cray, who has since been dairy-
farming in Wisconsin, and is now starting a wood-yard in
Chicago. I got a letter from him last month — well, he and
my sister always used to listen attentively enough; but for me
these tales had no meaning. I’d be building platforms with
the knitting-needles the while, and laying down sleepers, and
building railway lines with Wieten’s wools, and when I grew
a bit older Id be reading in Littrow’s ‘ Wonders of the
Heavens.’ Thats my particular bent, so to say. But I’ve
always had other things to do.”
So the minister tried books of travel and biography. And
thereafter all went swimmingly. They read the travels of an
Arctic explorer and then those of a wanderer in the desert,
and the life of a statesman as told by himself, and then the
life of Jesus as told by Mark. This last book they read just as
they had read the others, and had many a hot argument over it.
At last, in the third year of such intercourse, things came
to such a pitch that the minister one day said: “ Both of us
have Frisian blood in our veins, so we must needs get to
understand something about philosophy; theres no getting
out of it. So just let’s clench our teeth and tackle it. I’ve
got a big, thick book that a farmer lad from Langerhorn wrote,
a man who’s now a famous professor.”
So they began reading philosophy. And many a time they
looked at each other in sheer helplessness. And many a time
it seemed as though the farmer understood more than the
pastor. The latter has never up to the present day become
a philosopher.
In this way did men and stars help Jorn Uhl to tide over the
years of evil and loneliness.
 CHAPTER XXII.

He had risked it, and put in thirty acres of his best land with
wheat. He wanted to take a long pull at Fortune’s flask.
If things turned out well, he would be able to pay off the
first instalment of the mortgage; up to the present he had
had his hands full trying to pay off his brothers’ promissory
notes. The wheat came on well through the winter, and in
spring shot up thick and even. Jörn’s hopes waxed and throve
mightily; then of a sudden they shrivelled up and were dead.
For it was the fatal wheat year, when the crops failed all
over the country.
Jorn Uhl was not alone in his misfortune. As I write I
seem to see many a soured, harsh face peering at me and say-
ing, “ Those are our troubles you’re relating over again.”
In those times a third of all that country-side was wheat-
land, and it was wheat that decided the fate of many a man.
One year sufficed to seat a farmer firm in the saddle, or, if
he was weak, to fling him to the ground. All that is changed
since then. The Marsh is now no longer covered with waves
of wheat; it no longer puts one in mind of the sea that throbs
away there beyond the dikes. ‘The Marsh is now all green with
grass, and we Marsh-men are commencing to be cattle-breeders,
and to be as stupid as cattle.
There’s a story told of a farmer from across the Eider,
how he used to go out every morning with his meerschaum
pipe in his mouth to look at his cattle, as a good breeder ought.
And coming up with them, he would go among them and say,
“ Good morning to you all,” and would go on talking to them
something in this strain: “ Lads,” he’d say, “ it won’t be long
now before ye’re fat and fit. As for ye, my mon, ye’re a bit
too lean about the hind quarters, and the hind quarters is a part
folk lay great store by. No matter, though; I tell ye ye’re
all to be packed off together. First ye’ll come to Husum, that’s
312
 JORN UHL 313
ae town down yon, and there ye’ll see houses cuddled together
like peas in a pod. Then ye’ll come to the railway, — where
it’s always going puff-puff. Then ye’ll be off down into the
lands by the Rhine. That’ll make ye open your eyes, I warrant.
There’s Farmer Olders has been down there, and the things
he can tell on is just awful. Chimney after chimney, and fur-
naces glowering at ye, and smelting and hammering and filing
everlasting. And there... there youll... hem! Why,
yes, you'll get another master over ye... and I . . . PIl get
my bawbees. So we'll all be content with our bargain, and
there’s an end on it.”
He said all this aloud, with his hands deep in his pockets
and speaking between his teeth in a canny, deliberate sort of
voice, without taking the meerschaum pipe from his mouth for
a second. A man whom he didn’t see was working in one
of the ditches near, and heard it all, and set the story going
in the village, that is, after he had touched it up a little on
his own account. And everybody was amazed that Farmer
Soderbohm should talk like that to his cattle; for he was a
taciturn man, and nothing was ever known to come out of his
mouth but the smoke of his pipe.
That’s what it’s coming to around here, too. And there-
fore he who writes this story of Jorn Uhl’s life has bought
for himself a small estate, up there on the Geest, eight feet
long by four feet wide. And when the time comes for him
to lay himself down there to rest, as he thinks of doing some
day, he will be able to lie there, he thinks, and hear the rustle
of the summer fields of rye.
One evening, about the end of July, Jorn Uhl went down
into the marsh and met old Dreyer there. The old man stopped,
leaned heavily on his staff, and panting: “ Say, Jorn,” he asked,
“ have you noticed that there’s mice in the wheat?”
“No,” said Jorn; “I was out there the day before yesterday
and didn’t see a trace of a mouse.”
“The day before yesterday there were only a few; yester-
day there were a good number, but to-day there are whole
hosts of them. I am in sore fear for the corn, Jorn. ‘This
plague of mice comes every fifty years. A hundred years ago,
my father has told me, they ruined the wheat and grass fields
for three years running. In those days you could buy a good
Dittmarsh farm for a pipe of tobacco and a go-stick.”’
314 JORN UHL
Jorn Uhl left the old man standing where he was and went
over along the oat-fields, and saw nothing; went further and
stood by the hedge-gate and looked into his wheat. On his
right, so near that he could see its watery mirror, flowed the
little river Au. And as he stood there looking away over the
wide, waving fields of corn, he thought he noticed a blade
of wheat near him suddenly vanish ... then another...
and another . . . and another. As though a hand were silently
stretched up out of the earth plucking them away. He passed
his hand over his eyes to make sure it was not some halluci-
nation. Then he saw what it was; he saw a mouse raise itself
on its hind legs— one bite, then a second, and the blade bowed
and leaned against the next one to it. It was dainty, delicate
fret-saw work. He glanced over the field and saw more than
was to be seen — it was as though the whole field were alive.
“Well,” he said to himself, “ that decides it.”
While he still stood there deep in thought, he heard a gentle
sound of rippling and splashing down there in the dark water;
and as he looked he saw thousands and thousands of these little
creatures swimming across the stream, passing and passing.
Dazed with the sight, he turned around and strode homewards.
“ If only my father were dead. If only he might die to-day
or to-morrow. Will it have to come to him being carried
away from the farm in his armchair? Will all the world
have to gaze at our poverty and peer at our rickety furniture and
torn pillows?”
He went into the room to see how his father was. “ He’s
just the same as usual, Jörn; only he refuses to get up to-day;
I think he’s taken it into his head that there’s less danger for
him if he stays in bed.”
“No danger in bed! Why, Wieten, Wieten, it’s a mice
year. A mice year, the likes of which hasn’t been seen for
a century. The mice are in the wheat. ‘They're in the farm-
yard, they’re gnawing at the bed-posts, they’re eating us alive.
It’s all over with us, Wieten.”
“ Jörn!” she said. “ Ah, God! Jorn, don’t talk like that.”
She went out, shaking her head sadly; a little body, bent
and stooping, a shuffling, timid, wizened, poor old thing.
“Poor old Wieten, your life has been nothing but care and
worry. But quick! Think of a way of escape! Quick! for
every second ten wheat-blades fall. Every minute the farm
 JORN UHL 315
. . . Oh, but what good will thinking do! Thinking can do
no good now. Nothing but a miracle could save the place.”
Jorn has gone down to the fields again to see how the mice
are ravaging his crops. He meets a neighbor coming toward
him, a man who has a wheat-field, too, and is loaded with debts.
In the last two days he has grown an old man.
“ What do you say to it, Jorn?”
“ What can I say, Peter? It’s not the fault of our plough-
ing. It’s a thing above our might.”
His neighbor nods assent and passes on. He has five
children waiting for him at home.
At the beginning of August it begins to rain, and there’s
a hope that some disease may break out among the mice and
carry them off as quickly as they came. But the rain is warm
and soft and steady. ‘The sort of rain that makes even chil-
dren give up hoping for good weather, and withdraw in groups
beneath the dripping eaves to tell each other stories: “ Once
on a time when the sun shone,” they say. . . . So it goes on
week after week, and week after week. Is it really harvest-
time? But when will the sickles gleam in the sun again?
They are but little tiny beings, those, that are burrowing
and working away there beneath the wheat-fields. But what
difference does it make, little or big? It is an unnatural sort
of life; the mice there in the loose soil are living lecherously,
and the corn that the rain has laid on the soft wet earth has
learnt vice from them. Young as it is, still in its cradle, it
is beginning to sprout, the rank and wanton ears conceive,
and first and second fruit wallow and ferment together in
vile confusion. There’s no need to go to the wheat-fields any
more; nothing is to be done with them.
Jörn came back home feeling a dull ache in head and heart.
As he walked he thought to himself: “ PI be worrying myself
ill with trying to fathom it all. . . . It is stupid to be always
asking the why and wherefore of everything. But it is strange,
I can’t help doing it. It is just as if I had been dragged into
a dark house, and had escaped awhile into the sunlight, and
then got dragged back again into that wretched haunt, and had
to crawl through every stuffy hole and cranny of it.”
He went to his bedroom, sat down in his chair, and threw
his legs up on the old box so that it creaked again. “ What
are those words there in the woodwork? ‘The blessing of
316 JORN UHL
the Lord maketh rich without labor.’ That would be a nice
thing! Well, as far as I’m concerned, fet it! I pray you for
a specimen of blessing without labor, or for the matter of that
with labor. If that text in the Bible holds good, the whole
Bible is not worth a rap, nor God Almighty, either.”
He made a wild gesture with his hand over his head as
though he would fain open and unbind things that lay there
under some imprisoning weight. Like a man lying under a
heavy, high pile of straw, while more and more is heaped on
top till his head grows dazed and his breath more and more
stifled. He remained sitting there in his chair, brooding and
tormenting himself, and every now and again passing his hand
through his hair, as though he were seeking key and latch and
lock to loosen and free himself from this oppressive thing; so
gradually he fell into an uneasy doze, then started, and woke
again.
It now seemed to him as though his life had been all cast
away in vain. For a moment he was like a groom who has
left his horses for a moment and sees them rearing and ready
to bolt in wild terror. Jörn Uhl sprang to the rescue and
flung himself in the way of his own thoughts; he tugged at
the reins, grinding his teeth, and his wild eyes looked into
other eyes still wilder. But he was thrown back and sank
on his knees, and they were off on their furious course. Ho!
how they galloped on their wild career! Who could stop
them? Ho! let them go and have their fling!
How was that, though? He had been at the town grammar
school, hadn’t he? How had it come about then that he
now found himself in such a sorry plight? Who had got
the farm, after all? Not Hinnerk, for he was dead, and he
had seen him in his cofin. Who then? Why, the eldest, of
course. But how was it possible that he didn’t know that?
“ I must have been through some serious illness,” he thought;
“that’s how it is my thoughts get away from me at times;
but everything’ll come into its proper place by and by.” But
one thing was certain, at any rate; he must have spent a good
many years there on the farm. How did that come about,
then? Oh, yes... that came about in this way . . . right!
. . . His father was a drunkard, and so he had had to leave the
grammar school and go through years of toil. But now all
that was past, and Lena Tarn and the years of happiness had
 JORIN UHL 317
come. He had got a place in the observatory, too, as a kind
of servant to a great astronomer. He paced up and down
the room, and would fain have felt glad about it, and was
nevertheless in direst anxiety, so that he thought of opening
the door and asking Lena Tarn whether she could manage
on a small fixed salary of nine hundred shillings a year; of
course she’d laugh over her whole face and say, “ Like wink-
ing! why, that’s nothing! Pancakes every day turned in fat.”
But when he opened the door he caught sight of one of the
farm servants walking across the hall, and hesitated, and then
shut the door once more. In doing so he struck a hard object
against the door-post, and suddenly noticed that he had some-
thing under his arm. It was the telescope and the cloth he
usually polished it with, and he had no idea how they came
to be in his hand, as it was the old telescope that lay right
at the bottom of the chest. He bit his lips and grew pale, and
his forehead became damp with a terrible fear.
“Mad!” he said.
He paced up and down in greatest distress and anguish. He
tried to think what he had just been thinking about, worry-
ing himself to remember the past, and could not unravel his
thoughts. “I have never had luck in anything I have
undertaken,” he said to himself; “ everything has turned out
bad. 6 2
“Thats what old Nick Johns used to say, too, after he’d
made a mess of his life with his own muddling; he used to tell
every one that he’d had no luck . . . that’s the way with me.”
And suddenly his life, instead of a long story of toil and
worry, flashed before him as a mass of error and sin. The
bad thoughts that race along by the side of all the works of
man — even his best — like ugly, swarthy hounds by the side
of noble horses, now of a sudden grew into gigantic forms.
“ Where is your sister Elsbe, Jorn Uhl? You never looked
after her, and now she is amongst the lost. Where is your
brother Hinnerk? You struck him and drove him away from
the farm; he became a vagrant and a drunkard on the dusty
road; you wanted the farm for yourself. What about the
ploughshare? Did you not wish your father to fall on it?
Where is Lena Tarn? Didn’t you forbid her to sing? You
said she’d have to get up out of bed or else you'd strike her.
You are a villain and a murderer. You are a sevenfold mur-
318 JÖRN UHL
derer like Tim Thode. They're coming! Hark you....
It’s you they're looking for. They want to drag you away
. away through the whole village!”
“I must go and see,” he said, with panting voice, “ whether
these things they say are true.” He took the telescope and
went down to the garden-house, and set the instrument in
its place with feverish, flying hands, and did not think to
take the cap off which lay over the objective, and looked
through and said to himself in amazement, “ Black! black
as night! It’s God’s truth. Thats the way with my soul.
Not a jot, not a single jot of goodness in it. Not a spark of
light and not a star in all the heavens. It’s not to be borne
any longer. Where is one to go to, then, if this is so? One
cannot see three steps ahead. Thats a hedgehog’s life. Hin-
nerk’s ladder is standing in the middle shed of the barn. I
will quit this place. I will go before people have noticed
what’s the matter. There must be light somewhere or other,
I tell you... .” He-closed the instrument again with the
same feverish haste, and was going to go out, when he suddenly
noticed a shadow in front of him, and looked up. There stood
Wieten Klook in the low doorway, looking at him with eyes
full of wild fear.
Then he knew that he was no criminal, but a man whose
mind was clouded. “Thank God!” he said, “ Thank God!”
And would fain have kept it a secret that such darkness and
chaos had been in his soul, saying with a face twisted into
what was meant for a laugh and kindliness: “ Į was just going
to have a look at a star, up there . . . beyond yon wisps of
clouds.” But she came quickly up to him, and looked him
sharply in the eyes.
“ What? ” she said. “What? No, Jörn, I tell you that will
never do!”
She seized his hand and led him through the garden.
“No, Jorn . . . that won’t do. That was not the tune that
Larry the Piper made the people dance to. That would
put the finishing stroke on our misfortunes! Nay! Now’s
the time to hold your head .high, laddie. Your son shall
never say his father was a suicide. ‘There’s nothing in it,
Jorn. It’s like running away leaving the plough stuck in the
middle of the furrow in broad daylight. What, at thirty years
of age? Thats no way to knock off work, Jörn.”
 JORN UHL 319
At first he pretended to be quite amazed at her words. Then
he grew embarrassed. At last he came back, out of the far,
dark distance, to himself again. Light glimmered within him
once more, and he felt again the dull ache in the back of his
head. He now again knew where he was and how things stood
with him.
“Tt is a sore thing to bear,” he said, wearily.
“ Wait here a moment,” she said; “ I will go and fetch you
some cold water. You must grow cooler. Stay here, do you
hear? Just remain sitting where you are! I will be back in
a moment, and will remain beside you all the evening.”
She hastened to the kitchen, and was so quiet about what
she was doing that the two girls did not notice what distress
she was in. She hurried to the sitting-room and seized Jörn’s
little son, and ran across the big hall with him. He was still
sitting there on the chest. She gave him something to drink,
and as he was setting the vessel down again with a deep breath
of relief, he heard the little lad at his knees saying: “ My word,
father, how pale you look! You'll have to take precious good
care else you'll be ill.”
“ What’s the good of it all, Wieten? ” he said.
“ Yes, yes, Jorn,” she replied. “ You’re right. But it’s all
one, whether it’s hard on you or not. It’s got to be carried
through. Only have patience and time will help us. For
the present, laddie, lie down and have a good sleep. Quick!
I know what is the right thing to do. Just see how tired
you are. Lie down straight away, and sleep like the man
who came to the Hill of Slumber and slept seven years!
Sleep, laddie.”
It was good for him to have around him the two people who
belonged to him. They were so kind to him. He smiled wearily,
and got up with stiff, heavy limbs, laid aside his jacket, and lay
down to rest. “They stayed and sat by his bedside.
When he woke two hours afterward, out of heavy sleep,
hearing a voice calling him, the old groom was standing there.
It was dusk, and the man was saying: “ We don’t know what’s
become of Wieten; she left the farm an hour ago, and we
thought she’d gone over to a neighbor’s. But she’s not there.
And now the girl says she saw her take the field-path toward
Ringelsh6rn. What can she want there? Theres nobody
living there; and it’s dark, and the ditches are full of water,
320 JORN UHL
and Wieten herself says she can no longer see things in the
dark.” `
“ Where’s my little son?”
“ He is playing in his grandfather’s room.”
Jörn Uhl sprang out of bed and slipped into his coat. He
was suddenly a sane man again. “I am going after her,”
he said, as he hurried away from the house. The cold wind
beat against his uncovered head, and refreshed him. He
went up the broad road, and then along the cart-way as far
as the foot of the Ringelshörn without seeing any trace of
her. Unable to see any distance through the heavy, rainy
air, he stood there undecided, and was going to shout her
name, when the thought suddenly struck him that he might
find her by taking the foot-track which leads up through the
valley. He had no sooner entered the dale than he saw the
small crouching form of a woman before him, and he at once
knew that it was she whom he sought.
He went up to her: But she heard him coming, and came
toward him and said, sadly: “ Its no good. I have too long
neglected it all, or else I’m grown too old and dull for it.”
He laid his arm around her shoulder, and took her with him.
“ Come back home at once, Wieten. You'll get wet through.
Here, let me lay my coat over your head. That’s it.”
She walked along at his side, with bent body and weary
steps. “In times gone by,” she said, with shamefast voice,
“when I was a little girl all these things were full of life for
me; but now they’ve all gradually perished.”
“ What were you trying to do?”
“ I don’t know. I wanted to see for once whether I could
really get anything out of it; but everything looked at me
with cold, dead eyes.”
“ There is nothing in it, Wieten! ”
For a time they said no more. He had his arm around her
shoulder, and led her over the dry spots of the damp path.
“Tt comes from people losing their belief in such things,”
she said. “ You know that yourself; when one has lost in-
terest in sun and moon and stars, they have no more messages
for one; and when one ceases to trouble about one’s house,
it falls to ruin. It’s the same with everything. Indifference
will kill anything, and love gives life to everything. I have
 PORN UREN 321
ARS these things too long, and they’re all rusted with long
ying.
$ But you must not lose courage, Wieten, for all that.”
Well, do you see, Jörn . . . this afternoon when I found
you down there in your garden-house, I thought to myself:
“If that happens, what will become of everything?’ And so,
in my terror, I hurried here.”
“ Wieten, these things won’t help us. Heath and water,
wind and rain—why, those are things still more helpless
than man himself. ‘Thats no place for man to go and look
for help.”
“Don’t say that, Jorn; there lies a mystery behind this
life of ours. We don’t live for the sake of this life, but for
the sake of the mystery behind it. And it must be possible
to unriddle the mystery, and the man who unriddles it has
light and truth. And in these holy old things and their legends,
I should say it is to be easiest found. From as long as men
can remember that’s where our forefathers have looked for it,
and some of them have found it.”
“Yes, Wieten, there you're right. What you say about
the mystery I believe is right. But I don’t believe we'll ever
find it out or solve it. It’s like a man trying to leap over
himself. Man just remains man, the same as an ash remains
an ash, and our ignorance and blindness in these things goes
without saying, just because we are men. For all I know,
the secret’s open, broad, and living, and is here, lying or
standing, laughing or weeping, all around about us. But we
have no organ or sense by which to see or hear it.”
“ Maybe, maybe,” she said, sadly and thoughtfully; “ but
we must just go on working away till evening falls, and always
be as kind and loving as we can.”
“Right, Wieten. Thats in the New Testament.”
She raised her head a little as she walked along beside him.
“What? Thats in the New Testament? What does it
say, then, about — you know, Jorn — the secret?”
“Well, as far as I can make out, Wieten, it says we won’t
get behind it here. But we’re to have faith that everything
has an aim and an inner meaning. And afterward, after
death, we’ll get on a bit further, and come behind the secret,
and see things, not as they appear, but as they are.”
“Well, well! And that’s what Christ says! It astonishes
322 JORN UHL
me. And it must be as you say. But from a child I’ve always
been so hungry for knowledge. I always wanted to know
what was the real meaning of this life of ours. I remember
when I was in service with Jörn Stuhr in Schenefeld I never
did anything but try to fossick it out. But we could never
find anything. And then Hans Stuhr got drowned in the
Mergelkuhle.” And she began to weep.
“It’s no good searching, Wieten. I think Christ Himself
said that even He didn’t know everything. He said it wasn’t
necessary for us to know it. Only we should always have faith
and keep pure and loving hearts. He was against all brood-
ing and bitterness, and against all haughtiness and the wish
to know everything, and against all hating and hardness of
heart. ‘ Have faith,’ He said, ‘and be pure and merciful.’ ”
“Well, I suppose we can have faith in what He says, for
He was clever and kind, and there’s no doubt that He tried
to do what was best, and died for it while He was quite young,
so we must e’en hold fast to what He says, Jorn, and see
how it turns out.”
“Yes, Wieten, so we'll just stand firm together, and keep
a stiff neck, you dear old soul.”
And after bringing her as far as the kitchen door, the
desire came over him to go and walk awhile, bareheaded, in
the cool air. . . . The rain had ceased and there was no wind.
As he got farther away from the farm the last sounds which
broke the stillness of the autumn evening died away. In
his reverie he approached Ringelshorn and climbed the slope,
walking slowly and aimlessly straight away over the heath,
that lay gray, dark, and desolate around him. Gradually day
put out its last light, so that he saw nothing but night around
him.
Once more he fell into pensive brooding over the past and
over his future; and as he got deeper into the heath, it seemed
to him to rise up on both sides of him in gloomy heights,
crested with tall, dark fir-trees, and as though he himself
were walking in a deep valley. And it was so lonely and so
dark, and dead, and he came into such depths that he was
almost as terrified as he had been before in the garden-house.
And visions almost material filled his soul with fear. His
brother Hinnerk, with angry face, went by not far from him;
and Lena Tarn went past as though she did not know him;
 JORN UHL 323
and Geert Dose stood there with blood-stained clothes, and
many another form passed by him, wandering and restless and
sad. And the visions and the landscape through which they
went were distorted and shuddering. But as he thus went on
through the land of grief, in great and fearful solitude,—
yet not without a secret satisfaction like a child in terror at
ghosts, — he suddenly thought on the saying he himself had
repeated not long since, that one should have faith in the
triumph of the good, come what may. And immediately after
he had thought that the darkness grew less dense, and the
forms around him moved more quietly and assumed a kindlier
demeanor, and he saw a narrow path leading upwards, passing
first between lofty fir-trees that stood there like haughty men,
so that he was abashed at their presence, and struck his stick
firmer into the ground, and walked with head thrown back
and more courageously. A puff of cool wind sprang up and
strengthened him, and he again came out on the level heath
and clearly perceived the line on the horizon where the heath
stops and the road leads down to the marsh-lands. ‘There he
stood still and listened.
And while he stood there with everything so still around
him, no sound of wind or cry of bird, he heard from far away
in the forest a dull sound as of a mighty pushing and swelling,
or as though with slow, measured blows multitudes of great
hammers were thudding upon masses of wood and iron; the
thuds sounded so ponderous that it seemed as though each
beat were forging a whole human life. And from the forest
came the sound of many swift, soft footsteps, like the rush-
ing of great waters, as though ten thousand messengers were
on their way, with biddings and commissions, to thrust into
the hands of the children of men.
Awhile he stood there, listening to the pulsing of those
everlasting, mysterious powers. Then he turned and walked
toward home in silent, resolute thought.
As he entered the kitchen to see where Wieten was, she
herself met him, and looked up at him, astonished and startled
at the light on his proud, handsome face.

Next day at noon old Whitehead came to the farm, asking

kindly after Jérn’s father; and afterward, when he was alone
with Jérn in the little room, he became still more confiden-
324 JÖRN UHL
tial, and proposed that the young farmer should secretly deliver
over to him certain quantities of corn they had in stock, prom-
ising that he wouldn’t let Jörn be the sufferer by it. But the
latter laughed in his face.
“ What are you talking about?” he said. “ Because I’ve got
no luck am I to be a swindler into the bargain? If that’s
your idea, you’re on the wrong track, old man; so now you
can clear out, and as fast as you like.”
After he had gone Jörn Uhl peeped into his father’s room —
speaking to Wieten and casting a glance into the Bible that
lay there open. When he saw that she had been reading about
the Egyptian plagues, he smiled and said to her, “ You can
make your mind easy on that head, Wieten, I’ve just hunted
the last of them off the farm.” ‘Then, according to his usual
custom, he went into his own room so as to be alone, and
thought once more with a certain obdurate equanimity, “ Well,
now there’s nothing for it but a miracle.”
 CHAPTER XXIII.

BuT no miracle happened. What happened, on the con-

trary, was quite in the ordinary run of things. There was a
great storm and there was a death. That made the air fresh
and clear again, and freed Jorn Uhl from the last of the
burdens that weighed upon his heart.
The rain, too, went by; then came days full of hot, glaring
sunshine; every day toward evening a heavy dark cloud gath-
ered and lay over there toward the Elbe; and muttering
and growling was heard in the distance. Some said that it
was men-o’-war firing their guns off Cuxhaven, but older
folk knew that it was a great thunder-storm brewing. “ But it
can’t manage to get over the Elbe,” said they. On the evening
of the third day everybody thought for certain it was coming.
The air was soft and expectant. The beasts in the fields
stopped grazing and stood waiting by the hedges. But again
nothing happened.
One of the hands from a neighboring farm rode by after
vespers to the smithy, and as he passed he shouted out to the
Uhl girls, who were standing near the bakehouse, “I say! I
dreamt last night the Uhl was on fire! I dreamt it broke out
in the west gable, and ran along the rooftree like a squirrel.”
Next morning there was great excitement in the house.
It was Sunday, and Wieten had, as usual, changed her linen
on Saturday night, and had, after a good old custom in those
parts, spread the left-off garments on the floor beside her
bed. Next morning she found ashes strewn where the clothes
had been. The farm-hands and maid servants clustered to-
gether, excitedly discussing the matter with all sorts of jest-
ing ways of accounting for it; while the maid who had slept
in Wieten’s room shook her head and wondered how it was
that she had not been awakened by the smell of fire. Wieten
went about the house with frightened eyes, without a word.
325
326 JORN UHL
The men returned to their work and brought the story to the
village that same evening.
Thiess Thiessen had once more come back from Hamburg,
and was staying a few days at the Uhl. He followed Jörn
about the whole day long, trying to win him over to his own
way of thinking, and familiarize him with the thought that he
would have to give up the Uhl.
“ I’m ready to help you with a few thousand marks,” he said;
“but, as you know, Jorn, Haze Farm can’t stand a great deal
of debt.”
“I’m not going to let you help me,” said Jorn Uhl, “and,
what’s more, it’s not so easy to tear oneself away from the
old place as you think. Down there in the Easter paddock
yonder I started ploughing when I was twelve years old.
Why! don’t I remember it as if it were yesterday. The
plough-handles jerked me from one side to the other till my
head began to swim, and every time a horse’d stretch out
its head, itd drag me half over the plough with it, for I had
the reins around my neck. I used to get dead tired with
fright and tramping up and down the furrows.”
He drew his little son, who was walking by his side, nearer to
him.
“ And later on, when I came home from the war and Lena
Tarn became my wife, there wasn’t a single post in the house,
not a single lath, not a single reed of the thatch, that I didn’t
nod to and greet and say to ’em, ‘Oho, now you’re in my
good keeping, and Pil look after you.’ I suppose it can’t
be helped, Thiess, I'll have to let the farm go, but it goes
sore against the grain. I’m throwing all Lena Tarn’s toil
and trouble to the winds. It’s like selling her merry singing
away to strangers, and all the bitter years that came after-
ward. . . . I can’t bear to talk about it. And then, Thiess,
what if Elsbe came back to seek refuge here and strange folk
were to open the door to her! Yes, I know I must leave, for
I can no longer pay the interest; but, as I said, it goes sore
against the grain.”
Next morning Thiess went away again. That day the thun-
der-storm came up.
Late in the afternoon a lurid cloud lifted itself from the
sea and hung above the marshes, and in its rage began hurl-
ing straight lightning, like golden spears, at the land beneath.
 JORN UHL aT
Away in the distance, by the dikes, a fire blazed up. The
cloud mounted higher and came nearer, and toward seven o’clock
that night was lowering, full to bursting, right over the village
of St. Mary’s. The men who had been working in the fields
made haste home. The women of the village stood in their
doorways and said to their husbands, “ It’s a good thing you’re
back home.” ‘The children, too, ran in from their play and
took shelter in their doorways. Then the storm burst.
“ Did you hear that?”
“ Yon house has been struck! ”
People went out and looked about and said to one another,
“There’s nothing to be seen.” Next moment it began to
pour. The mighty cloud broke and parted, and changed to
pale gray, covering the whole sky. Nothing had happened.
“What did I tell ye, Wieten?” said an old ploughman.
“The story about that smock of yours. . .”
“ Just you hold your whist!” said Wieten.
Wieten went back to the kitchen, and the ploughman
climbed up the ladder into the loft to throw down some hay.
Then Jorn’s little son came running in with his five-year-old
playmate, and burst out, “ Kassen, we want to come up too.”
“ But you know you mustn’t, laddie,” said the old man.
“Oh, gammon! We’re coming, for all that.”
They climbed the ladder after him, and clambered over the
sloping piles of hay tili they were right at the top.
“ That’s the style,” said the youngster; “ now we can’t get
any further. Come here while I lift you and have a look
through the owlet hole.”
Soon afterward they came down again, and the old plough-
man said, “ Well? Have you had enough of it?”
It grew on toward eight o’clock, and Wieten sent the little
fellow to bed.
“I say,” he said to her, “do you know what? I’ve been
up in the very top of the hay-loft. Me and Fritz Hansen.”
“What! Hasn’t your father forbidden you to do that?”
“ Oh, but you won’t say a word, Wieten, if I tell you some-
thing?”
“ What can you have to tell me, child?”
“Why, Fritz Hansen was right up at the very top, just
where the little window in the roof is, and what do you
think? There was a great big black cat lying there! As big
328 JORN UHL
as acalf. It had two eyes like balls of fire, and came creeping
toward him.”
“ Now lie down and go to sleep, childy” she said, and went
out and spoke with Jorn Uhl.
“ Jorn, have you never heard that lightning can le in a
house for hours before breaking out? ‘That was a frightful
clap of thunder, and the child talks such strange things. Just
set my mind at ease by looking around the hay-loft. I’m all
of a tremble.”
Jorn went up into the loft and walked around the house
and barns without finding anything suspicious.
It was getting on toward ten o’clock, and they had all gone
to rest. Then the Lightning thought the time had come
for house and inmates to be his, and got up and went forth
noiselessly on his path. With long smooth body, bright as a
well-used spade, he wound his way slowly between the hay and
the roof. Wherever he stretched out his thin arms to grasp
his prey, a red glow began to swell upwards. And when he
saw that the flame could not have its way for lack of air, he
crept gliding and smouldering toward the window. ‘The barn
window he split in twain. The owl, sitting beneath the gable-
eaves, flew off with a loud “ Oo-hoo! ”
Wieten had got up and had stolen out of her room along
the middle corridor, and was looking through the door-panes
out into the big hall. Everything was dark and silent. Then
she went back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed
where the boy was sleeping, and listened.
“There are folk asleep. in the house. ... Four in this
room ... three in that . . . two in the men’s room . . . and
Jorn. . . . But aren’t there others besides? . . . No, that must
be all, though. . . . No, I’m sure there are not. The child
first. And don’t forget the old man! Ten Christian souls.
... Ten... ten. Most of the animals are out in the pas-
tures . . .” Suddenly she heard a sound from the big hall, and
stood bolt upright again.
“ There must be something going to happen. I’m sure there
is. I feel it in every limb. Perhaps it’s the thunder that has
made me so excited. Perhaps it’s something else.” She stood
up, listening, with body bent forward.
“ Hist! hist! ... I tell you there are noises in the house.
Theres a sound of things being dragged about and over-
 PORN UHL 329
turned; they’re taking their odds and ends away with them,
chains and pots and pans and all . . .” She stole toward the
door again. “I used to know an old rhyme once; how did it
run, now?

“«¢God and Peter fare through the shire,

They see before them a house on fire.
“ Fire, thou shalt not heat beget,
Fire, thou shalt no longer sweat,
Till God’s dear Mother come again,
And her second Son. .. .”’”

Before she had finished the line, as she opened the door she
heard a sound of crackling from the big hall as when young
wood is thrown upon a roaring fire.
“ Fire!” she screamed. ‘ Fire!”
The girl that was sleeping in the room raised herself sud-
denly in bed: she found the child being placed in her arms.
“Go, and take the boy to Jasper Cray’s; go, and don’t look
behind you!”
“ora jor! o. . ” It was a voice that might have waked
the dead.
What sudden snatching at clothes there was, what fever of
brains, what hands busying themselves hither and thither!
And after it is all over, not one of them that knows what they
have been thinking and doing.
Later on Jörn could never tell why he had made for the
old chest first, and how he had managed to carry off the
great heavy thing that had neither grip nor handle. The
first thing he remembers doing was running into the bedroom,
like a fireman bursting into a strange house, and wrapping
in a blanket the heavy-bodied old man, who struggled and
shouted with terror; then he had carried him out into the
courtyard, and over the way to Jasper Cray’s bedroom, and
laid him in the spare bed that was always packed up on the
other side of the stove.
Then running back, with the instinct of a man bred in the
country, he had made for the stable, cut the three horses loose,
and led the wild-eyed, rearing animals out, one by one.
One of the foals was in a bad way. Neither the stableman
nor the neighbors that had come over to help could get at it;
330 JORN UHL
but there was a door that had not been opened for years. Jörn
suddenly thought of it, and took a crowbar which happened
to be lying there and smashed down the woodwork with a
couple of blows, and succeeded in getting the animal out.
There was now nothing more to be done. As he was about
to go back once more, in spite of his bleeding hand and singed
hair, the village schoolmaster, who had just come up, barred
his way, saying, “ Your life is of greater value.”
Then, with a gesture of despair, he threw the knife away,
and went to the front of the building, so as not to hear the
piteous lowing of the cow which, with its new-born calf, was
there behind the flames.
Struck by the falling thatch, and blinded with the smoke
which poured forth from the big barn, he had to stand further
off from the buildings; anon he approached the entrance. ‘The
fire-engine went galloping past him into the courtyard. He
saw his little son run right across the road in front of the
horses, and heard him weeping and crying as he came up to
him and clutched his-knees. ‘‘ Father,” he sobbed, “ is the foal
burnt?”
Jasper Cray came up to him, his hands and face all black,
and said, “ We have saved the cow, too, by the back way,
through the kitchen door and the bakehouse,” and then went
away again.
Jorn Uhl stood gazing into the flames. His boy stood beside
him.
The ceilings of the front house were already bending and
twisting, and a fiery hand was clutching at the proud old rooms
of the Uhl. It knocked at the doors and slid its fingers along
the woodwork, scorching and burning, and the upper lintels
of the door burst open, and the glowing hand snatched at the
handle. The great chandelier fell with a crash on the table;
the table was afire; and suddenly the yellow guest was up on
the window-sill with a catlike leap, lifting the curtains and
smashing in the windows. That made a fresh draught! The
whole ceiling fell in, and the night sky shone through.
In this hour, when the great rooms of the Uhl were glow-
ing in red fire, and the shooting flames were lighting the
night-dark willows that lie all around Wentorf, death came
stalking along the narrow churchyard path that runs by the
side of the river Au. By leaving the bridge at the foal-
 JÖRN UHL 331
paddock, he managed to keep out of the firelight. He then
made straight across the fields in the direction of Jasper Cray’s
house, which lay low-roofed and humble in the midst of the
red light beneath the high, brightly gleaming poplars. Wieten
Penn, who was standing by the bedside waiting for him,
her eyes wide with expectation, stepped aside and made room
for him. Up to the bed he strode, and laid his hand with a
firm grasp upon the shoulder of the sleeping man. Twice the
body twitched convulsively. Then the breathing ceased.
And Wieten Penn commenced, with Trina Cray’s help, to
do what was left to be done. Hundreds of people were stand-
ing and passing around the lofty burning buildings, watching
the sinking flames. But hardly a single one of them went up
to Jorn Uhl and his child. There had always been something
strange about him, something taciturn and contemplative, and
a touch of arrogance, they remembered.
“ Now that he was at his wits’ end, he must have turned to
this as a last resource and set his own house on fire.”
“By the Lord! he’s standing there with a face like a
criminal. Look at him! What a face!”
“ What was that he said to you? . . . I must say, I never
would have believed it of him.”
“What! Are you going to talk to such a fellow as that?
Why, it’s clear as daylight. . . . You know what I mean.”
Especially among the workmen (who are always inclined to
pick upon the bad in their master’s character, and be blind
to what is good in him), there were many that spoke about
him in this tone. He had indeed always been close and
taciturn toward them, and almost niggardly; for he had
always been worried and in want of money.
So Jérn Uhl stood for hours and hours out there beneath
the poplars where the roadway bends around toward the
barns. There, where he had stood that evening when he
came home from the war.
But when midnight was past, two of Hargen Folken’s farm-
hands came up and said that, as they were coming home
from the fields that evening, just when the terrible thunder-
bolt had fallen, they had plainly seen that the Uhl was struck.
They had seen a wisp of something burning fly up from the
rooftree. They had at once halted and had waited, expecting
that fire would break out, and had been greatly astonished
332 JORN UAE
when this did not happen. The stable-boy at the Uhl, too, said
that the lightning had almost thrown him down when he was
out between the house and the barn, and that he had noticed
a slight puff of smoke around the gable and a smell of burn-
ing in the yard. These reports soon spread, and many men
and women came over to Jorn Uhl and told him what they had
heard, trying to solace him with stories of other houses struck
by lightning, and with their words of cordial sympathy.
When the cold of early morning came, they scattered toward
their homes.
The sky was growing gray when Jörn Uhl went across the
way to Jasper Cray’s. A few stars were still shining high up
in the sky like tired bright eyes in a face pale with much
watching. When he entered the doorway Wieten stood before
him and barred his path. But he saw far away over her
small body, and his eyes rested on the candles around the bier
and the other preparations. He put her gently aside, and,
going up to the bed, looked at his father for a long time.
Then he crossed over to Wieten and took her hand and held
it fast within his own for awhile, saying in a voice subdued and
quiet, “ Its a good thing for me this night that my old Wieten
is still alive.”

The second day afterward, after he had taken all the

necessary steps in connection with the burial and the fire,
he went up to Ringelshérn toward evening and sat down
upon a stone that lay by the sandy wayside in the gray and
long-haired grass, and breathed deep and free, letting his
thoughts wander whither they would, wondering at the rest-
fulness and beauty of the world around him.
After sitting there for a long time, he heard a vehicle com-
ing around the hill. The driver was talking to himself and
his horses. “ Now we'll have a trot for a bit. Trot, all of
you! The Uhl’s burnt down and Klaus Uhl is dead, and
this is the end of a chapter in Jorn Uhl’s life, and as for the
rest of it, I tell you— Holloa, Jörn! Is that you? And
you've still got a laugh left in you?”
“ Thiess!” said Jorn. . . . “ Let’s first bury the dead as is
seemly. Then Pll be able to tell how I feel.”
After the funeral, when the long cortége of the Uhls and
their kinsmen had left the churchyard and the mould had
 JORN UHL 333
been shovelled into the grave, Jérn Uhl and Thiess Thiessen
and the little lad came back from Lena Tarn’s tomb to see
the family grave of the Uhl. The new mound was piled
high with wreaths. “Do you know, Jérn,” said Farmer
Thiess, “ what I took most amiss in this man? Not his squan-
dering of money, nor his boozing and carousing, but his
laughter. The way he had —a laugh for everybody, except
my poor sister! There are not a few men like that, Jorn
Uhl, who are kind toward strangers and the people they
meet in the street and the tavern, and are very devils in their
own homes. It’s a good thing, Jorn, that there’s such a thing
as Death, for in Death lies the only pledge of some sort of
justice. Do you mean to say that this man remains unpun-
ished after having tortured my dear sister that’s dead, and
let the farm go to rack and ruin, while he rollicked and idled
about the country? I tell you, Jorn, he'll have to plough
precious hard in the country he’s gone to now. He'll get
a good tough piece of marsh-land for his portion up there,
and four old spavined nags to plough with, up to all sorts
of tricks, and the biggest rogue among the angels for a plough-
boy. Just look there, my sister hasn’t got a single wreath!”
He stooped down, picked up two wreaths, and laid them on
his sister’s grave.
“ Jorn, she was the mirthfullest and unselfishest little thing
in the whole world. When she was a child she’d just sit on
one corner of a tree-stump, right at the side, so that she was
almost hanging from it, and say, ‘Sit down, Thiess, see
what lots of room there is — she was that unselfish! She
asked nothing from life but a nice, comfortable little spot
where she could sit in the sun. “This fellow here refused it her.
He made her sit all her life long in dark and gloomy places.”
He took up another wreath and laid it on his sister’s grave.
“Jorn . . . if she could get up, this gentle soul ” — he took
up two more wreaths— “ she’d say, ‘Go away from the farm,
Jorn, dear; go to the Haze this very day. . . . Give up the
Uhl, Jörn; the Uhl has made you poor and ill. Come home
with me to the home of your mother. I believe you'll get
better there... .. So come with me, Jorn. I ask you in
your mother’s name. And you, too, little laddie, help me
to coax him. Will you come with me to the Haze? Eh?”
334 < JORN UHL
“I say, father,” said the youngster, “lets go! That'll be
just grand.” K
“ Jörn, the three of you had better jump up into my cart,
you and the lad and Wieten. And well put the old chest
behind the back seat in the straw. ‘Then you'll have every
mortal thing that you own in the one cart!”
Jörn turned a little and cast a long glance away over toward
Lena Tarn’s grave.
“ Just think of the old chest, Jorn; your good clothes are
in it, and the telescope and the chart of the sun and moon
and all the stars, and the puzzling old books, and the old
carved piece of my grandmothers mangle —old Trienke
Thiessen’s, whose maiden name was Sturmann. At least, I
suppose you have the mangle-piece, Jorn; if you haven't, Peter
Voss of Vaale has it... . All these things, Jorn, both us
and the chest will be yours, if you drive home with me to
the Haze. Here it was but a part of the Uhi and its worries;
there, at the Haze, it will belong to you. Oh, Jörn, laddie,
I beg you to come with us! I beg you, Jorn. Pluck your
soul out of the Uhl and keep it for your own use. Now do,
dear Jorn, come along with me! Else, I tell you straight
out, I should always be in terror about you.”
Jörn Uhl said nothing, but breathed heavily, looking away
toward Lena ‘Tarn’s grave, or anon at the graves at his feet.
The three graves spoke with loud voices.
After they had stood motionless awhile, Thiess said, “ Now,
come, we'll go and lay these other three wreaths on Lena
Tarn’s grave, one for each of us.”
“Lena Tarn,” said the child, “who is that? Lena Tarn?
Why, she’s my mother! ”
“ Yes, laddie. Ah! and what a mother she was!”

Next morning Jorn Uhl called the farm-servants and dairy-

maids before him, and paid each of them ‘the sum due for
wages. Then he went to the tradesmen and paid the small
accounts he owed them; and when he saw their look of
astonishment, he said in his short, abrupt way, “I don’t want
you to be kept running about after your money afterward,
or to have you cheated out of it altogether.’ Then they
understood him, and swept the money quickly into their tills,
and accompanied him to the door, and called out to their
 JORN UHL 335
wives to come and look at him as he stalked away down the
street, beneath the lindens, with haughtier and straighter gait
than they had seen him walk before. Then he returned to
the ruins the fire had left, and stood once more by the black-
ened, half-fallen walls, not far from the kitchen door, where
he had often stood; for from there a man can see far and
wide over the corn-lands of the Uhl.
As he stood there, Thiess Thiessen came stumbling up to
him through the dust and rubble, with his coat on and the
whip in his hand. “ Little Jürgen is sitting on the old chest
in the cart, dangling his legs in the straw, and Wieten is just
tucking him up with a brown-striped shawl. ... How do
you feel, laddie? That’s right! Thats the way I like to see
you look.”
“Thiess,” said Jorn Uhl, turning toward him, “I’ve done
with it. I’m going to let the Uhl go, and all its cares and
worries with it. . . . For fifteen years I haven’t had a single
Sunday to myself — I believe I’ve been a poor, unfortunate
fool. . . . But now, faith, I mean really to try and do what
you said yesterday — get back my soul that I’ve buried here
in the Uhl. Til have it back, I say. It’s mine, I tell you.
. . . Come, let’s be off, Thiess.”
His little son was sitting on the old chest, and Wieten was
stooping near the cart. “ Father,” said the boy, “ what were
you shouting about? Were you scolding, or were you laugh-
ing at somebody?”
“Both,” said Jorn Uhl... . . “Come here, Wieten, let me
help you up... you were going to say something, weren’t
ou?”
4 She looked at him thoughtfully with her grave, dark eyes.
“T was thinking of the story, Jorn, of the man who spent a
hundred years among the little, swarthy earthmen, and came
back an old man. There’s a deal of truth in those old stories,
after all, Jorn.”
“Yes, Wieten!” he said, and he shook as if a shiver ran
through him.
 CHAPTER XXIV.

WHEN the west wind begins to blow softly over the woods
that still lie covered with snow and hard frost, a long sound
of crackling and splintering is heard among the pines. It
is as if nothing will bend and everything will have to break.
But the soft breezes creep in and slide around all the hard
ice-crystals with their blandishment and their coaxing caresses,
and it turns out that these softer ways at last prevail and
triumph all over the earth. Everywhere love triumphs. ‘The
clink and clash and rattle of warlike weapons ceases. The
icicles lower their bright lances; their coats of armor melt.
Their eyes fill with tears, and they sink into the arms of
the soft air. And when a man walks through the forest, he
hears a sound of slipping and falling, and whisperings in
mysterious monotones as in dreams.
It is a beautiful thing to behold and hear, the thawing of
a forest. But more beautiful still is it to be by at the thawing
of the heart of a man.

On the afternoon of the day following, Thiess Thiessen

was standing by Jorn Uhl’s bed, saying, “ You’ve made a
good start at being a Thiessen, Jorn; you’ve slept eighteen
hours at a single stretch.”
“ Where’s my boy?” Jörn asked.
He was there already. “ Father, you’ve slept as sound as a
hedgehog. I’ve been here ten times to see if you were awake
— seven times all by myself, and three times with Thiess! ”
“There you are!” said Thiess. “ Fine reports of you on
all sides. . . . I drove into Saint Mariendonn this morning.
The smith hadn’t been paid for the last spade you got, so I
gave him a crown.”
Jörn Uhl sat up. “And I haven’t got a groat to pay you
back with, Thiess! ”
336
 TORN UHL 337
“What! Beginning to worry again? ”
Jörn laughed as he flung himself back on the pillow.
“TIL take precious good care I don’t. Everything’s
safe!
Father and the Uhl and this little lad and Wieten! And no
debts to pay and not a black look from any one. Everything
straightforward and simple. As simple as a slice of black
bread. You’ve got to keep us here for the present.”
“Thats clear! You stay here and we'll live cosily together
and see what turns up.”
“Thank you, Thiess. I’ll think matters over and see what’s
to be done.”
Next morning he went to Saint Mariendonn on foot, and
talked over his position with the town-bailie, a quiet and
sensible man, telling him that he didn’t intend to touch the
farm again. If old Whitehead didn’t like to take the estate
over in exchange for the debts on it, why— he would have to
be declared bankrupt, he said. He didn’t want a penny from
it; but he didn’t want a load of debts either, to begin his
new life with. He had long enough had cares and debts that
were heavy enough to bear; for years and years he had had
a weight on his conscience, a feeling as if he had a board on
his breast whereon was written in big letters, ‘“ This man
has many debts.” To himself he had seemed like a man damned
and accursed. “ But now my heart is light and glad,” he
said.
The bailie smiled to think of this new Jorn Uhl, after the
one of old who had been so glum that you couldn’t get a word
out of him, but who, now that he had lost everything, talked
so frankly and open-heartedly, and expressed the hope that
the farm might find a good purchaser, seeing that the land
was in such high cultivation and good condition. At last
they agreed that Jörn Uhl, on Thiess Thiessen’s security,
should retain two of his horses — two riding-hacks that Lena
Tarn had greatly admired as foals, and that were now tall,
eight-year-old geldings, clean-limbed Holstein thoroughbreds.
When he was back in the village street, he swung his yellow
oak walking-stick merrily as he walked along, stirring up the
fallen leaves of the lindens that lay all over the pathways.
And when he caught sight of the schoolhouse in the distance,
almost hidden among thickets and lindens, his eye sought out
the window behind which he had once tried to learn English;
338 JORN UHL
and as he saw the garden, he thought to himself, “ Lisbeth
Junker will soon be back now. She’ll wonder when she sees
the Uhl burnt down, and finds we’re~no longer there. That
was good of her to come over to the Uhl every year when
she was visiting at the schoolhouse. A mighty fine girl she is,
and bright as a new threepenny bit.”
He walked nearer, and looked over the fence. The whole
garden was bright with light, and rich and glad with color.
The vine-leaves on the wall shimmered and shone in the
bright October sunlight. A soft wind ever and anon whirled
the reds and greens and yellows, and mingled them in the
sunlight. But in all this gay splendor, in the midst of the
crimson leaves of the vines, he beheld a peculiar spot which,
among all this restful play, kept moving restlessly up and
down. It was a girl sitting among the vines, shelling beans,
and something had flown down her neck, and she could not
see whether it was a leaf or a caterpillar, and there she stood,
shaking herself, with the light dancing like a sprite on her
fair hair and around her eyes.
“Hold on!” cried Jorn Uhl, “ P1 lend you a hand.” And
ere she was aware of it there he was bending over her and
saying, “ There’s nothing to be seen but a whole host of little
flaxen curls.”
She looked at him with wondering, beaming eyes.
“Oh, Jürgen,” she said, “ what a fright you gave me! and
how happy it makes me to see you looking so well! You
poor old Jorn. Now you've lost your father, too, and the
whole Uhl is burnt down!”
He nodded. “ Were not going to talk about that,” he
said; “that’s past and done with. I’m ever so glad, Lisbeth,
that I caught sight of you. How long have you been here? ”
“Since last night. I wanted to finish the beans, and then
I was going over to the Uhl to see whether I could find you
and your little son. And how have you been getting on,
Jiirgen?”
Then he told her, in his thoughtful way, about his brother
and his father and about the mice in the corn, and the agree-
ment he had made with the bailie. And she comforted him
with words of sympathy.
“ What I’m going to do now,” said he, “ I don’t exactly see.”
“Oh,” she said, “you'll easily find something, Jürgen.
 JORN UHL 339
Youre a good worker, and you like work, and then you’re
so clever, too. So just don’t worry about that.”
The sunlight played gay pranks among the leaves and
branches, scattering shadows and fire and color about every-
where, and some of it fell on Jérn and Lisbeth.
He was astonished to hear her speak to him in this tone.
It was no mere compassion. It was real esteem, and it pleased
him hugely. Such a proud and bonnie girl! “ No,” he said,
“Ive got no fears for the future; something or other will
crop up. I’m going to live a few weeks, perhaps the whole
winter through, without letting a single worry come near me,
and then I’ll decide what’s to be done.”
“That’s right,” she said... . “ Do you know what, Jiir-
gen? You ought to come and pay us a visit in Hamburg. Pll
show you the city, and all that’s in it, and you must bring
your little son with you. Up to now you’ve known nothing
but toil and labor. Now, what do you say to that?”
Jorn was almost beside himself. “ Shall I tell you something,
Lisbeth? ”
“ Do, Jürgen!”
“That is, if you care about it, and if it’s good enough for
you . . . we are such simple people over here.”
“Do tell me, Jürgen!” She looked at him with her big
eyes full of glad anticipation.
“I don’t know whether I ought to venture to ask you to
come and see us at the Haze. But weve both got a holiday,
and we three — you and little Jürgen and me — will have the
whole day long to do just what we like with.”
KOMT Jorn. i 3”
“ And if you like, you can come for a drive with us, Lisbeth.
I’d like to go and see an old comrade of mine who lives over
there by Burg. That is, if you care about it... .”
Her eyes beamed through tears of joy.
“ Jürgen,” she said, “I'd just love to! If you really and
truly want me to come, I’ll come with the greatest pleasure.”
He was astonished at her delight, and his spirits rose still
higher.
“Who'd have thought you’d be so pleased! But I only
hope we won’t be too plain and homely for you. ‘The smoked
hams are from last season, and the dumplings are made of
340 JORN UHL
buckwheat, and I don’t know whether we'll be able to find
a comfortable bed for you or not.”
“Oh!” she said, “ I don’t care a jot about that. You don’t
know how glad I am! You don’t remember how unkind you
were to me sometimes when I came to see you at the Uhl,
Jorn. You used to be so curt and cold, as though it was all
the same to you what happened to me, or whether I thought
this or that, and whether I was in trouble or not. And yet,
we'd been playmates as children, hadn’t we? Thats what
used to make me cry.”
“ What!” he said, “ you used to cry? And for such a thing
as that? ... Lisbeth, I thought it was only out of mere
politeness that you came to visit us! I fancied you came out
of pity for me. Instead of that, it was from me that you wanted
sympathy. Lassie, I can’t believe it. And how gladly I
would have talked over everything with you! If Id only
had an idea of it! But I was worried and bitter, and my eyes
were covered with cobwebs. I always fancied you were so
well off and happy.”
“Oh, Jurgen, me happy?”
“Tf it’s really so, Lisbeth, and you want something from
me; if L can really: help you s. e then e e why e <n ie
beth, wherever I am . . . I will look you up, and any difficulty
you’re in, you can always trust to me to help you.”
“Can I, really?” she said, eagerly, clapping her hands.
“Oh, how glad I am that you are in such good spirits and
talk to me like this!”
“That'll be splendid, to-morrow!” he said. ‘‘ Thiess is
coming over in the morning, so he can fetch you. My boy
and I will be in ambush somewhere on the edge of the woods,
so that we can capture you. We'll let Thiess find his way
home by himself; but you'll have to come with us straight
across country. I want to show the little chap the big stones
that the witch threw. Do you remember, Lisbeth, the old
witch whose hands were like a butcher’s trough.”
She clapped her hands. “ Jürgen,” she said, “ I can’t tell
you how glad I am that you’re in such good spirits and so
kind to me.”
Tears stood in her eyes.
He shook his finger at her and said, roguishly, “ You’ve
still the same piping voice as you used to have.”
 JORN UHL 341
She laughed. “ Just be quiet,” she said; “ you'll see, all your
E faults, too, will be cropping out again, now you’re back
ere.
“ Had I any?”
“ What conceit! Why! sometimes your thoughts used to be
all sixes and sevens, and sometimes you would be too het-
tempered, and sometimes you would show the Uhl side of your
nature,” she said, striking her hand against her breast, mimick-
ing the way a braggart talks.
“ Oh!” said he, “so that’s the sort of fellow I was. And
now as I go over the heath I’ll try to think what you used to
be like, too. But it’s time for me to be off. I feel ever so
much better, Lisbeth. I’d never have thought that you were
such a dear, good little soul.”
“Nor I that you would be so gay and light-hearted to-day.”
“Thats because I’m free from worry. I used to have
nothing but heavy thoughts before — thoughts that walked
about like workmen in a mill staggering under the heavy
sacks of flour they carry on their shoulders. But now these
same thoughts have all turned into grandees and go about in
fine clothes, spying out pretty maids that sit under vine trellises.
So now, good-by, Lisbeth, till to-morrow.”
“ Good-by, Jürgen; kiss the little fellow at home for me.”
He shook hands with her and said good-by. She followed
him with her eyes till he was out of sight. Then smiling
and thoughtful she slowly gathered her beans together. But
while she was still doing so— was it because something else
had fallen down her neck? — she shook herself and cried out,
“ Marie, Marie!” Her friend came running out, with her
child in her arms, and asked what was the matter. Then she
said, “Oh! do you know who’s been here? Do you know
who’s been sitting here, right on this seat? And has been
chatting with me in the merriest mood in the world?”
“You surely can’t mean Jörn Uhl?”
Then the other, the fair-haired maid, nodded and laughed,
and ran off into the house.

Next day, sure enough, there she was sitting in the cart
beside Thiess and looking like a beautiful young rose-bush
beside a little dried-up elderberry-tree. And Thiess laughed
all over his face when he saw Jörn and his boy standing there
342 JÖRN UHL
on the outskirts of the wood. She did not want to get down
out of the cart, he held his arms so high and made such a
gloomy face, but at last she ventured. q
She and the little fellow immediately ran off together, straight
across the heath to the Haze. She paid no heed to any one
but him, as though she had come to the Haze as she had
formerly done to the Uhl, only to have a look at the little
boy. All day long she behaved in the same way. Jörn had
meanwhile strolled over to the moor with Thiess to see how
the turf was getting on. When he came back, he found her
still playing with the child. They were jumping backwards
and forwards over a ditch, and both seemed to find the greatest
delight in their occupation. When he came up to them she
said to her little playfellow, “ Time’s up now, I must go and
help Wieten,” and ran away into the house like a weasel into
its hole in the bank. An hour later he met her in the front
hall, and she was just tying a cloth around her head and saying
she was “ going to help Wieten to brush down the walls of the
kitchen, which were simply disgraceful.” ‘That was a little too
much for him. He caught hold of her good-humoredly, turned
her around, deliberately untied her kerchief and apron and
threw them both in the corner, saying, “ Now we'll go over to
the Haze together.”
“ Little Jürgen shall come too.”
“ Little Jiirgen shall stay where he is.”
She pouted, and told him it was taking rather too much
for granted to think she was going to do whatever he told her.
“Will you just go and put on your hat, please? ”
“ No, but I will put on something warmer.”
She went and got her pretty little black jacket and held it
out toward him. He put his stick in the corner, and said,
“ Now tell me what I’m to do.”
“Don’t be pretending. You can hold a jacket while it is
being put on, can’t you?”
“T’ve never done so in my life, either for’: man or woman.
Goodness! But what a fine little coat! And lined with silk,
too, isn’t it? Ive never seen ae a thing in all my born days.
Well, let’s try.”
She had now put it on, but it did not sit properly yet. She
twisted herself and stretched her arms, trying to get the wide,
roomy sleeves of her house-dress into the jacket, but could not.
 ORNS UHE 343
“ Just come here,” he said, “ PI help you.”
She gave another twist. “It’s all right now,” she said.
“Do you see?” said he. “ You’re just the same as you were
as a child. It’s always ‘Touch me not,’ always hoity-toity
and proud. An Uhl is not a patch on you!”
“ Jürgen,” she said, and her eyes looked straight and re-
proachfully at him, and her voice was clear and high. “I’m
only quiet and undemonstrative, nothing more. If you could
see into me you'd think differently.”
“No, Lisbeth,” he said, “ don’t be put out. But I’ve always
had the feeling that you were much too grand to have any-
thing to do with me; and that, together with my unhappy
position, is the reason why I have been so reserved in these
last years.”
She looked at him roguishly, and said, “ Just tell me, then,
Jurgen. What is there so grand about me?”
He grew embarrassed, and concealed his uncertainty by as-
suming a very grave air.
“Well,” he said, “in the first place, it’s your figure, you
know. It’s like the young linden that grows near the corner
of the schoolhouse by the garden gate. Your whole figure and
gait have something fresh and far-away about them.”
She gave a little pull at her jacket, and said, with a laugh,
“Go on! I like hearing you describe me, though.”
“And then your face! It looks as if this beautiful sunny
day had only made it this very morning. And eyes of such
dour earnestness, without taking into account that you hold
them quite different in your head when you look at me.”
“I don’t, Jürgen!”
“ And when you speak, you make such a pretty fuss with
your mouth, that one likes looking at you just to see its
manœuvres. Your mouth has grown broader and quieter.”
“ Well, have you done now? ”
“Do you remember, too,” he said, ‘that you would never
give Fiete Cray your hand when we wanted to help you over
the embankment? No, there you’d stand. You wouldn’t
slide down, for your dress would have got dirty! Besides, it
wouldn’t have looked nice. Then you would call out ‘ Jür-
gen! Jurgen!’ I can still hear your voice from the top
of the embankment. Do you see? That’s the sort of girl you
were!”
344 JORN UHL
“ And why was I? Because Fiete Cray’s hands weren’t
always too clean, as you very well know.”
“Yes, child; but what about my hands, now? What haven’t
they had to take hold of? When my brother’s body lay on
the floor of the hali . . . Oh, I’m not going to think about it!
You’re too good for such a hand as that, Lisbeth.”
“ Give it to me,” she said; and before he realized what she
was going to do, she had caught hold of his hand and laid it
to her cheek. ‘‘ That’s what I think about it,” she said.
A tremor ran through his body. He held her hand fast, and
said, somewhat haltingly, “ You are my own dear little play-
mate.”
They had now reached the edge of the forest, and he showed
her the spot where the slope of the embankment, for about the
length of a man, was clad with thick moss.
“ Will you sit down here a little?”
To his great surprise she did so. ‘‘ Here,” she said, “ the
four of us once lay.”
“ Where are the two others?” said he.
She stroked the moss at her side and wanted to say some-
thing, and gazed down on the ground before her. At last,
she spoke. “I won’t have any peace of mind, Jürgen, until
you think rightly about me. I’m neither proud nor prudish.
Look, Jürgen! You remember that time we met in the apple
orchard? It was a comical affair, wasn’t it? You were
reasonable and natural, and I behaved ridiculously. As for
the reason why I wouldn’t dance with you at the ball afterward,
you know what it was perfectly well already, and perhaps
you've thought differently and more wisely about it since then.
And then, that I didn’t have more to do with Elsbe; see,
Jürgen, I know how loyal and good her heart was, and she
was shrewd enough, too. When she was quite young, she
looked upon life with remarkably clear and sensible eyes, whilst
I, for a time, was a cross-grained and foolish thing. She was
never greatly smitten with things that arewt worth caring
and talking so much about, — curtain-lace and such things, —
but looked on what was real and true. In that she was your
true sister, Jörn. . . . But you have never heard what a plight
she was in. You don’t know that, when you were a soldier,
she got up in the night and stole through the dark village
up to my window and passed half the night with me. Then
 ORNS ULE L 345
she cried bitterly and complained about her restlessness. “Then
in winter, when the ball season came, she was so wild and
beside herself that people began to talk about her.” She drew
a deep breath, not daring to look up at him.
“You see, Jiirgen, I am not free from this either. You
mustn’t think me stupid and silent, and hard-hearted and in-
different. It is a thing I have kept shut up in my soul. It
and religion are my heart’s two most secret things.”
“ Aren’t they two quite separate things?”
“I think not, Jürgen. Are they not rather like brother
and sister? I hope you don’t think that religion is from God
and nature from the devil. For they are both from God, and
should dwell side by side, and be of mutual help to each other.”
She passed her hand lightly over the moss. “ See, this is
the pride of which you complain. I live in a nice house.
The walls are cleanly whitewashed, and the windows are
brightly polished, and not too high, and have a bit of curtain
in them. But if any one thinks that a pious old maid lives
there, — you know, Jürgen, that sort of lamblike piety, — then
they make a mistake. In my clean little room behind the cur-
tains I often sing and laugh aloud and dance, and many a
time I throw myself out full length on the carpet and weep
my fill, without the least idea why I do such things.”
He looked down on her with bright eyes. The trees behind
her had leaned over a little toward her in order to hear every-
thing she said, and the evening sun rolled golden balls over the
moss. Jorn was in the midst of a fairy-story and didn’t know it.
“Its strange how things have gone with you and me,” he
said; “ yesterday I came to you, and to-day you come to me.”
Now, for the first time, she looked up at him. “If you
like, Jiirgen, we will be fast friends again, and remain so all
our lives.”
He struck his stick on the ground and said, “ No greater
gift can I desire, Lisbeth, than a human soul to whom I can
unburden my heart. I have never had any one like that since
Fiete Cray disappeared behind Ringelshorn, and Lena Tarn
made ready to die. I have been a lonely man, and in my
loneliness I have grown odd and strange, and my heart has
frozen.”
“ But now you’re beginning to thaw, Jorn. Now you join
hands again with life where you left it as a boy. You're
 ~

346 JORN UHL

still young enough for that. Oh, what a strange fellow you
were! So dignified and so grave! You got that from the Haze
people.”
“ Now,” said he, “come. We’ll go home and we can talk
matters over to-morrow. We’ll talk over what I’m to do.
If youre my comrade, you'll have to stand by me and give
me counsel in that, too.”
“Do you know what?” she said. “ Maybe in the next few
months you won’t be able to look after little Jorn very well.
You can scarcely leave him here. It’s too far from the school
for him. I wish you’d just give him into my charge, Jürgen.
We've such good schools, and I . . . I stood at his mother’s
death-bed.” :
“ Would you do that, Lisbeth?”
 CHAPTER XXV.

WHEN Jorn Uhl came back fairly early next morning from
the moor, where he had been with Thiess, he thought, “ Ah,
now both of them shall get up at once, and come with me out
on to the heath.” But as he went through the kitchen he met
Wieten, who said to him, “I’m to give you their greetings,
Jorn, and tell you they’re not at home to you till the afternoon.
You are to spend the forenoon with Thiess.”’
“Well, if that’s not . . . Wieten,” said he, “she and the
youngster are a regular pair of conspirators.”
“And no wonder, Jörn. As far as age goes she might well
be his mother, and she thinks such a lot of him. It’s no mere
make-believe.”
He returned obediently to the moor and did not come home
till noon, when he found the two of them just arrived.
“Well, have you got on well together to-day?”
“ce
“We haven’t had a single quarrel!” said the boy; “ and
weve told each other some splendid stories. “This afternoon
you can come with us, too, father.”
“Well, that’s something, at any rate,” said Jörn.
Lisbeth blushed and then laughed. “ We are going to do
just what we like with you. ‘This afternoon you’re to be
allowed to go with us to the Rugenberg; we want to see the
Hun’s grave.”
“ Where the dead man used to lie in it, said the boy.
”

“ All right!” said Jorn.

They had walked nearly an hour through the Haze woods,

and then over a heath, and had come down across the meadows
to a little wooden bridge, and climbed up on the other side
through a tiny forest, and there they saw the Rugenberg lying
before them. It is quite a considerable hill. From there you
347
348 TORN UHL
have an outlook over a wide moor stretching as far as the chains
of hills on the other side.
On the summit, beneath young pines and beeches, ancient
graves have been opened.
When the three had climbed up as far as the beeches, “ I
say, Lisbeth,” said the little boy, “shall we have a bit of a
rest here?”
“ What do you say, Jurgen?”
“Father, have you got a knife on you? ‘Then lets just
make a hole in the ground and have a game of marbles.”
“ What an idea!” said Jorn. “ What put marbles into your
head?”
“Oh! we had a game yesterday, too,” said Lisbeth.
“Do you remember the last time that we two played mar-
bles, Lisbeth?” said Jorn.
“ Yes, and you quarrelled about them.”
He laughed. ‘I’m not so sure of that. You put your hand
in the hole and grabbed the marbles.”
“Td won them,” she said.
Jorn Uhl was scooping out a hole with his knife. “ You
had not won them! ‘The sixth marble had stopped on the
edge of the hole. You saw that, but you thought it was better
to make a dash for them. “That was always the way with
you, with your grand airs. You'd always get in a huff the
moment any one contradicted you.”
“Oh! Indeed! . . . I could tell you to this day how the
marbles lay. There wasn’t the shadow of a doubt about it.
Just hand the marbles here to me! ‘This one was in the hole
in this position.”
“That’s only on the edge!” said the little fellow. “ You’d
have to have another shot!”
Jörn knelt down opposite the two of them. “ Do you hear
what the youngster says?”
She laid the marble once more on the sloping side of the
hole, close to the edge. ‘‘ Here’s where it was.”
It rolled down.
“ What did I tell you?” he exclaimed. “ Can the marble
stop there on the slope? ”
Then of a sudden she stretched out her hand, snatched up
the marbles, and held them clenched in her fingers in her lap,
 JORN UHL 349
looking away over his head the while, as though she were all
alone there.
He laughed. “ That’s just the way you did last time, and
I caught hold of your ear and pulled it for you.”
“Oh! and what made you do such a thing as that?”
“Because you were spoiling the game! But you! you
couldn’t bear me to touch you. How could such a rough
fellow take hold of such a dainty girl!”
“ You hadn’t any right to pull my ear.”
“No, J... I hadn’t any right, but you, you were always
right. ‘Jürgen, lets have a game! Jürgen, lets see how
the wind is on Ringelshorn! Jurgen, let’s go and catch stickle-
backs!’ But when Jürgen wanted to be a real comrade and
wanted to treat you as he would a mate, then you always
got into a temper and put on a frightened look. And you’d
do just the same now! Such a touch-me-not! The man
who wants you for a wife will be a rash fellow.”
He looked at her with a strange mixture of roguishness
and embarrassment, but seeing what a confused look she
had in her eyes, he said in the soft tone which he had always
used to her when she was angry, as a child, “ Give the marbles
here, Lisbeth. Now, just see if we can’t finish that game we
were having. The one who fires six out of seven into the hole
shall have been in the right that other time.”
“ No,” she said, “ I’m not going to stake what rightly belongs
to me in that way.”
“ No more will I!” said the boy.
“ Well, just as you like,” said Jorn. “ Just as you like,” and
he began to fire a few shots with the marbles that were still
lying there. She gazed straight before her with a saucy look
on her face.
But when she saw that he fired so timidly that he didn’t
get more than one into the hole, she guessed her chances weren’t
so bad. She broke into a ringing laugh, and said, “ Well,
come on! I’m ready!”
Now they were both hard at it, and their heads came nearer
and nearer together, while the youngster lay almost over the
hole making fun of the bad shots, and crying at intervals:
“ Just let me have a shot!”
“No! Afterward!”
 Pa

350 JÖRN UHL

But Jörn, in spite of the uneven ground, at last managed
to get six into the hole.
But at the same moment she snatched the marbles up, and
said: “ Why, Jürgen, you’ve been cheating! You had your
thumb in front of the hole!”
But at the same moment he had her by the ear and was
shaking her. He looked at her, however, with fear and em-
barrassment, thinking, “ I wonder how it’ll end this time! ”
But she bent her head so that his hand lay soft between her
cheek and shoulder, and looked at him with a shy smile.
He drew his hand slowly back and said in a low voice, trem-
bling with emotion, “ You are different from what I thought,
after all, Lisbeth. How sweet and pure your face is! It still
has the look of the little Rain-tweet of old in it.”
The youngster, who had found it somewhat tedious waiting,
had gone up toward the summit of the hill. Suddenly he
called down, “ Look, father! Do you see that man sitting up
there in the grass? Do you know who he is?”
“ I don’t see any one. Where do you mean? ”
“There! can’t you see him? Shall I tell you who he is? ”
“Who, then?”
“It’s Heim Heiderieter. Why, he’s sold calves to you many
a time!” l
“Bless me! so it is,” said Jörn, springing up. “ Do you see,
Lisbeth? ”
Heim Heiderieter was already on his feet looking down at
them in astonishment. “Who be ye?” he cried. “ May
Wodan fill ye with dread and Thor lift his hammer against ye.
. . - But let Freya guide the soul of this woman that she may
look kindly upon me. . . . Oh, it’s you, Jorn Uhl! And what
does Jorn Uhl want here with his star-gazing?— Here, where
the footprints of our fathers lie in the graves? What! Lisbeth
Junker! He shall be welcome on this sunny height, because
he has brought you and the little lad with him.”
Lisbeth and the boy ran on ahead, and Lisbeth gave him
her hand, and said, in a swift whisper, “ You’ve heard, haven’t
you, that Jürgen has given up the farm? But he’s glad he’s
got rid of all the worry of it. Don’t go talking to him about
old times.”
“ What’s she twittering about there?” asked Jörn; “it’s
 JÖRN UHL 351
just for all the world like a finch on the kitchen window-sill.
. . . What brings you here, Heim?”
“Well, PI tell you,” said Heim. “A year ago Peter
Voss of Vaarle and I, and a few others, opened an old stone
room up here, and found in it a dead man, whom we sent to
the museum at Kiel.”
““Whereabouts was he lying?”
“ Just there! Do you see? In that little gray stone chamber.
. . - Now, I was in Kiel not long ago, and had a talk with
my dear friend, Pastor Biernatzki of Hamburg, and stood
for the second time before the poor skeleton, and looked at
the few blackened remnants of the boat that the man had
been buried in. And Biernatzki said to me — you know Bier-
natzki, don’t you, Jorn? He and I once paid you a visit at
the Uhl —a tall, black-haired man. ‘ Well, Heim,’ said he,
“you'll just have to write an account of this fellow’s life.’
““Why?’ I asked. ‘ Because he’s got such a wonderfully
strong set of teeth, eh?’
“< No,’ he said, ‘ but because the back of his head is so well
shaped, I believe that man must have had a remarkable mind.’
“Thats what he said, and that’s why I’ve come here. . . .
And — what do you think?” he said, striking the grass with
his hand; “here, on this spot where they buried him three
thousand years ago, I have discovered what sort of a life he
lived!”
“I say, Heim!” exclaimed Jörn Uhl, “ there you are, letting
your imagination run away with you again.”
But Lisbeth Junker proposed that Heim should tell them
the story straight away.
“ Well, you'll have to sit down opposite me,” said Heim,
“ for I like looking at you. And Jörn Uhl mustn’t wear such
a superior look on his face. Of course he thinks I’m making
it all up. But, I tell you, Jorn, there’s just as much truth
in what I’m going to tell you about that dead man as there
is in your talk about geological strata or the seeds of wild
flowers. I’m going to tell you gospel truth.”
“ Well, go ahead! We've got time enough.”
So Heim Heiderieter stretched himself out full length, sup-
porting his curly head in his hand, and related the following
story:
T you go down this hill into yonder hollow, you come to
 =

352 JORN UHL

the old bed of a brook. Every spring and autumn the water
still gathers and lies there and washes down all sorts of earth
into it, and the valley of the brook becomes a broad green
strip in a meagre environment.
“Three thousand years ago a powerful little stream flowed
there. For all these hill-ridges around about us were in those
days decked with a thick confusion of trees. Lindens and
beeches, birches and oaks, grew and struggled side by side.
A profusion of hazels and sloes and wild apple-trees flourished
and burrowed around the knees of their great brethren, and
where one of the giants had fallen in some April storm, they
spread themselves out and fought to get at the light.
“The woods on the heights and the waters in the lowlands
were the lords of the country in those days. Man didn’t count
for as much then as he does now, but he was already so far
advanced that he no longer felt such fear of the wild beasts,
whose strength was greater than his. Here and there, between
the waters and the woods, where the ground had been cleared,
stood, lonely and isolated, the dwellings of men. ‘Trunks of
young trees were put up on the bare ground as beams and
cross-pieces, and covered with reeds from the edge of the
marsh, and the roof was weighted with heavy masses of turf,
to give the building strength to withstand the onslaughts of
the autumn winds, and to break the power of the heavy rains.
“ By the side of the narrow brook, beneath great spreading
beech-trees, there dwelt in those days a man in the full strength
of his early manhood. In his youth he had borne some other
name, but now that he was grown up people always called
him the Boatman, from his passion for scooping out little boats
of linden-wood, and fitting them with tiny sails of bast, and
sailing them on the brook. And after he had finished his ex-
periments with these toy vessels, he made a big boat with
a great mainsail of ox-hide after the same model, and made
trials with her in the Elbe Bight—a place where nowadays
you'll find nothing but fen-lands. He was so taken up with
his carpentering and his experiments, that the whole summer
went by without his paying any heed to the maidens who used
to bathe and shout and splash at the bend of the stream. Nor
did he trouble his head about fields or cows, or dogs to hunt
with in winter. For, like all inventors, he was thoughtless
 TORN UHE 353
and unpractical, and forgot to make provision for the hard
times of winter.
“Thus whilst he played at making bast-sails and sailing his
little boats the summer passed by. But when winter was
come and his hunger was great he hurried away through snow
and the cold east wind— for his wolfskin was thin and worn
—to the hut that lay away down by the brook. In that se-
cluded spot there lived an old man who did nothing all the
summer long but look after his field of barley and tend his
herds of swine beneath the oaks, while all the winter all he
did was to boil this barley in a big soup-pot, and, after draining
the vessel dry, he would get up from his hearth-fire and reach
upwards into the blue gray smoke where heavy, broad flitches
of bacon were hanging. ‘There the Boatman lay all the winter,
surrounded by fire and smoke and boiling barley and flitches
of bacon, gravely discussing such themes as whether Thor’s
hammer were made of gold or bronze, whether the men who
died young in their huts without ever having done valiant
deeds would ever come into Wodan’s halls, whether the time
would ever come when human beings would be able to build
a boat big enough to hold a hundred people. And so on.
“ When the first days of spring came the Boatman emerged
from the smoke and went down into the creek, washed off
the crust of grease and grime that had gathered on him in
the long winter, and returned to his work, all spick and span,
with his skin ruddy and firm and fresh.
“ But one day, in the very midst of his work, a great thought
flashed upon him. It came down on him with a swoop, as
if it had been one of the eagle-hawks that he had seen circling
in the sky above him. He would build quite a different sort of
boat, he thought. Yes, he would bend supple young trees to the
form of a boat, bind them together with strips of hide, and
cover them over with ox-skin, and so get a big, light boat,
such as no one had ever thought of. He worked at his idea
throughout the whole of that summer, and sometimes was so
downhearted over it that he would put his head between his
knees and not move for hours, and then anon he would be so
jubilant that he would dance around the wooden framework
of the boat in sheer delight. Everybody was curious as to how
it would turn out. Most of them made fun of him. The
maidens came and said, ‘Oh! it’s going to be a great success,
 `

354 JÖRN UHL

Boatman.’ But when they talked among themselves, they said,
‘Tush! it will come to nothing.’
“ One rough day in autumn he dragged the new boat down
to the water. Everybody stood on the bank watching how
he fared. But the first attempt was a failure. “The boat was
all lopsided. It wobbled and was as unsteady as a leaf in the
wind. It capsized, and he had to swim a long way to save
himself. On the bank he was received with a storm of loud
jeers and laughter, the cries that always greet the inventor,
whether poet, scientist, or statesman, when his plans miss fire.
“ He did not go away and hang himself, but a dour and
bitter anger filled his heart. He sat down on his stool opposite
the hearth-fire and stayed there for weeks. His flaxen beard
grew longer and longer. Still he did not stir. Longer still it
grew. Still he sat there. It grew so thick that you could
not see his tight-shut lips. It grew so long that it swept the
ground before the hearth. Still he sat there. He sat crouch-
ing upon his stool, and his thoughts were bitter. But every
evening at dusk he got up and went out into the storm and
snow, and stayed there half the night, fighting with the wolves
for the hares and the birds, and with the otters for the fish
they had caught, and thus he obtained a meagre subsistence and
grew inured to all weathers, and expert and lithe in the front
and the side jump. This was the life he led until the middle
of the winter.
“Then one day the people of the settlement felt the want
of him. For since the death of merry-hearted Baldermann,
who, even when his hair was white, had given the maidens
new songs to dance to every spring, the young Boatman had
been wont to fix for them the day when the sun would turn
back toward spring. Then at his bidding they had always
celebrated the Yuletide. So now they sent a messenger to
him with a kindly word on his lips and the hind quarter of a
calf in his hand. But scarcely had the Boatman caught sight
of the messenger entering his hut than he sprang up, and with-
out a word threw him out. The hind quarter went flying
after him. So the folk celebrated the Yuletide by guess that
year, trusting to the word of old Mother Gruhle, who told
them that the time of the festival must be at hand, for she
had only five pots of schwarz-sauer left hanging up under the
rooftree — a sure sign that the Yule feast was nigh.
 JORN AU Hel 355
t“ And when the festival was celebrated, and men drank
deep, and began, after the custom they had even in those
days, to go from hut to hut, they even had the drunken courage
to go down and visit the Boatman, too. Six men came reeling
into his hut, shouting and waving their cow-horns over their
heads. The Boatman first looked them up and down, then
he suddenly sprang to his feet and, without more ado, threw
them out of the door, two at a time, with such vehemence
that they went sliding feet first over the ice on the brook.
When this became known it made folk knit their brows; for
never yet had a man among them been known to spurn their
Yuletide merrymaking.
“The winter was long and stark. In the smoky huts their
eyes grew dim. From long lying their bodies lost their lithe-
ness, and their minds grew dull from everlastingly gazing at
the thatch above them. And so at last, when spring came,
they were beside themselves with joy. They were much blither
folk in those days than we are now. Some with loud shouts
pulled down the front walls of their huts, others bound garlands
of birch-twigs around their hips and danced together in the
sunshine. Others leaped into the brook. Others went out
a-hunting in the forest, and their children tried in play to
imitate what was done. The Boatman alone remained at home
in his hut. When they saw that he was angry even with the
sun in the house of heaven and with Freya in the forest, they
knew that he was the sport of evil spirits.
“ Now in the settlement there was a maiden whose body was
as lithe as a cat’s, and who could do all sorts of tricks; and
this maiden was a merry rogue to boot. She was the best at
the games in the meadow. She could swim under water like
an otter, and, by holding her hands up between the hearth-
fire and the thatch of the roof, she knew how to make shadows
that looked like animals and men; and she knew, moreover,
all sort of stories about trees and beasts and men. One morn-
ing, while she was bathing, an idea came into her head: ‘I
will go and have a look at his long beard,’ she said.
“So she came up out of the brook and put on her bright
dress of light wool which she had striped with the juice of the
wild cherry, and tightened her leathern girdle, and she was
in such a hurry that the little axe, hanging from her girdle
in its beautiful leathern sheath, fell to the ground. Around
 Dad

356 JORN UHL

her bare arm, above and below the elbow, she put strong clasps
of shining red bronze. Running to her mother’s hut, she cried,
‘Mother, let’s play at Freya vanquishing the bad fairies, and
I will be Freya. So give me your breast-shields and the neck-
lace of yellow pearls.’ Her mother scolded her, but gave her
the two red shields as big as hands, which she quickly put
on, and the pearls, which she twined among her wild, fair hair.
Then she stole away under the great spreading beech-trees to
his hut.
“She stooped and entered in, seeking with wide-opened
eyes and beating heart near the little hearth-fire and trying
to make out his form. For her roguish mood had by this
almost dwindled to nothing. But when at last she saw a
pair of deep eyes, full of bitterness and anger, gazing at her
in silence, she suddenly thought of another plan. She made
a quick dart with her hand into her dress, where she always
carried six knuckle-bones, and, kneeling down, she began to
toss them in the air. As she went on playing, she thought,
‘You’ve got yourself into a pretty fix this time! Oh, good-
ness me! if I were only safely outside again!’
“ She went on playing while he kept gazing at her. At last
she could not bear the pain in her shoulders any longer. The
knuckle-bones rolled on the ground.
“ Then she held out her empty hands toward him, and said,
‘The sun is shining, the birds are merry. We play all day long
by the brook.’
“Then for the first time in six months he spoke: ‘ Who
sent you hither, wench?’
“ When she heard that her spirits went up, and she laughed
aloud, saying, ‘Oh! I’ve come of my own accord. I don’t
want you to sit here and grow so black and sour, Gittigitt.
Don’t be a mole and hide away like this from the sunlight.
Come out into the sun.’
““Go your way in peace,’ he growled.
“You should just see what you look like,’ she said. ‘ Your
beard is like an old fir-tree. Shall I show you what you look
like?’
“ She stirred the sleeping fire with her oaken staff; twined
her hands together, and looked at the shadow on the wall.
‘ Look,’ she said, ‘ like that.’
“ He gave a fleeting glance. ‘It’s not true,’ he growled.
 PORN WHE 357
“< No, it’s not. Wait a moment. . . . Now, now it’s right.
Look again!’
“ He took another fleeting look. ‘Its not true, he said.
“<Not true? Any one can say that! Just look at your
own shadow, there on the thatch. Just look at that face of
yours, I say!’
“ He turned his head in that direction, and nose and beard
vanished, and in their stead was nothing but a big, dark, round
shadow.
“ She clapped her hands together so that the bracelets clashed
and rang again. ‘Oh, what a simpleton you are!’ she said.
“Come here!’ She caught him by the beard and held it fast.
“Now turn your eyes slowly toward the wall. Do you see
it now?’
“ He gave his head a violent shake and drew it back. ‘ Let
go my beard,’ he said, ‘and take yourself off out of this.’
“She looked at him searchingly, and thought, ‘I won’t win
him over in that way,’ then she began slowly to gather up the
knuckle-bones. Suddenly she held her shut hand out toward
him and said: ‘Odd or even? If you don’t guess right you
must come with me, if you guess it, then —’
“«Then you stay here with me. . . . Odd!’ She wanted
to cry ‘No!’ and escape, but he had caught her hand and
forced it open.
“There were four in it.
“She heaved such a deep breath of relief that the woollen
garment on her breast grew tight. ‘You've lost. Freya!
What a fright I got. Now you'll have to come with me.’
“< Bewitched are these knuckle-bones of yours,’ he cried.
‘I will bite them in pieces with my teeth and stay here; or,
if I don’t, you can lead me through the village with a willow-
wand.’
““Do it!’ she said, angrily, ‘with those wolf’s teeth of
yours. He bit and snap went his tooth, but the knuckle-
bone remained whole.
“Pye won! I’ve won!’ she cried. “Thats twice! [ll
go and bring a willow-switch, and you must come with me.’
“She ran out, and came back stripping the leaves off the
willow with her ringed hand.
“Get up!’ she said.
“ As he stood up obediently, she could no longer restrain
358 JORN UHL
herself. ‘Do you think,’ she said, ‘that you’re going out with
me into the meadows in this plight, so that everybody may
laugh at you, as they did when the boat capsized? I’ve only
come to make you give up sulking, and to get you forth out
of the hut.’
“í Give me the switch. I will go with you as I have said.
They shall laugh at me!’
“ But she looked at him with gleaming eyes. ‘I won't,’
she said.
“< Then TIl not go with you!’
“Tears of anger filled her eyes and made the whole hut
seem afire. ‘Then stay here till you’re black!’ she said, as
she threw down the-switch and ran out.
“For three days she hid herself among the thick branches
of a willow-tree that hung over the bank, and for three days
she gazed with dreamy eyes into the brook, seeing his eyes
gleaming through the water. But on the morning of the
fourth day she thought, ‘ What can’t be, can’t be,’ and began
to call from her hiding-place with the voice of the brown
owl, so that at first the children and then the old people é»

came running together. Then she was discovered, and got a

scolding from the old women for imitating the death-bird.
But she laughed and mingled with the others again, and was
the same as she had been before.
“In the course of that summer there was such a drought
in the land that young people from the hills, on the other
side from the Dietmargos, crossed the bight on foot, stole into
the woods, and, looking down from the heights, spied out the
course of the brook and beheld the beautiful meadows and the
cattle. The place pleased them, for they were close pressed
where they lived on the other side at the edge of the fens or
on the barren heights. ‘The fruitful marsh-land was then not
yet in existence. It still lay beneath the sea.
“So one day, with much leaping and wading and swimming,
they crossed the bight, losing in the water on the way three
men who were drowned in the slime, and arriving eight hun-
dred strong at the brook.
“ Then young lads ran through the meadows from herd to
herd, calling all the men to the battle. But they were a great
confused mass, like a swarm of ants disturbed, for they had
no leader, ‘Their chief had died that winter.
 JORN UHL 359
“Tn the Boatman’s hut, away up on the brook, at last the
shout was heard, ‘To arms! there are foes in the valley!’
“Then he, too, leapt up, stretched his limbs, and rejoiced
at the hour that gave him back to the sun and to his fellow
men. He buckled on his broad belt with sword and dagger,
seized his oaken shield and his spear of ash, and sprang out
of his hut bareheaded. The others had already gone down to
meet the enemy.
“ But as he hurried down beside the brook he saw by chance
— it was a day in autumn —a great overripe bilberry-leaf
floating on the water. It was a rounded oblong in shape, and
hollowed out like a trough, and in the middle of it, on the
bottom, lay a little pile of berries, like a cargo. Smoothly
and safely it floated on the brook in the sunshine, and when he
saw it a sudden thought flashed upon him as if from heaven.
‘That’s the way you must build boats. With stem and ribs
and a cargo in the bottom, you can build as big as you like . . .
and it will go steady and safe.’ He threw himself on his
knees and carefully examined the delicate craft, pondering as
to how he should set about imitating it. ‘That will be a
different sort of vessel from your boats made out of a single
oak trunk.’ Shield and ash-spear lay beside him unheeded on
the grass.
“ But while he still lay there he heard the wild shouts from
down yonder ringing along the brook. He saw his people
coming toward him in full flight. Then he ran to meet the
enemy, crying, ‘ Let it be between me and the chief!’
“< Are you the chief?’ the enemies cried.
“And the fugitives, with fear in their very bones, cried:
“Yes, the Boatman is our chief. We choose him now!’
“< A folk without a leader is like a swarm of bees without
a queen,’ said the others, generously. Then they stuck their
swords in the earth in a circle, and the two men fought there
on the edge of the stream, and were equally matched both in
skill and strength and in courage. And so it came about at
last that beth of them, wounded to the death, sank fainting
to the earth.
“Old women came with thick, heavy cobwebs to staunch
the blood, and also tried healing herbs and spells, but the
bleeding would not cease, Then said the Boatman: ‘He of
360 JORN UHL
us two who first goes into the land of the dead, he shall be
counted for vanquished.’
“ So the two men lay fronting each other, their eyes turned
upwards. Each of them fighting hard to ward off death. Now
and again the one or the other of them had himself lifted
up in his comrade’s arms, to search his opponent’s face and see
whether he were about to depart. At last, however, when the
sun was setting, the dark shadows came so close to them that
the light seemed to grow dim in their eyes. And the strange
foeman died first, then the Boatman. ‘Thereupon the enemy
left the land again.
“ For three days the women sang death-dirges on the brook-
side in front of his hut, whilst the men dragged great stones
up on to this height and shaped them and built of them a
chieftain’s grave. Then they laid him, clad as he was and
adorned with his weapons, in the oaken boat that he had last
made, and bore him amid the loud weeping of the women up
to this hilltop. And behind the procession went with heavy
gait his red and white cow which was to be sacrificed for the
death-feast. And last of all came tottering old Mother Gruhle,
pressing her biggest and best pot of schwarz-sauer close to her
breast.
“They lowered the dead man in his boat down into the
grave. They laid the pot of schwarz-sauer at his feet, so that
he might have something to eat on his journey into the land of
the dead. ‘They put his wooden stool beside it, so that he
could rest on the way, for his path lay across a wide and
desolate land. They drew his good sword from its sheath
that it might be ready to his hand, for that land was full of
wild beasts. In this way, as they thought, he would, after all,
succeed in reaching the blessed abodes of the good and the brave.
“ Last of all the maiden came forward who had once seen the
dead man’s eyes in the brook for three whole days. With a
jerk she tore her delicate hammer-knife from her girdle, knelt
down and dropped the beautiful, golden, glittering thing into
the tomb. She wished to do her part toward his sure and
safe arrival. It fell near the head of the dead man, with its
point toward his ear.
“ They all stood around the grave, and all the women wept,
praising his handsome looks and his boats and his last valiant
fight. And the maiden, too, wept sore.
 TORN UL 361
“Then they laid a heavy, close-fitting stone over the vault
and built a hearth over it, killed the cow, gave good and evil
spirits the udder and the bones of the legs, keeping for them-
selves the hind quarters and shoulders and the fleshy parts of
the ribs, and roasted them, and a little to one side of the grave
here where we are sitting they began their death-wake, and
gradually grew festive and merry. It was an autumn evening
like to-day.
“ After the meal, when the old people were still lying around
the fire, the grown-up youths and maidens, a little apart from
them as is their fashion, were sitting around the fresh grave
chatting. One maiden sat in the midst of them and told how
several moons ago she had been at the Boatman’s, and how
she had played knuckle-bones before him. ‘Oh, but I can’t
tell you how frightened I was. You know, there was always
something strange about him.’ And she told them how she
had caught him by the beard. ‘Oh, if you had only seen his
face!’ And as she thought of it she began to laugh. She
laughed so much that she struck her hands on the gravestone
and laid her head on it. She was laughing still when she
loosened her girdle in her parent’s hut and threw back the
wolfskin rug under which she slept.
“That was how this man perished. Because he was an
artist, some will say. For it is the habit of men to drive artists
from the world with sheer disgust. But perhaps this isn’t,
as one thinks, the wickedness of men, but the holy will of
God. For unless the top is whipped it will not hum.
“But perhaps some will say he perished because he had no
clear idea of the distinctions between things. When he had
built the boat, what mattered to him the laughter of men?
And when the maiden bent the bows of her beautiful eye-
brows in love and anger upon him, what affair of his was the
willow-switch? When he was running to meet the enemy, why
should he concern himself with a bilberry-leaf floating on the
stream? Men are always inclined to mix too many things
together and brew a potion of them, which is the death of them.
“Or, rather, I don’t know the real cause of his overthrow.
Who can know it? One can’t point to a cause as one can to
an ink-spot on a piece of paper, and say, ‘There it is!’ Nor
can one write a single sentence about a man and say, ‘ That’s
the idea that ruined him!’ Man’s life is much too complex and
 `

362 JORN UHL

manifold to be summed up by referring to one cause or one
idea.
“ Last year we opened the grave. We ought to have left
him lying there. He lay there safe from all his disappointments,
but our curiosity to know how men lived three thousand years
ago was great, and we opened the vault.
“ When we took his sword from his breast and held it in the
sun again for the first time, it still had its old brightness.
Nothing was left of the wood and leather of the stool. Only
the two bronze bolts that had held the cross-legs together lay
upon the stones. The schwarz-sauer pot of old Mother Gruhle
was still there, in good preservation but empty. The dainty
axe of the maiden was still pointing toward his ear.”

The sun stood between the far-away hilltops like one of

those round lanterns that children carry about the village on
autumn evenings, singing as they go.
Heim Heiderieter had finished his story and stood up, saying,
“Woe to the man, Jörn Uhl, who is only a hunter after
bread, or money, or honor, and hasn’t a single pursuit he loves, ¿
whereby, even if it be only over a narrow bridge, Mother
Nature can come into his life with her gay wreaths and her
songs... . It’s time for me to be going home. You have
listened well, and you, too, little chap,” he said to Jérn’s
young son.
“Have you far to go?” said Lisbeth.
“ Its a three hours’ walk,” said he, “ through fen and sand,
and then through the silent little villages of the Geest, and at
last across a heath. “‘There’s plenty to look at and think over
on the way — besides, I know that when I get home they’ll be
glad. . . . Good night, all three! remember me to Thiess
Thiessen and Wieten. It has made me glad to see your eyes
bright again, Jorn! And as for you, Lisbeth Junker, you’ve
got a red ear; who has been pulling it?”
“ Oh, that was father,” said the boy.
Heim Heiderieter burst out laughing, nodding, and hugely
enjoying Lisbeth’s embarrassment. "Then he went home.

They stood watching him as he went down-hill toward the

fens. Suddenly Jorn Uhl started up as if out of a deep sleep,
and said, “ Just fancy that fellow! For four years he was at
 JORN UHL 363
the university and came back without passing his examination.
He had come to loggerheads with science. Naturally Dame
Science is a sober and respectable lady. A Master of Arts
he may be, but they are breadless arts.”
“ Its a fine thing, though, to be able to tell stories like that,
Jürgen. You might have read seven scientific books about
our forefathers and seven more about the human soul, and you
wouldn’t have learnt so much or got so much delight as you have
out of the vivid little picture that he has just painted for us.”
“ Oh,” said Jorn Uhl, “ he’s a monster. He saw us when we
were sitting under the beeches, and then he invented this
story. Such a—” He turned around, went to the grave and
looked in, then looked back at Lisbeth. “ What did he say?
Knuckle-bones? What put knuckle-bones into the man’s head?
Just tell me that, now. And how long was it his beard grew?
His flaxen beard! How cock-sure he was about it! And the
beard kept on growing longer and longer. I believe it was
seven yards long. And he said he could prove it, didn’t he?
And that it was just as true as geological strata and plant seeds
and botany! Just think of the effrontery of him.”
“ But you listened attentively enough, after all.”
“That I confess. It seemed as if God had let one have a
peep into His workshop, and one had to put on one’s Sunday
coat in order not to look shabby in such a place.”
He turned around and looked down toward the moor where
Heim Heiderieter could still be seen in the distance. “To
think of such a man!” he said, angrily. “ He stuffs one full
with his lies, and one actually feels thankful to him for doing
so. Let him prove what he has said. I say, let him prove it!”
he cried.
Lisbeth laughed, and said, “ Well, well! Jurgen, your anger
is delicious. But, come, what are we going to do to-morrow? ”
“To-morrow? We'll all be together, that’s all.”
“I shall not be able to be with you,” said the little boy. “I
have to go away to Meldorf with Thiess to-morrow on the
turf-wagon.”
“Well, then, I suppose we'll have to do without you, my
son,’ said Jorn. “ What do you think, Lisbeth? Don’t you
think we might drive over and see my old comrade to-morrow?
We can spend a few hours cosily together in the cart, and I’m
sure you'll like him.”
 CHAPTER XXVI.

SHE was in the best of spirits as she sat next him in the cart
with the two bays pulling away lustily. In these last years
Jörn Uhl had been wont to sit crouched forward in his cart,
and gaze straight in front of him at the horses and the road.
But to-day he sat up straight, and his glance was blithe as he
peered into the billowy light of that early autumn morning,
in whose eyes were still wisps of the night mist; and now
and again he would turn his head suddenly toward her and
ask, “ Are you enjoying it, Lisbeth?” And when he saw her
beaming eyes he would nod with responsive pleasure, and then
look straight before him at the road once more, or anon glance
away over the fields. She, however, kept peeping at him
out of the corner of her eyes, but as soon as she noticed any
sign of his turning toward her, she would be gazing away
into the airy distance, as though bent on deciphering wonderful
things she saw in the flying mists. It was the old story re-
peating itself once more, the man attacking in front and the
woman on the flank. So everything was as it should be.
They were both very much alike; both had the same close-
featured, straight, Frisian faces, as though Nature, the great
artist-mother, had made specially serious attempt to create
something strong and beautiful with the very simplest means.
Their hair was flaxen — his quite smooth, hers with more
gleam in it, and tipped with little curls all around the edge.
His face was oval and strong, with thin firm lips, a long
straight nose, and eyes very clear and gray that were always
on the watch like sentinels — a typical Frisian, Saxon farmer,
who has to win his way out of penury and worry, a man who
never laughs long and loud and heartily, but in short out-
bursts, in the corners of whose eyes, too, roguishness crouches
and hides like children playing hide-and-seek and throwing
shining balls to each other with suppressed laughter. She,
364
 JORN UHL 365
quiet and reserved, making him look up to her all his life long.
It was like a farmer who woos an earl’s daughter, and each
time receives each look and word of tenderness, that ever and
anon shyly breaks forth, with new surprise.
Three times they stopped on the way, and each time it was
Lisbeth’s fault.
The first time was when they were driving through a wood
of young beeches; she saw something flitting backward and
forward over the dry leaves, and laid her hand on his arm
and made him pull up. It turned out to be certain slim-
legged birds with black plumage and yellow bills that were
darting hither and thither in search of their morning meal.
“ They're blackbirds,” he said; “cute and wily little cus-
tomers that books call “Turdus Merula.’ ”
“Why, Jorn, you know everything.”
“Well, as to the parts around here, I like to think I know a
thing or two; but as to what other countries are like or what
sort of creatures live in them, I haven’t the faintest idea,” he
said, proudly.
The second time he pulled up it was that she might enjoy
the glimpse of a wide valley to the left. He pointed out
different landmarks, and named them to her with the cere-
monious self-importance of a native who loves every spot in
the country around. He spoke, too, as a farmer and con-
noisseur, who knows the value of every acre of ground far
and wide, and the name of every village, and the place of
every boundary-stone in the deep moor; and beyond the moor
the names of the villages which must lie over there. “ Look,
Lisbeth, where I’m pointing with the whip.” She thought
to herself, “ Yes, but what’s that to do with me?” but did
not interrupt him. She listened with half an ear, thinking
“ How fine it is to sit up here! I wonder whether he’ll speak
out to-day, and how in the world will he go about it! Oh, the
dear old fellow!” And as, half-turned from her, he was point-
ing with his whip to the foggy land over toward Schenefeld,
she pressed her face shyly against the folds of his cloak. It
was the cloak that Lieutenant Hax had given him on the battle-
field. Lena Tarn had carefully covered the gold buttons with
black cloth.
The third time they stopped, at Lisbeth’s request, at ‘‘ The
Red Cock,” and gave the horse a feed in front of the windows
366 JÖRN UHL
of the inn. The sun had scattered the mists, and the air was
now clear and warm, and they sat outside in the sunlight on
the big white seat. The landlord’s wife set two glasses of
fresh milk before them, and went to and fro talking with them,
although she did not know them, about the harvest and the
weather. Jörn Uhl asked and answered questions. Lisbeth, who
was sitting by his side, was looking dreamily across the road
at the bushes on the embankment, where birds were darting
about, and in her reverie was painting little faint pictures of
the near and far future, and then rubbing them out and paint-
ing in new ones; then in a fright she would come back to
the present, the mother of all futures, and hear the man’s voice
beside her, and smile to herself and go off again painting.
Jörn Uhl talked away and felt himself in a splendid humor.
To be sure he would have liked to sit a little more comfortably
and stretch his feet out, but she sat there as prim and neat
as a silk kerchief that has just been taken out of the drawer.
When the landlady went back into the house, he again asked
Lisbeth whether she had enjoyed the drive, and she again
assured him that she had never had such a day in her whole
life. “ You can surely see that for yourself, Jörn.” And she
looked at him with a look that brought such a strange feeling
around his heart, and he said, “ I daren’t for the life of me go
near those eyes of yours. I grow quite dizzy, as if I were
going to fall into them, they’re so deep;” and he struck his
big flat hand on the table, and said, “ Let me hear you talk
some more, Rain-tweet!”’ ‘Then she threw her head back and
laughed, and struck him on the hand with her glove, and laid
her hand by the side of his, and said “ Such hands!”
Then they heard the voice of the good-humored landlady
through the open window, asking, “ You can’t have been
married very long, surely?”
“No,” said Jörn, “I’ve been wooing her for seven years,
but never had the courage. Yesterday at last I got her.”
She shook her head protestingly, hiding her face in her
hands, and laughing, “Oh, Jorn, Jorn, what are you saying!”
“ One really doesn’t need to have studied book-learning to
see she’s but a fresh-made wife. She threw you such a glance
just now. That’s not the way one looks at one’s husband after
one’s lived with him a few years.”
Jorn brought his hand down heavily on the table for the
 FOREN UE 367
second time, and said, “ What! did she really look at me like
that?” He took her hand from her face and said, “ Do it
again, Lisbeth!” But she slapped his hand and tore herself
away and looked straight across the road and saw a little bird
flying, and thought to herself, “If I could only fly away for
a little while, ’twould be no bad thing.”
At this moment, in the nick of time, as it were, the land-
lady’s little son came running home from school, a fair-haired
boy of ten, and sought a place where he could sit down with
his book. Lisbeth, noticing this, pushed the milk glasses over
toward Jorn Uhl, with a motion as if to say, “ That’s all for
you!” And without looking up, she invited the boy to sit
near her, asking him what sort of a book he had there.
“Its out of the library,” he said. “Its about fairy-stories.
I’m reading them straight through, and I’m right up to here.”
She looked into the book that the boy held out toward her,
saw the title of it, and said, “ Read this one out aloud to me.”
“This one?” asked the boy.
“ No, this one about ‘ Knowing Jack.’ This man here likes
stories when they’re good and true.”
So the boy read the story of “ Knowing Jack.”
“ Jack’s mother said to him, ‘ Where are ye goin’?’ Jack
answered, ‘To Jill’s.. ‘Keep your wits about you, Jack!’
‘ All right. Now I’m off, mother.’
“ Jack comes to Jill. ‘ How d’ee do, Jill?’
“< How d’ee do, Jack? Brought anything for me?’ ‘ Haven’t
brought nothin’. Want somethin’ for myself.’ Jill gives him
a knife. ‘Now I’m off, Jill? ‘Good-by, Jack.’
“ Jack takes the knife, sticks it in his hat, and goes home.
‘’Evenin’, mother.’ ‘’Evenin’, Jack. Where’ve ye been?’
“* Been at Jills. ‘What did ye take her?’ ‘Take her?
Didn’t take her nothin’. Got somethin’ from her. Got a
knife.’ ‘ Where’s the knife?’ ‘Stuck it in my hat.’ ‘ That’s
stupid, Jack. Ye should have put it in your pocket.’ ‘No
matter, mother. Better next time.’
“‘ Where are ye goin’, Jack?’ ‘To Jill, mother.’ ‘Keep
your wits about you, Jack!’ ‘All right, mother. Now I’m
off, mother.’ ‘ Good-by, Jack.’
“ Jack comes to Jill. ‘ How d’ee do, Jill?’ ‘ How d’ee do,
Jack? Brought anything for me?’ ‘ Haven’t brought nothin’.
 Bn

368 JORN UHL

Want somethin’ for myself.’ Jill gives Jack a young goat.
‘Now I’m off, Jill? ‘ Good-by, Jack.’
“ Jack takes the goat, binds its legs together, and puts it in
his pocket. When he comes home, ‘’Evenin’, Jack. Where’ve
ye been?’ ‘Been at Jill’s.’ ‘What did ye take her?’ ‘Take
her? Didn’t take her nothin’. Got somethin’ from her, a goat.’
‘Where’ve ye put the goat, Jack?’ ‘In my pocket.’ “That’s
stupid, Jack. Ye should have taken a rope and tied it up
in the stable.’ ‘No matter. Better next time.’
“< Where are ye goin’, Jack?’ ‘To Jill’s, mother.’ ‘ Keep
your wits about you, Jack.’ ‘ All right, mother. Now I’m off.’
“Good-by, Jack.’
“ Jack comes to Jill. ‘Good day, Jill? ‘’Day, Jack. Brought
anything for me?’ ‘ Haven’t brought nothin’. Want some-
thin’ for myself.’ Then Jill said, ‘Take me with you!’
“ Jack takes a rope and ties Jill up in the stable, and goes
to his mother. ‘’Evenin’, Jack, where’ve ye been?’ ‘ Been
at Jills. ‘Take her anything?’ ‘ Didn’t take her nothin’.
‘What did she give ye, then?’ ‘ Didn’t give me nothin’.
Came herself.’ ‘ Where’ve ye got her, then?’ ‘Tied up in
the stable.’ ‘Thats stupid, Jack. You ought to have stroked
her.’ ‘No matter. Better next time.’
“Then Jack goes to the stable, takes the currycomb, and
strokes her with it. Then Jill gets angry, breaks loose, and
runs away.
“ And so she became Jack’s bride.”
“ My word!” said the boy, “ if he wasn’t a simpleton.”
“Splendid!” said Lisbeth. “See if it doesn’t say in the
book where Jack came from. Wasn’t he from Wentorf? ”
Then, for the third time, Jorn smote the table. “ If that’s
not plain speaking, my name’s not Jorn Uhl.”
“Well,” she said, “ now it’s time for us to be off.”
The sun was already pretty high as they drove along on
the left of the hills, and soon they saw, beneath the linden-
trees and tall old apple-trees, a silent little village. And when
they stopped in front of the first broad courtyard, in the hope
that some one might come out and tell them where Jérn’s
comrade lived, the man himself appeared in the doorway, taller
and good deal broader than when he used to buckle the white
leather strap around his hips at Rendsburg.
“Heres the man you're looking for,” he cried. “ Why,
 OORIN: URL 369
Jörn, old man, who’s that you’ve got sitting next you? Isn’t
that? . . . Why, man alive, it’s Lisbeth Junker, isn’t it? I
haven’t seen her for many a day.”
i Eh?” said Jorn, “ you know each other?”
“Yes, we’ve seen each other several times, but it’s now seven
or eight years ago.”
Lisbeth Junker nodded somewhat haughtily, so that Jörn
thought it could not be a very pleasant remembrance for her,
and determined not to ask any further questions.
“Lisbeth and I are neighbors’ children,” said Jorn. “And
now she’s come over to Thiess Thiessen’s on a visit. I suppose
you know that I’ve given up the Uhl?”
“Yes, I’ve heard all about that, comrade, and about you
being at Thiess Thiessen’s. Good for you that you’ve got
him to go to, Jörn. Glad to see you so jolly, too. Is that
your doing, Miss Junker? ”
Lisbeth looked down from the cart at him, and said, “ You
called me by my Christian name last time we met, so let’s
have no make-believe, and do it again to-day. Now, help me
down from the cart.”
He gave a good laugh, like a man who is relieved of some
uncertainty and embarrassment, and feels himself standing
on firm ground once more. “ You haven’t changed a scrap,”
said he. “ Come, jump, lass!” He loosened the leather straps
and lifted her down. “ A barrel of good, heavy oats,” he said.
“ A good ten-stoner, I should say.”
Jorn stood on the other side of the cart, nimbly loosening
the traces, and said, “ We just wanted to see whether we
could get on together, so we’ve come for a bit of a drive.”
“ So that’s it, is it?” said his friend. “Then he added, im-
patiently, “ Now, just tell me straight out, are you already
engaged or are you only thinking of it? ”
“ Can’t a man have a drive with an old schoolmate without
people saying they must be engaged? Engaged! Gad, she
gave me such a lecture just now at the Red Cock that my
ears tingled! I’ll be glad when I’ve got her back home again,”
he said, with angry eyes.
But as she was going past the horses’ heads, on her way to
the house, he turned around so as to make her pass close by
him, and as she passed he saw the look she darted at him;
her eyes were just beaming.
 Bo

370 JORN UHL

Then he saw that things stood well with him, and went on
unharnessing the horses, whistling the while.
“ It does one’s heart good to see you in such high spirits,”
said his friend, “and to hear a word from your lips without
dragging it out of you. Do you remember? ‘The story went
about afterward that at Gravelotte, on the 18th, as long as
we were under fire you hadn’t uttered a word except ‘ Pity to
lose such a fine horse!’ ”
Jorn turned sharply toward him. “ And I’m sorry to this
very day, when I think of it,” he said. “ It was a good, hard-
working beast, and a mare into the bargain.”
And there and then he began to speak of the years long past.
He was excited by this meeting with his old comrade, and
spoke out of his gladness of heart, seeking to hit on the old
tone of familiarity, but without immediately finding it. Just
as his body and soul had both grown stiff and clumsy in those
long, silent years of heavy toil, all that he said had got a touch
of affectation and exaggeration, like the first leaps that March
lambs make in the meadows. He related with many gestures,
and with great frankness, that he had now neither house nor
land, and not a care in the world, and that it seemed to him
as though the lassie inside, Lisbeth Junker, was really a bit
partial to him, a thing he would never have thought possible.
But he hadn’t the slightest idea, as yet, he said, what he was
going to turn his hand te.
The stable-boy came and took the horses, and looked curi-
ously at the big, somewhat round-shouldered man, who had
been telling about such weighty things in his presence. His
comrade laid his hand on Jörn Uhl’s shoulder, and said, “ Now,
come inside,” and followed him in, smiling.
His mother, a stoutish woman, with a kindly face and dark
hair, just turning gray, looked at her two guests in a good-
natured, motherly way, and began speaking of one thing and
another. She spoke of Jérn’s father’s long illness, and. how
nice it was for him to have Thiess Thiessen to fall back on.
“ And you’re not so lonesome, neither, Jörn; for you had
but to go a few steps abroad to lay your hands on a bonnie
maid to bear you company.” ‘Talking in this way, she grad-
ually forced both her guests into the room, and looked at
her son as though to say: “ What is one to think of them?
How do they stand toward each other?” For, according to
 JORN UHL Eye:
the rustic code in those parts, everything must be straightfor-
ward and plain, or the contrary— pure or impure — white or
black — betrothed or not betrothed. That was something that
Jorn Uhl had not properly taken into account.
“Well, mother,” said her rogue of a son, “I don’t know
exactly how matters stand between them; only they’re not
yet engaged. Nor do I know whose fault it is they aren’t; but
I think everything’ll come out all right. At any rate, they’ve
come here, thinking you could help them; for the whole country-
side knows what efforts you are making to provide your own
son with a wife, and you've a name as a match-maker.”
Then she shook her fist at him, and scolded him for always
blabbing out everything one told him, bidding him hold his
impudent tongue. But he only laughed and said: “I say,
mother, do you know what? You take this Lisbeth Junker
into the kitchen with you, and talk things over, and I'll go and
show Jorn Uhl the stables.”
So he took Jörn Uhl by the arm and went out with him.
And outside, when they had gone through the house and the
barn, he said to him: “I say, Jorn, how does it come about
that you’re jaunting through the country alone with this lass?
Just tell me how affairs stand between you.” And he pointed
over his left shoulder, with his thumb turned in the direction
of the kitchen, and winked his eye.
“Just so,” said Jorn, “that’s the point. How do affairs
stand between us? Perhaps you know? For I don’t. I’ve
been mighty fond of her ever since I was a child; but up to
the present day I’ve always had too much respect for her: and
that’s the long and the short of it. All of us looked up to her
so, all except Fiete Cray — you remember him, don’t you, that
fellow of the 86th we met at Gravelotte. But he’d be hail-
fellow-well-met with the emperor himself, would Fiete Cray.
. .. I never thought that it would come to it.”
“ Come to what, old dreamy head?”
“Why, man, what shall I say? . . . I mean, come to her
taking me for her husband! . . . All my born days I’d have
to take mighty good care of my looks, and go about every
day spick and span in my Sunday best.” He heaved a great
breath. “Eh! man!” he said, “ but isn’t she a bonnie crea-
ture! And so grand in her ways, too! I tell you I wouldn’t
 =

372 JORN TOHE

risk putting a hand on her for the world. And a bit cold she
is, too, I should think.”
His comrade laughed. “ What! that girl cold! She'll
blush as crimson as any of ’em, mark my words. She has
only hidden and barricaded herself behind those highty-tighty
reserved airs of hers. Thats often the way with ’em. Just
wait till you’ve stormed the fortress, you'll find those cold
breastworks turned into a ring of fire. Thats my opinion.”
“ How can you speak in such a cock-sure way?”
“ H’m!” said the rogue, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes,” said Jorn, looking somewhat more comforted.
“That’s true. It is just grand how kind she is toward me.
It’s a miracle, I say.. It’s splendid.”
But next moment he became skeptical again. “I can’t be-
lieve it,” he said. “ You see, she was always the bonniest
thing I could think of in the whole world — mountains high,
I tell you, above me. Her clothes, her hands, and her hair.
Do you mean to tell me that’s ordinary hair? And then,
above all, the way she has with her. Do you know, I’ve always
had the feeling, from the time I was quite a little fellow,
that she was like a wonderful castle on a high rock, and I
used to think and think, as I looked up at it, of what beautiful
things must be hidden away in it, and the look of the great
rooms from inside. And now, man, she’s been leading me by
the hand from hall to hall of it since the day before yesterday,
and you haven’t the faintest idea how splendid it all is, how
lofty, pure, and beautiful, enough to make you hold your breath
with delight. And then look at me. What am I? I’ve got
nothing; can do nothing; am nothing. You.know how every-
body gossips about me, and says what an odd fish I am. Only
a few days ago in the village street I heard one child say to
another, ‘ Look, that’s the man that can read the stars and
tell when any one’s going to die, and when there’s going to
be a war.’ I’ve always been difficult to get on with, as you
know. And what hands I have! Just look at them. So
big and so empty. What does a princess want to marry a
farmer’s boy for?”
“Well, you are a duffer! Just put out your hand and
you've got her.”
{
“ Do you really think so? ”
“ I know the varmints,” said his comrade, airily.
 JORN UHL 373
“She’s no varmint. What are you talking about?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “ She’s not so different from
the rest of em. Maybe she’s a bit livelier because she’s a bit
cleverer.”
Leaving this theme, they began to talk about horses, and
Jörn’s friend had two four-year-olds led out, and grew excited
when he saw that Jorn Uhl would not praise them as unre-
servedly as he wished.
“ Take them in again,” he cried to the boy. “ I don’t want
to look at them again.”
“ Just tell me,” said Jorn, “ where did you get to know her?”
Then his friend lifted his eyebrows, and, still sore at Jérn’s
faint praise of his horses, said, “ Ask her. Perhaps she’ll tell
you, perhaps she won’t.”’
“ Tell me yourself. It’s absurd of you to make a secret of it.”
Then the other laughed, and went to the kitchen door, and
shouted into the room, “ Hey, Lisbeth! Here’s Jorn Uhl
wants to know where I got to know you. Shall I tell him or
not?”
Lisbeth Junker, who was standing near the fireside, tossed
her head and said, “ Tell what you like!”
“ Be off out of this,’ his mother cried, pretending to seize
the tongs.
So he returned to Jorn. “ Well,” said he, “if you really
must know, it happened like this. Six or seven years ago, soon
after the war, I was in town with the cart. It must have
been the middle of summer. And as I was driving home in
the dusk, who should I meet at the end of the village but
Lisbeth Junker. Id seen her sometimes on my way to the
Grammar School when she was going to the Cliff School. So
I pulled up and asked her how she was. You know we had
the French campaign behind us, and were a bit proud and
bold toward everybody, including girls. I had a chat with
her, and was mighty pleased to see how trustfully she looked
up at me with her dear little fair face. She told me she was
waiting for old Dieck’s cart. He had promised to take her
with him to Wentorf.
“< Oh, said I, ‘you'll have the deuce of a while to wait.
Do you know what? Just jump up by me and I’ll drive around
by St. Mariendonn. I don’t mind going a bit out of my way
if you’re by my side.’ For I thought to myself, ‘ Egad, you’ve
 `

374 JÖRN UHL

driven often enough alone, you may as well make yourself
cosy for once.’
“ She took pretty long thinking the matter over, and wouldn’t
accept at once. She looked up at me a bit doubtfully, but
I did my best to persuade her.
“ First I was offended, then I was humble. I joked at her,
and teased her, and grew angry by turns, but I believe she
was only half-listening as she gazed at me attentively. Suddenly,
when I was just trying to think of a new dodge, she said,
‘Make room for me, and there she was sitting beside me, and
I drew a long breath and thought to myself, ‘Good. We've got
so far.’ I tried to puzzle out what would be my best move
next, and I thought to myself what a nice, smart little piece
of work it would have to be if I was to succeed, for she was
well known among all of us as a girl who kept men at arm’s
length.
“So I went on chatting as well as I could, talking about
things that I thought would please her. ‘That was the first
time that Gravelotte stood me in good stead. But when she
made any remark, I agreed with her, and backed her up right
and left. She was in good spirits, and I saw that I had made
a favorable impression. But I wasn’t at all sure of my ground
and couldn’t find a way of introducing the subjects I wanted to
talk about, however much I might puzzle my brains. I was
afraid she would get a dreadful fright and think ill of me,
and be offended with me as long as I lived. And I should
have been sorry for that, for she was a fine and bonnie lass
that one couldn’t help respecting as soon as one set eyes on her
pure, beautiful face. But that’s the way with us. That’s the
sort of girl that seems worth the trouble of winning.
“ Well, we had almost reached Wentorf. You know, there
where the road turns off to Gudendorf, and it had grown
quite dark. So I thought to myself I’d better make a start
if it wasn’t to be labor in vain. So I began very warily, my
heart beating like a sledge-hammer. ‘I say, Lisbeth Junker,’
said I, ‘ you’re driving with me now, aren’t you?’
“< Yes, says she, laughing.
“‘ Well, you see, when any one else gets a lift in my cart,
he says, “ Come and let’s drop in at the So and So Inn and
have a glass of something at my expense.” Well, we can’t
do that, can we? No, you'd be talked about, and, besides,
 JORN UHL 375
I doubt whether there are lights in the place. Now think
it out for yourself, what you can give me, for it would be a
painful thought for you afterward to think that you’d had
a drive with me and given me nothing for it. Look you,
you're driving with me once for all, so that can’t be altered.’
“< Well, she said, laughing, ‘ tell me straight out what you
want.’ Then I risked it and said, ‘ Well, if you promise not
to take it amiss, little lass, I’d like a kiss, and, if possible, a
few more. For Heaven’s sake, though, don’t be afraid. Sit
still where you are; you needn’t jump out. If you’re not
willing, I'll leave you as unmolested as my old grandame when
I drive her to church of a Sunday. Only don’t be offended.’
. “ That’s about the drift of what I said.
“For awhile she sat there without saying a word, as though
she were thinking what to do, and I heard her soft breathing
and was beginning to repent of what I’d said, and to think
of sounding the retreat, when she said slowly and in a low
voice: ‘I well know that you men often brag about it after-
ward when a girl gives way to you. I'll let you kiss me
because you’re such a kind, nice fellow. But you must solemnly
promise me that you'll never tell any one.’ I tell you, Jorn, it
pretty well took my breath away. I had to give her my hand
and say the words after her, and I believe after doing so I
would have sat there a good while stiff and awkward beside
her, if she hadn’t put her hands up to her face, whether to weep
or to laugh I hadn’t the faintest idea. So I just took her pink
little face between my hands, with a fond word, and, Jorn, . .
she was as sweet as could be. We kissed and chatted to our
heart’s content. “The horses munched the grass along the road-
side, and the cart stood right across the track, but we didn’t
bother ourselves one jot about it. At Ringelshorn she got
down. ‘ Lisbeth,’ I said, when she was standing on the heath
near the cart, ‘I liked it tremendously. Be a good little lass
and tell me what evening next week I can come to Wentorf
and wait for you down by the willows in the school-garden.’
But she only shook her head, and said, ‘I ought to thank you
for having been a dear good lad to me, but I’d advise you to
keep away from the school-garden. I’m too good for any mere
sweethearting, and I haven’t the slightest intention of marrying
you, for I love some one else, a man I'll never get.’ I called
her a little witch and other pretty names, and had to make
 `

376 JORN UHL

the best of it. She went away down the hill slope toward
the Goldsoot. Since then I have only seen her once at the
railway station. She came up and spoke to me as if I were
her own brother. I can tell you I am glad to this very day
when I think of that adventure. I never went to the school-
garden, for in those days I had no idea of marrying.”
So said Jérn’s comrade, throwing a roguish inquisitive glance
first toward Jörn, and then toward the kitchen.
Meanwhile Lisbeth Junker was sitting on the turf-box near
the fireplace, and the woman with the shining, dark gray hair
was saying, “ Now, tell me straight out! What is between
you? Of Jörn Uhl I’ve heard all sorts of things. Hes a bit
odd in his ways, and likes peering at the stars and thinking
about things that a farmer’s got no business with. Hes stiff
and awkward, too, and unpractical and gruff; to put it short,
a Grammar School farmer. But one thing IIl tell you, he’s
a son any mother might be proud to own. Oh, yes, what I say
is true enough, so you needn’t open your eyes so wide. ‘That
stupid boy of mine often tells me if Jorn was my son how
delighted I’d be. Well, to come to the point, are you engaged
to him?”
Lisbeth looked up from her seat on the peat-box and dis-
covered that she had no reason to hide the cause of her emotion.
For eight years her heart had been full of Jorn Uhl, but
since the day before yesterday it had been overflowing. So,
like a little child that gives its hand to strangers, at first shyly,
with frightened eyes, and hesitatingly, but afterward grows
confiding and frank, Lisbeth Junker began to speak about her
mother, the schoolmaster’s unhappy daughter, and about her
own girlhood at the house of her kindly old grandparents, and
about her playmate Jorn Uhl and his strange ways, and she
couldn’t get any further than Jorn Uhl, Jorn Uhl, Jorn Uhl.
... Nothing but Jorn Uhl. -“I have always loved him, but
at first he was too thin and too stupid for my taste. After-
ward I would have been dreadfully in love with him, but
then he married some one else. Oh, what I went through
in those days! ‘Then she died, and I could have loved him
ever so much, but then came all that misery with his father
and brothers, seven long years of it. He didn’t have a single
thought left for me. And now... it looks almost as if...
 JORN UHL 377
Why! Do you know, yesterday he played marbles with me,
and he’s thirty-one and I’m twenty-six! ”
The goodwife at the fireside clasped her hands on her
breast. “‘ Child, child,’ she said, “ what a wonderful story!
In my whole life I’ve only read a single tale called ‘The
Hangman’s Daughter and Her Earrings,’ but what you’ve
been telling me might be out of a book. But who knows
what'll come of it all? When I married I was eighteen and
he was twenty-five. I was sensible and he wasn’t. He was
just as wild as that boy of his out there. So I had to be
extra grave and serious. So I’ve grown to what I am now,
a bit too sharp and scolding. By nature I was soft-hearted
enough.”
“Tf I only knew,” said Lisbeth, “ whether he’ll have me or
not. He has neither farm nor money, but I’d have him to-
morrow just as he is, even if I had to live with him at the
Haze, yes, even if I had to dig turf with him, I’d be ever
so happy. But he won’t do that. Hell go away somewhere
or other and start some new enterprise, and who knows what
may come between us then? ” she said, despondingly, gazing into
the fire with streaming eyes.
“Nonsense!” said the other, with an impatient gesture,
“don’t you worry yourself now, but just take care and make
him settle the matter to-day. Then it will be all right.”
Lisbeth covered her face with her hands to hide the crimson
that streamed over it, at once terrified and delighted at the
thought. “He won’t do it yet,” she said, doubtingly, “ be-
cause he doesn’t know what his plans for the future may be.
But so much is certain, at least, — he won’t marry any one else.”
The women talked on in this strain till all the inmates of
the house, together with the guests, were seated around the
heavily-laden farmer’s board, the head servant-girl at her
mistress’s side, the son opposite, and beside him the farm-hand
and then the remaining servants.
“You've done my boy a lot of good,” said the goodwife,
“as long as you were soldiers together, first in peace, then in
war. He was a bit of a good-for-nothing, I’m afraid.”
“ Yes,” said Jorn, “ he was, but one of the sort one likes.”
“ That’s the worst of it,” said she. “ One can’t be angry with
him, at least, not for long. If one wants to vent one’s anger on
him, one must do it at once, or else it’s impossible. Believe
378 JÖRN UHL
me, I’m sick of getting out of temper with him. I wish he’d
choose a good wife for himself and be done with it.”
“ Mother,” said he, “ only yesterday you told me I’d grown
more sensible and steadier this last year.”
“Yes, that’s true enough, Jörn. That he is. This last
year he’s been a bit better, but he'll never come to any good
till he marries.”
“I don’t want to marry,” said the rogue. “ Do you know
what, mother? You get married yourself. You're not too old
yet. Then you’ll have some one in the house to help you.”
Then she stretched across the table with the wooden spoon
she had in her hand, and, in spite of his effort to avoid it,
gave him a sharp rap on his curly head, so that the bowl of
the spoon snapped off short.
“TIl teach you to make fun of your mother. Gretchen,
bring another spoon.”
The servants laughed a little, but appeared to be familiar
with such occurrences.
“ He’s been to three different schools, and to two different
pastors,” she scolded, “but he’s come back home the same
as he went away, without seriousness and without interest in
anything. I thought hed have been better after he came
home from the war. But the first thing he did on the station
when he came back was to pick me up in his arms and carry
me through all that crowd of people to the cart. Since that
day I’ve broken many a spoon over him. I don’t know what'll
be the end of it, I’m sure. He neither drinks nor gambles, nor
does he idle away his time, but he’ll never take things seriously.”
“ She takes everything I do and say the wrong way.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “‘ His father was
just the same,” she said. “ What I had to put up with in that
man. I couldn’t take a step in the house without being teased
and kissed and pulled about. He was always interrupting my
work with some silly trick or other. You couldn’t get a serious
word out of him. He turned everything to ridicule. In the
early years of our marriage I often used to think to myself:
‘If this goes on for thirty years, I'll never be old, but on
the other hand I’ll never get a moment’s peace.’ But later
on, when we’d been married some ten years or so, he altered,
just as if hed turned over a new page in his life. No one
would have believed it possible. He took an interest in dealing
 JORN UHL 379
and bartering, put a lot of capital into peat-digging, and
started a tile-factory, which he again sold later on. He was
oftener on the roads, too, than I liked, and was a great deal
too much wrapped up with his work and with money-getting
to please me. And if I interfered with him, he would say
he had no time, with a ‘Go away, child, I’ve other things to
think about just now!’ About me he troubled himself but
little. The most he did was to stroke my head once or twice
when he came home, saying, ‘ What smooth, glossy hair you
have, mother! And you keep the whole farm just as neat
as your hair.’ Strangers sometimes said to me, ‘ What a good-
tempered, jolly husband you've got!’ They spoke of a man
unknown to me. I had once had such a husband, perhaps,
but now it was as good as none at all that I had. It runs
in the family. That sort of man never reaches years of dis-
cretion before he’s thirty. I believe. it will be the same with
my son there.”
Lisbeth Junker bent over the table and looked at the young
man with eyes half-sympathetic, half-mischievous. “ Can you
trace any signs of discretion budding in you yet?” she asked.
“ As for discretion, just you look to your own, lassie,” he
said. “It’s not so many years ago that it was in as bad a
plight as mine.”
She reddened and tossed her head and then gave a short laugh,
but refrained from looking Jorn’s way.
After dinner he took the two of them with him and led
them through the fields, showing them the lands which be-
longed to the farm. Here he pointed out a field of his, there
a meadow, and in between these explanations he told them
of merry pranks the soldiers played during his campaigning
days, and about a fine trip he had had once upon a time to
Hamburg and Berlin, and teased Lisbeth. When Jorn Uhl
wanted to hear a word about the farming of this or that
field, he laughed, and put the question aside, saying, “ Oh,
nonsense! That’s mother’s business.”
At last when they had gone a good distance from the village,
and Lisbeth would have liked to turn back, he urged them
to go a little farther, to a hilltop that lay a little aside from
the path. When they had reached it, he pointed out to them
that this great field stretched as far as the river Au, whose
 `

380 FORNT WEL

bright waters lay broad and still before them, and was his
property.
“It’s not worth much,” said Jörn Uhl.
“Not worth much?” said his comrade. “ You mean no
good for grazing and ploughing?” He stamped his heel into
the light earth. “But just look what’s under it. Just dig
down five feet, what is there then, eh? ”
“Well?” said Jorn Uhl. “ What then?”
“Clay, my lad, a mighty stratum of the finest clay.”
ne Clays
“Clay, man!” cried his comrade, “ and from clay you make
pottery and cement.”
“You don’t say so!”
“Well, do you see, Jorn? Do you see, Lisbeth Junker?
Just wait two years more and you'll see clay-fields opened here.
Down to Lowrie’s. Wire rope... eh? Then in barges
down the Au, and if they won’t give me enough for it in
Legerdorf, I'll build a cement factory for myself!”
“ Well,” said Jörn, “ go in and win.” ‘Then he glanced at
the gray, sandy earth, and from it to the Au below them.
“You see, it’s like this. I understand nothing about the
cement-making business, therefore I must either engage a tech-
nical man or must go to Hanover to some place or other myself,
and learn it.”
Lisbeth laughed. “ See,” she said, mockingly, “ why, you’re
getting a bit of discretion already.” But Jorn Uhl seemed
quite absorbed in his own thoughts.: His eyes were fixed on
the ground, and he said not a word more.
When they were back home, Lisbeth went through the
garden with the housewife, but Jorn went to his friend’s room,
where the latter had managed to fish out a couple of books
he had recently purchased, one on mineralogy, the other a
special theory about the working of clay-pits. He struck his
hand on the table and said, wrathfully, “ What a shame it is
that I was so lazy at school! ‘There I stand, now, perfectly
helpless, like the ox before the barn door.” He pitched the
book over to Jörn, saying, “ Of course, you can understand
it all, though nobody troubled himself a jot about your edu-
cation. You have helped yourself on further than I, and you
understand ten times as much as I do, who have had five
 JORN UHL 281
hundred pounds wasted on me. Open the book at page 350.
Can you understand it?”
Jorn understood it and explained it all to his comrade.
He also took the other book and was able to teach him out
of it, too. His comrade forgot his anger and cheered up, say-
ing, “ Why! old chap, you must come again next week and
iet us have some more talk about it.”
Jörn Uhl nodded, and asked about the regulations of a
certain technical school, and how long one would have to
study there in order to get a certificate. At last he sat quite
silent, with compressed lips. It was a strange sight to see
his great, brown, horny fist lying upon that new, grand-
looking book. ‘The book looked so small beneath it, like a
mere plaything.
Jorn and Lisbeth started so as to be well on the way toward
home before dusk. The housewife took Jorn aside and told
him how pleased she was with Lisbeth, and talked to him
in a motherly fashion, saying that he should trust in the future
and no longer put off his betrothal. He would be sure to
be able to earn his living somewhere or other, and she hoped
he would soon come to see them again. Her son had been so
sensible to-day, she said. In the kitchen he had stood with
the tongs in his hand and asked her to help Jorn Uhl with a
little money. So let Jorn come when he would, a few thousand
marks would always be at his disposal, for whatever he wanted
to buy or whatever business he wanted to start with them.
Jorn Uhl tried to thank her, but he could not. His eyes
were bright as he nodded to her, and he shook the thrifty
housewife’s hand for a long time as they said good-by, and she
knew by the way he pressed it what he wanted to say.
The sun was low on the horizon when they reached the
highroad once more.
“Well,” said Lisbeth, “now were quite alone again. It
has been a delightful day, and the drive home is delightful,
too. . . . What do you say to the good lady?”
“ What do you say to her son?”
“ Oh, him? .. . What was that his mother was saying to
you just before we started?”
“Tush! Some old wife’s gossip, you may be sure.”
“ Won't you tell me what it was?”
 `

382 JORN UHL

“No, not to-day. To-morrow, perhaps.” He began to
ponder, and they drove on in silence.
After they had sat thus a good while he noticed her peculiar
demeanor, like that of a person in a mood of self-defence or
refusal. He looked up and saw her face full of pride. “ Come,”
he said, “ what is the matter, Lisbeth? Out with it, Rain-
tweet! Just tell me what the little lass is thinking about.”
“ Do you think I didn’t see out of the kitchen window what
that nice comrade of yours was telling you of his experiences,
with such gestures, too, and now you're angry. And I must
say I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Jorn.”
He laughed. “ You are on the wrong track entirely, Lis-
beth, for I was glad about it. Does one get angry, think you,
with a man whom one meets on the way and asks, ‘ How
far is it to so-and-so? I hear it’s seven miles.’ And who
answers, ‘ No, it’s only a few steps further.’ I’m glad, I tell
you. For now I know you're not a mere prude.”
“ Oh, you and your prudery! He came driving by and was
kind and good to me, and he looked so clean and frank, and so
he kissed me.”
“ He is a lout!” said Jorn Uhl. “I tell you, he’s a lout, to
kiss a girl who can’t defend herself.”
“Defend myself? I didn’t try to! It happened just as
I wanted it.”
“Tt was a piece of downright blackguardism. That you
must admit. What, you! ‘The proudest girl in all the land!
Alone with that fellow for hours on the highroad! ”
“It was about the time, Jörn, when you got married to
Lena Tarn.”
He was silent. After a little while he caught her hand
and held it tight and said, “ Dear old Lisbeth, I didn’t know
anything about all that.”
Speaking with difficulty and with tears in her voice, she said,
“You were like ‘ Knowing Jack’ in the story, Jörn.”
“ You just see, Lisbeth. If you really and truly have enough
courage, you'll be married, too, before long. You just see!”
“ There’s one thing: I'll never marry a man who bores me.”
Jorn Uhl laughed, and turned toward her, saying, “ Shall
I let the horses graze a little by the roadside, like that fellow
did years ago on the Meldorf Road?”
 JORN UHL 383
She shook her head and looked at him through eyes shining
with tears. “It won’t do, Jorn. It’s still broad daylight.”
Asthat ali”
She again shook her head. “Not here, Jürgen. It’s not
for us two to act like that. I’m thinking of Lena Tarn and
her child.” She laid her hand firmly in his.
He nodded and said, “ It’s a miracle. A downright miracle.
The finest girl in all the land, and Jörn Uhl, together. No
man has ever gone storming into the sun with such giant strides
as I, in these three days. Look, Lisbeth, we are driving
straight into the sun! Oh, if I only knew what to lay my
hand to!”
He grew silent again, and she let him have his way. But
when they turned into the soft sand road, and it grew dark,
she shifted a little on the seat as though she were not com-
fortable. So he put the whip into the socket and put his
arm around her and drew her close to his side, looking shyly
into her face. “ Do you like sitting like this? ” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and snuggled closer to his shoulder. “ Now
I’ll go to sleep.” But she thought to herself, “ Just catch me
going to sleep! I'll take precious good care not to sleep away
an hour like this.”
Jorn Uhl sat still and stiff as a post and watched the trot-
ting horses and thought on his future and hers, fancying in
his honest way that she was asleep. But she, leaning against
him, looked with great, clear, motionless eyes toward one single
point.
When they pulled up at the big door of Haze Farm, he
said, “ Now go away to bed, Lisbeth. You're tired. To-
morrow we'll talk the matter over.”
She remained standing near him, as though she had still
something to say to him. Then he stroked her cheek and said,
“Don’t be downhearted, Lisbeth, everything will come right
in time.” Then she went away without saying a word.
After he had attended to the horses, he went into the sit-
ting-room, still deep in thought. “ I know now what the cause
of the trouble has been all these years. It’s been something
wrong in me myself....I have always hated all make-
believe and hypocrisy; in my father and brothers and in many
another man I’ve seen what harm self-deception does when
a man in his thought and action leaves what is real and true.
384 JORN UHL
And I have seen how widespread the evil is, and from the
time I was eighteen up till now, I have always said to myself
in my pride, ‘ That’s a fault, Jörn Uhl, that you’re free from.’
But in these three days it has become clear to me, and I see
now that I myself have lived in self-deception and lies, and
got on the wrong track entirely. Yes, I, Jorn Uhl, haven’t
looked myself and my affairs straight in the face; I have never
known myself. I have clung to the Uhl, which didn’t belong
to me, and thereby have continued the lie the same as my
father and brothers did, and so I have shared their misfortunes.
I have worked and worked like a horse at a coal-winch, and
yet have always been over head and ears in worry. I thought
that my life’s task was to save the Uhl. The Uhl? And
what is the Uhl, I’d like to know. What is the Uhl compared
with my own soul? And compared with Lena Tarn’s soul?
And what though a man should gain the whole world and
hurt his soul! Who is there that would heal the hurt for him?
My soul has grown hard within me, and Lena Tarn’s dead
and old Wieten’s hair is white as snow. I began at the top,
away up there at the proud Uhl, and since then I’ve sunk and
sunk. If I had stayed here at the Haze, or had settled down
on some other little Geest farm, or had taken in hand some
modest work, with my own strength, then Lena Tarn would
have been well looked after, and Wieten would not have been so
old and white, and I would have been able to sing as I did
when I was a boy, and these fits of passion would not have
come over me. And then we'd have had some real ground to
stand on, and would have worked up to something respectable.
To begin modestly, that’s the chief thing. To begin from the
lowest rung of the ladder. And that’s what I am going to do
now, as true as God helps me. Pll begin with playing marbles,
and will be a child like the Boatman and my comrade over
there.”
He lit a candle and went to the chest which stood in one
corner, and began hunting out one thing after another till
the floor around him was covered with books, maps, glasses,
and telescopes. He pulled up a chair, opened first one book
and then another, and settled down to it as industrious school-
boys do, holding the book before him like a ten-year-old lad
learning his lesson by heart. ‘Then he laughed to himself and
let the book sink. “ Faith, it’s an odd sort of student you'll
 JORN UHL 385
be!” he said. “It’s a student who will handle a drawing-
pencil like a spade, and make the compasses swing around as
if hed got hold of a plough-handle. Hell gulp down science
like a thirsty soldier does cool water on a hot day, and he'll
open his eyes wide like a hunter lurking around a fox’s den
in the twilight. Is it really possible, though? All these things
that were my stolen pleasure, yes, my downright stolen pleas-
ure, from the time I was a child, shall I now be allowed to
love them openly and honestly, like a trusted lover? I say, is
it possible? Shall I be able to look into books in broad daylight
without people saying, ‘ Just look at him! ‘That’s the cracked
bookworm farmer.’ ”
With frowning eyes he stared into the dusk of the room.
“Tf my father had been an earnest man,” he said, “ and had
sat with us of an evening, he would have seen what my in-
clinations were, even in those early days. I would have been
saved a weary way and much distress and suffering, and
would have turned out a good-natured man with sunshine
in my heart and eyes. But now I will always have a brood-
ing mind and a brittle temper. And yet... I'll not be
faint-hearted. I have learned familiarity with the terrible in
life long ago, listening to Wieten’s stories and then by Lena’s
death-bed, and in long and fearful times of loneliness. I
came close up to the place where there is nothingness, and
I came close to God. What more can be in store for me?
A man must just begin at the beginning and believe in what
is good, both in God and in himself, that’s the whole matter.
So Pll venture it. And if I can’t make use of what I learn
because I am too old, or because I die first, then I suppose
God will have roads to build up there in heaven, and shafts
and ditches and canals to dig in worlds still incomplete, and
will give me some post as master of a shaft or keeper of a
lock. TIl throw out my lines as far as the very stars, and
sharpen my spade for a piece of contract work on the Milky
Way. Pll venture it as though I were but sixteen.
“ Yes, faith, PI do it, I will. And if I do it, it will be as
if the most beautiful and proudest woman . . . Tush! what
are all the women in the world to me? . . . My own lass, my
proud, bonnie lass, will stand behind my chair and will look
on me with glowing, tender eyes, and on my book, and will
wait till I have done with it. And when I have done with
386 JORN UHL
it she’ll laugh aloud with glee and speak of our marriage. And
here, close by the Haze forest, we shall be married. Faith! PI
do it. It’s worth the doing. And now Pll go straight away
and ask her whether she’ll agree to the plan.”
And then, just as he was, in his shirt-sleeves, without a
thought, wholly absorbed in his great plan for the future, he
went out of his room, straight across the big hall, and into
the little chamber where Lisbeth Junker was lying, and saw
her bed in the light of the clear autumn night not far from
the window. He grew a little nervous, in spite of himself,
as he stepped lightly toward her. She did not stir, but looked
at him with big, astonished eyes. “Is it you, Jürgen? Come
here.” She reached for his hand, made room a little, and drew
him down to her on the edge of the bed. “ What is it you’ve
come about?”
He sat down a little stiffly, and slowly unfolded his plan to
her, and was at times a little embarrassed and again eloquent,
and would make a great sweep with his hand.
“ And now the question is this,” he said, “ whether you will
really have me, and whether you will wait two years for me.”
She said, “ Come closer to me and PIL tell you.” And as
he obediently bent down to her, she threw her arms around
him and fondled and kissed him, pouring out a flood of words
of endearment. ‘‘ You strange old Jörn Uhl! You bookworm
farmer, you! It’s all the same to me. Oh, you ‘clever Jack!’
All I want to know is that you love me. Come closer, Jörn.
Kiss me. Please kiss me. Oh, I’m so haughty and cold, am
I not? You see how haughty I am.”
Jorn Uhl was simply dumb with astonishment. Stupid
Jorn Uhl! He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her
cheeks and her hair, and looked into her beautiful ardent
face, and said, stammeringly, “ Just .. . fancy . . . you lov-
ing... me. I... I will wash my hands seven times a day,
and, Lisbeth . . . you must tell me how I’m to behave and
what I must do. For I go about everything the wrong way.”
 CHAPTER. XX VII.

Wuat need is there for us to go much further with Jörn

Uhl’s story? Have we not gone through his life as a man
goes alone into some still and homely little village church,
looking at everything and treading lightly and cautiously, and
then seating himself at last awhile in silence opposite the altar?
For what more does Jorn Uhl want to make him a man?
What can beautiful Hanover City and its high schools
alter more in his nature and character? It will show him
how one may press his way politely through streets thronged
with men, and how to build locks and railways and set up
cement-works. But his inner character, the core of the man,
can no longer be changed or modified. And that is as it should
be. For what more should one desire of a man than that he
should humbly reverence the great mystery of human existence
and the universe, and trust in and enjoy everything that is good?
There stands Jorn Uhl on the platform of the great railway
station, taking leave of ten or twelve fellow students, and one
of them, a German-American, whom his father, a tanner in
Buffalo, has sent oversea, delivers the farewell address. With
the one hand he holds his cloak close, for it is cold, foggy,
November weather, and chill draughts are passing through the
great hall. The other hand is stretched out toward the man
who is leaving them.
“ Jurgen Uhl, Provost of Wentorf, in this moment the pic-
ture of you comes back to me, of how you looked that morning
when you first entered our drawing-class. Your back was bent
like a coal-heaver’s, your hands were horny, and your eyes
hungry. You came up to us frankly and gave us, one after
the other, that horny hand of yours, and told us briefly who
you were, whence you came, and what was your object in
coming. And from that hour forth we were all fond of you.
We took you into our midst and protected you, for we saw that
387
388 JORN UHL
you were in danger of coming into collision with certain people.
We found you a room and bought white shirts and collars for
you; we persuaded you to send your heavy top-boots back to
the Haze, and we dragged you away from your books when
you had taken a dogged grip of them and got your teeth into
them as a weasel does with a fork-handle.
“But while we were busying ourselves protecting you —
just fancy us protecting you — we soon saw what was in you,
and that you were a true descendant of those farmer-folk
who studied the sea and land and stars for themselves, and
built dikes that held firm, and ships that could buffet the
North Sea, and who kept their lips compressed till they grew
to be ever so thin, and who built themselves up a philosophy
of curiosity and awe for the world’s secrets, a philosophy that
any serious man can get along with. While we were still bent
on protecting you, Jürgen Uhl, and giving you a little town
polish, there we found ourselves, somehow or other, sitting at
your feet and learning from you and obeying you. You were
ten years older than us in understanding, and twenty years in
seriousness and experience. But in spite of that you treated us
as equals, and you had kindly eyes for our stupidity, and many
a piece of foolishness you put a stop to. You gave an ear to
what we had to tell of our experiences, and with a shrewd word
often broadened and enriched them. In short, you are our
Provost, Jiirgen Uhl, and our King.”
Thereupon the youngest of the band pressed to the front.
He was a clergyman’s son, from South Germany.
“I say, Dick,” he said, “ what rubbish you’re talking. You
ought to know that Jürgen can’t stand such soft soap!”
“ Just a moment, boys,” said Jorn Uhl; looking at his
comrades of the drawing-school, one after the other. “ You
know that I have had a long spell of loneliness and distress
in my life. By nature and through hard times I have grown
into a slow-going fellow who has to haul every word and every
gesture with rattling chains and buckets out of a deep well.
Even when I was at home there were kindly folk who would
come up to me and encourage me. You’ve read some of Fiete
Cray’s letters, and Thiess Thiessen’s name isn’t unknown to
you, and I’ve told you of Heim Heiderieter, and as for the girl
I’m going to marry, why, you’ve drunk her health much oftener
than was good for you. The encouragement, then, that these
 JORN UHL 389
folk gave me you have continued, a thing that was necessary
enough for me. If you had made merry at my expense, and
wondered at me, and held aloof from me, then I should have
been utterly lonely here, for I would never have offered you
my hand a second time. But you were kind and open with me,
and, boys, I heartily thank you for it.”
The train was standing ready, and Jorn Uhl got in. The
youngest of the party, the clergyman’s son, carried his trunk
in for him, and pressed up to him, and said, “ Mother writes
to me to give you her kind regards.”
This clergyman’s son had failed to pass the final school exam-
ination which is prescribed in Germany for those who wish
to enter a university, and for a year it had been doubtful
whether there would be one more good-for-nothing clergy-
man’s son drifting about the world or not. In the parsonage,
away on the banks of the Main, there had been some bitter
scenes between father and son, and even between husband and
wife. The mother had said, “In our house there’s too much
praying and too much outward holiness. ‘That isn’t the thing
for a healthy boy; and now, together with the outward gar-
ment that he has taken a dislike to, he’s going to throw away
what is good and everlasting, Love and Loyalty.” And the
father had said, “ Maybe you're right, wife. We preachers
easily run into the danger you speak of. Religion is a beau-
tiful and delicate thing, and revenges itself on the man who
adopts it as a profession. But if those were your opinions,
you should have told me so before. Instead of that you have
kept giving him, behind my back, of the money you made with
your poultry-yard, and he’s spent it at the fat publican’s, that
good-for-nothing parasite on respectable honest folk.” ‘Then
he had been sent to the drawing-school, and had fallen into
the hands of the long-faced Frisian farmer, who was butting
his head into science with the same dogged perseverance as a
steer butts the boards of its stall; and gradually a clear idea
of the nature of life began to glimmer up through his muddled
brain. Jörn Uhl had been able to send a good letter to the
lad’s father, whereupon an answer had come from his mother
—an answer salted with tears. He has still got a touch of
restlessness in his blood. He will be working a few years later
under Jörn Uhl in Holstein. Then he will go abroad into
the world. Of course! He must needs convince himself,
 `

390 JÖRN UHL

forsooth, that the earth is round, but after all he will leave
Germany as one who does it credit.
Hence the “kind regards.”
Now the train is off. Gusts of wind push against the win-
dows, shining rain-drops trickle down the panes. In the gray
mists, away behind the gliding smoke, are seen the dim forms
of farms and villages, and forests and heaths. It is the sort
of weather when it does not seem worth while either to make
plans about life, or to expend any sort of mental energy on it.
For there seems no prospect that the rain will ever cease or
the sun ever shine again.
But Jörn Uhl and this wind and rain are old acquaintances.
This is the same wind and the same rain that used to fly
over the fields of the Uhl while he plodded along up one fur-
row and down another behind his plough. He knows you
must plough and plough even in gloomy weather, and one
must make up one’s mind to wait, for the sun will come back
of itself. So there he sits with his hands on his knees, watch-
ing the gliding drops and the travelling banks of fog, and
thinking now of his boyhood at Wentorf, now of Fiete Cray,
anon of the tanner at Buffalo, anon of Wieten Penn, who
is sitting at home at the Haze, white-haired and bent with
age, and then anon of his comrade’s clay-pits. “There he will
now find work and bread. And then his thoughts go to Lis-
beth Junker and his boy, who has been living with her for the
last two years, eating at her table and sleeping near her bed.
But as he thinks on all this, a shadow rises, and his thoughts
are with his sister Elsbe.
In Hamburg he hurried through half the town. Often he
had to ask the way. At last he came to a part of the town
that was known to him, and there he fell in with a troop of
wandering school-children. And there was the shop-window
of the old aunt, and written ‘above it, “ All Sorts of School
Stationery, Sold by Ellen Walter.” He pondered awhile. So
many thoughts were rushing through his head. But seeing
some of the little chaps pushing in with great eagerness, he
went with them.
She stood behind the counter, putting the boxes away without
looking up, and was saying, in her refined and dainty way, with
that dear, sweet, high voice of hers, “ Just a moment, please.”
 JORN UHL 391
; s£ Oh, certainly,” he said; “please serve these gentlemen
rst.
Then she let the box fall and held out her hand to him
over the counter and blushed, and was full of wonder and
astonishment, and said, “ Your little boy will be out of school
directly, Jorn. ... What is it you want, Tommy? ‘Two
penn’orth of nibs? Blotting-paper? Here, you can pay to-
morrow. An exercise-book with lines? Don’t make so many
blots. Little ones, I have no time to-day — I have a dis-
tinguished visitor. Look, this great big man used to play with
me when he was just your size. . . . So, Jürgen, now were
alone. My aunt is having her midday nap. Put your trunk
down here. . . . You must be hungry. You... Jorn...
Don’t, Jorn! . . . Don’t make such a noise... . Jorn! ...
Oh, what nonsense you talk! ”
“ Now your hair’s coming down.”
“And ... Oh, Jorn, Elsbe has written, Jorn! Elsbe has
written a letter to the Haze. She’s coming over from America.
Thiess is here already. Hes got his old room again, and is
down at the wharves for every boat that comes in from New
York. Let me go, Jorn. . . . I hear a step I know. Do you
see? There’s our little laddie.”
“Father! My word, what a fright I nearly got! Is that
really you?”
“Yes, it’s me,” said Jörn Uhl; and he knelt down and
stroked his child’s fair hair and looked into his bright eyes.
“ But, I say, father, what do you think of me going to
school! Lisbeth just scaply carried me there, and there I was!
. Are you going to stay with us?”
K Yes, always.”
“What a yellow beard you’ve got, father! It looks just
like the rye-crops down by Ringelshörn. Do you remember,
father? . - Are we going to the Uhl or to Thiess’s, now?
Lisbeth ae were going to Thiess’s.”
“The Uhl no longer belongs to us, laddie. We are going
to the Haze first. Lisbeth, you tell him... I don’t know
how to set about it.”
Then Lisbeth Junker, too, knelt before the little lad and
said, with smiling mouth, “ Now, listen, Prince. . . . Shall I
tell you something? I should like very much to go to the
Haze along with you and father, but I’ll tell you something.
392 JORNE Ue
I will only go with you on one condition. I don’t like you
calling me Lisbeth. I would rather have you call me
‘mother.’ ... And your father. . . . He will have to call
me ‘ dear wife.’ Do you both agree to that? Else I won’t go
with you.”
Then the roguish glance he had inherited from Lena Tarn
came into the little boy’s eyes as he looked at his father.
“ What do you say to it, father? Shall we? ... Well, come
here, then!”
And he threw his arms around his mother’s neck.

Fifty smutty, dirty coal-heavers observed the scene and

told their wives about it when they got home. They had
just left the steamers and were going along Quay Street to
dinner. Each one had his drinking-mug at his side and each
one was in a hurry, when suddenly, coming from the coal-
yard quay, where, as everybody knows, the turf-boats from
Burg and Kuden are wharfed, they saw coming toward them
a little man who had been a familiar figure to most of them
for years past in the streets about the harbor. He was
carrying a little turfsack on his back, and was stooped for-
ward, and his face was long and brown, and his eyes were
quick and blinking. Like swallows flying between the trees
in a garden his eyes flew about, searching among the crowds
of passers-by. Suddenly he saw somebody.
Paying no heed to what people might think, he let his
sack of turf slip to the ground, and shouted in a loud and
querulous voice, “ Fiete! Dear old Fiete! Fiete Cray! Hullo
there! . . . That man there! With the gray waterproof!”
There was a stir in the street. People stood still and joked
and laughed. Many wanted to help him.
“ Hullo, there, Fiete! Fiete Cray, turn around, man! Go
and carry the old fellow’s sack for him.”
Then the man who wore the gray waterproof turned around
and was astonished to see all the laughing faces turned in
his direction. “ Have you chaps lost your senses or have I?”
“This way, Fiete — open your eyes. The old fellow there
with the bag of turf.”
The words “ bag of turf” fell like a lasso over Fiete Cray’s
soul and took it captive. His eyes wandered over the crowd
and caught sight of the little man, who with one hand was
 JORN UHL 393
holding fast the bag that two street urchins were tugging at,
and with the other he was making clutches and beckoning
toward him as though he were vainly trying to catch hold
of him. The old Haze farmer could not utter a word. Fiete
Cray ran up to him. He, too, paid no heed to what folk
might think. None whatever. He stroked the trembling old
man’s face and picked up his hat, which was lying on the
road, and put it on for him. “Oh, you good old Thiess!
what a piece of luck you saw me! Can’t get along any further,
eh? It’s gone to your knees, has it? Come, Thiess, sit down
on the sack for a bit.” ‘Then he turned around to the throng-
ing bystanders. “Gentlemen,” he said, using a word he had
picked up in America, “this is Thiess Thiessen, turf-farmer,
from over yonder behind the Haze, and at the present moment
he looks like a crooked old dried turf-sod himself. But my
name’s Fiete Cray, as you all know. When I was a youngster
I had business dealings with Thiess Thiessen, and I and my
dogs would often drive up with our load of brushes and heather-
brooms in front of his house, and out of these visits sprang
a friendship which, as you see, hasn’t grown rusty with time,
although in the meanwhile I’ve been fifteen years on the other
side of the water. If these facts are enough for you he and
I have nothing against your now taking yourselves off to
your midday repast. . . . Are you a bit better, Thiess? No?
Not yet? Well, let’s sit here awhile. . . . We are not taking
up any collection to-day, friends. Just stand quietly where
you are and have a good look at us.”
He seated himself on the other end of the turf-sack and
the crowd dispersed.
“ Fiete, have you brought her with you?”
“Tve been a great fool, Thiess.”
“Tell me about it, laddie.”
“T saw her on board my steamer. I saw her quite un-
expectedly. She was travelling steerage—she wouldn’t go
second-class.”
“Ts she alone?”
“She has a little girl with her, a little mite of six or so
— just as little and dark and thin and shy as herself.”
“ Oh, deary me! And where have you got her?”
Then Fiete Cray struck the turf-sack with his fist and said,
“ As we were landing, my eyes were everywhere. Everywhere,
 `

394 JÖRN UHL

I tell you! Thats the cursed way with us Crays, and so I
lost sight of her. She crept away somewhere — ”
Thiess Thiessen sprang up. He got over the difficulty with
his knee somehow or other. He stood straight up.
“Well go and look for her, Fiete, the whole night — the
whole night. We’ll go to all the inns and to the police-station.
We'll ask for a little maid with a little child.”
Fiete Cray slung the sack across his shoulder, and said, in
a hopeless voice, “It’il be a difficult thing to find her here.
She promised she would go to the Haze with me. That’s
what we must hope for.”
 CHAPTER XXVIII.

JORN and Lisbeth were walking along the edge of the forest.
They had been into town looking at a house and buying
furniture. They were going to be quietly married at the Haze
on the day following Christmas Day, and then go back to the
town the same evening.
She clung so close to him that at the sturdy pace they were
going her dress flew to one side and caught his knee now and
again.
“I was nearly over, that time,’ he said. “The snow is
smooth enough to bring one down.” He made her walk more
slowly.
She laughed.
“Jorn,” she said, pressing close to his side again, “I’m so

“Thats natural,” he said.

“How do you mean, natural?”
“Well,” he said, giving her a roguish look, “it will soon
be Christmas Eve. Doesn’t every child feel happy at the thought
of the Christmas tree?”
“Oh, Jorn,” she said, shaking his arm, “ do you think we'll
really be happy with each other, and for always?”
“ Not a doubt of it,” he said. “ You see both of us know
who it is we are marrying, and that neither of us is a saint.
And each of us intends to let the other follow his own bent
and go his own way. Thats why so many marriages turn
out failures, because the one wants to compel the other to
think and act exactly in the same way as himself. I, on the
contrary, think that each should try and bring out the other’s
characteristics, — of course, within the limits of common sense,
— so that each may have a full, rounded individuality in his
helpmate. What nonsense people talk about man and wife
being like the oak and the ivy, cup and saucer, and such
395
 ~

396 TORN User

like! No! Let them stand side by side, like a couple of
good trees of the same stock, only that the husband has to
take the windward side. That’s all.”
“ How well you put it, Jorn!”
“Tye tested it with Lena Tarn. She went her way and I
went mine, and we got on first-rate.”
In silence they both thought of Lena Tarn who was dead.
“ At that time she seemed to have been created on purpose
for me,” said Jorn, thoughtfully. “She was young and fresh,
and of dauntless energy. She was no great scholar — she had
not the slightest love of books. She didn’t even read the news-
paper. She used to laugh and say, ‘I got my reading over
when I was at school.’ About the same time as one sheds
one’s first teeth she was a droll, delightful creature. When-
ever I remember her and her ways, I can’t help thinking of
Wieten’s fairy-stories. She had, as it were, grown up out of
the earth like a beautiful, strong young tree, that has learned
how to converse with sunshine and winds without the aid of
teachers and schoolmasters.”
“ What was she like in other ways — I mean, as a wife? ”
‘Ohl. .°. You mean... Well, just. like sascchildot
Nature. There came times when she cried aloud for love, and
others when she just despised that kind of thing.”
She clasped his arm with her fingers, and said with down-
cast eyes: “I feel sad at times, Jörn, that you always talk so
sensibly to me. Once, two years ago, that time we were visiting
your comrade’s farm, you were different, Jörn. Do you really
love me as much as you did Lena Tarn?”
He put his arm around her and drew her to him so that
she stood close to his breast and couldn’t move, and looked
into her eyes with such a glance that she hid her face on his
shoulder. “Go home, Lisbeth,’ he said, “or else you'll be
catching cold. I am going to take a run up into the village.”
“You're going to see if Elsbe’s there. Oh, Jorn, if she
were only to come! I’m coming with you.”
When they reached the top of the hill whence one can see
far down the road that leads to Hamburg, by way of Itzehoe
into the loneliness of the Haze, there stood Fiete Cray, gazing
into the distance. But they found no one else there, and went
home.
 JORN UHL 397
Of an evening they would sit together in a rather depressed
mood, and not have much to say to one another. Wieten
would knit away at a pair of child’s socks, and every evening
would place a pair of soft, warm, felt slippers behind the big
porcelain stove. Thiess, too, would regularly hang the large
brass bed-warmer on the hook near the door. No one ever
asked for whom these things were being kept in readiness.
Wieten had grown even more silent in these last years.
When Thiess said to her, “ You ought to read a little,
Wieten,” she used to answer, “I’ve gone through such a
great deal, and seen so much of life, why should I read, then,
or want to listen to what people say?” And when Thiess
asked her to tell them some of her stories, she would say,
“Such things all lead to nothing. After all, we human beings
can change nothing.’ She sat there thinking. She would
sit and think awhile, and then raise her head toward the
window, and then go out into the dark. ‘Those inside heard
her light, slow steps in the hard, new-fallen snow, and they
knew that she was going her usual round, and peering out as
far as the starlight would allow her, to see whether the child
were yet coming. But no one said a word, and no one looked
up when she came in again and sat down wearily near the
big stove.
Soon afterward they would all go to rest. ‘Thiess and
Jorn went into the room they shared together. “Its all over
with my sleepy fits,” the old man would say to Jorn. “ By
the time I had reached the sixties they were things of the past,
and now sleeplessness is beginning. Lie down, Jorn, laddie,
Ill walk up and down awhile.”
Thiess Thiessen suffered more and more from this sleep-
lessness with increasing years, so much so that it was impossible
for him to lie still. When he was seventy he used to wander
up and down between the bed and the window half the night
long, halting awhile near the window at each turn and gazing
out into the night. In these three weeks before Christmas this
habit of night-wandering and standing at the window had had
its beginning.
“ Do you think she’ll come, Jorn? If she doesn’t come for
Christmas, she’ll never come at all.”
“ And if she does come, what then?”
After awhile Thiess said: “ Pll not worry at all about that;
 398 JORN UHL
if she only comes. . . . Do you hear? The east wind’s getting
up. What if she were on the road now, the poor little soul!”
Jorn Uhl stood near the other window and answered: “ In
times gone by, when I was still very young, I thought there
were only two kinds of things that could confront a man —
things that can be bent, and those that can be broken. But
afterward, in the sad years, I found out that there is a third
kind — things that come and stand for a moment, or maybe
for whole years, before one, like some great, wild, black
monster raising its cruel paws with claws dead and white.
What is one to do against it? Turn aside? Flatter? Lie?
` There’s no sense in that. “There it stands, right in front of
you, and it is mad, Thiess, mad. It has no understanding.
It’s a cruel, wild being. It’s no good attacking it, for it’s
much the stronger. Well, face to face with such a monster,
with such an overpowering fate, what alternative is there?
Only one. We must say to it, ‘ Whether you kill me or let
me live, whether you devour me and those I love or not,
whether you unsettle my understanding with your everlasting
threats and the sight of your claws or not, be that as you
choose;” but one thing I tell you, it all happens in the name
of God in Whom I put my trust, and firmly believe that His
cause — which is the good — will triumph, in me and every-
where. Do you see, Thiess? Thats how I stand toward
Elsbe’s fate.”
The old man went backwards and forwards, and went to
the window and gazed out into the sky for a long time.
“ Jorn,” he said, in a low voice, “do you really think that
everything that so happens — all the sad things that you and
I have lived through, all that Wieten Penn went through in
her youth, and the horrible things they brought about there
on the Uhl, and my sister’s wretchedness— do you think that
all that has a good purpose? I mean, do you think there’s any
sense in it?”
‘““Thiess,” said Jörn, “if one doesn’t believe that, where
shall an earnest, thoughtful man get courage enough to go on
living? See, one can clearly perceive that all created things
are put under the ban of sorrow and distress. Throughout
all creation there’s a restless something surging up and down,
that puts one in mind of simmering water. But yet one can
see that there’s sense in all this bubble and toil and trouble.
 JORN UHL 399
The evil only sinks after a great struggle, and the good
wrestles and strives laboriously to get to the top. Some mys-
terious force is constantly in action, pushing and shoving and
trying to create order like the shepherd and his dogs amongst
the flock. And happy the man who hears the gentle call of
the shepherd away through the storm and lends God a helping
hand in His laborious task.”
“ Hark!” said Thiess, “ what’s that? Did you hear it?”
“It’s the frost crackling amongst the branches of the ash.”

They waited and waited, and she did not come. Yet all
of them had the feeling that she was coming, and on the
road. Her hungry soul had stretched out its arms toward
home, in longing for those who were so dear to her. Her
spirit was passing through all the old paths at the Haze and
its presence was felt by those who were waiting for her there.
Thiess Thiessen went up secretly into the corn-loft and stood
there a long time in the bitter cold, gazing through the win-
dows far away toward the southeast. In the night old Wieten
started up crying, “She’s standing in the snow and hasn’t
the strength to go further!” Jorn Uhl was lost in thought,
and started as if in fright when Lisbeth spoke to him. Fiete
Cray was again away on the roads, asking everywhere along the
highway if any one had seen a young woman, slight and pale
looking, with thick dark hair, and with a little girl at her side.
But he came back, his mission unaccomplished.
Thus it came to pass that they had to keep a cheerless
Christmas. . . . Put out the love-light in thine eyes, Lisbeth
Junker! Stretch not thine hand toward thy beautiful bride,
Jorn Uhl. Thiess Thiessen and Fiete Cray, ye lovers of gossip
and genial talk, be on your guard lest your tongues grow
canty!
There came a cold mist, and with an idle wind it drew
thin gray shrouds over all the land. ‘The sun stood like a
dull whitish spot that looked about the bigness of a house,
far away in the sky. And as it drew by, the mist left parts
of its loose tissue hanging on every tree and every hedge that
it passed. There lay the whole land covered with hoarfrost.
Stiller and stiller everything grew. The many thousand
voices, Life and rain and all the cries and sounds that usually
fill the air of this solitude, held their peace. ‘The birds clustered
400 TORN 2 EEE
noiselessly together near the houses, the rooks flew mute to
their shelter for the night, so afraid and full of presentiment
did all Nature feel. Folk that generally paid no heed to the
unceasing stir and whisper of the woods and skies and fields
were now amazed at the silence that had come over everything.
When two people met on the road they stood still, looked at
each other, made no move, then lifted their fingers and whis-
pered, “ Listen!”
The fir-trees on the forest borders stood straight and slim,
clad in silver brocade from head to foot like brides ready
for the wedding, and behind them in drooping veils of white
stood waiting the great procession of bridesmaids. And this
fairy spell filled them half with the feeling of its beauty and
half with a shuddering fear. Each of them gazed at its neigh-
bors with eyes full of wonder till the dim light of day faded
and waned. But when it was evening the whole of their
eerie glory changed. They beheld each other wrapped in funeral
shrouds, shrouds all cold and stiff, and trimmed with a wealth
of fine, white lace. . . . Shuddering fear held sway over all
things... . There lay the village ali glittering and new,
like a Christmas-box that had been laid in this soft white
valley, like a pretty toy in its case of cotton wool. And it
was as though giants came out of the woods from away by
the sea and squatted on the hills around about, and began
to play with the white houses and the fair white trees, and
mixed the houses up together, and pushed the people hither
and thither, and brought them together in couples, and then
set children by their side and made them grow old, and brought
them to the churchyard, and dug a little hole in the wide white
snow. And these games of the giants had lasted thousands of
years without the folk in the village noticing.
Yes, but people no longer believe such things because they
have no longer eyes to see them. And they have no longer
eyes to see them, because they no longer believe them. But
wondrous things have not been done away with in the world
merely because men shut their eyes and say they see nothing,
or because they open their eyes very wide and declare they
see everything.
Wonderful things happened that Christmas night, when
there was a danger that the haggard wife of that proud Harro
Heinsen, — who at this moment was leaning drunk against a
 JORN UHL 401
house-wall away in some street or other in Chicago, — a danger
that this wife of his, I say, might after all miss her way home;
for she had made up her mind never to see Haze Farm and
those who lived in it again. She had gone about seeking a
shelter away up there in Schleswig, and had encountered a
last disappointment. It wore out what was left of her spirit.
She wandered off southwards with her child, and crossed the
Eider at Friedrichstadt. Traversing endless bare highways,
she passed, with her child’s hand clasped in hers, through
snowed-in villages, not with the aim of reaching home, but
driven and pushed and in a dream. The image of Haze
Farm and the people who dwelt in it flitted ceaselessly before
her half-closed eyes, and she had perforce to follow it.
Dusk came on, and the evening mists in heavy, loose masses
crept over the land, with unseen hands building up the miracle
of the white, dead world. Here and there stars shot up as
in anger, piercing the mist, and a cold bluish light spread over
the fields.
“ How much further is it, mother? ”
“ Not much further, my child.”
“ Can’t we sit down here? My feet are hurting me so.”
“No, we mustn’t. Do you see the light yonder? That’s
where we're going.”
“Do kind people live there? ”
“Yes, they’re kind people. . . I cannot, I cannot go to
them. Oh, where shall I go to with my child?”
Then a man came by and, as he passed, said, “ Where are
you going to, little woman? ”
. I am going a long way.”
He. came up closer to her. “Oh,” he said, “ you’re the
daughter of Greta Thiessen. You’re Jorn Uhl’s sister. They’ll
be glad enough you’ve come, lass. They've been looking for
you everywhere.”
She said nothing, but thought to herself, “ P1 be able to
get away from him,” and so went along with him.
“ Now, come,” said the man, “ here’s a short-cut. You know
the way past the Odel Krug, don’t you? You must have come
that way often enough when you were little.”
She walked painfully and slowly along beside him.
“The child is tired,” he said. “ Come here, little one. That’s
it. Don’t be afraid. Ill carry you. Hi! Won't Jorn Uhl be
 `

402 JÖRN UHL

glad, and Thiess will lose his slippers thrice to-night. And the
others! Why, its Christmas itself Im bringing home to
them.”
He kept on carrying the child in spite of the way it made him
pant. At the cross-road he put her down, saying, “ Its hardly
a quarter of an hour’s walk now. Seest thou, lass? They
have a light burning in the doorway and in both the rooms
for thee.”
He left her and went toward the village. She had not
recognized him, nor did she ever see him again, although she
lives at the Haze to this day. But she has never forgotten him.
The evening was come. Children had come over from the
village to Haze Farm, as was their olden custom, and had
beaten blown-up bladders with sticks and sung songs to the
monotonous noise, and got presents of nuts and apples and
cakes; and thrice did Thiess Thiessen go up the ladder into
the loft and cut a piece from the bacon that hung beneath the
sloping roof.
And Lisbeth Junker sent the others out and lit the Christ-
mas tree that Fiete Cray had brought from the woods, and
thought sadly to herself, “ Its only for little Jürgen’s sake.
We grown-up people will be thinking of Elsbe and sha’n’t
be able to take much pleasure in anything.”
But when she had laid the new school-books for little Jur-
gen beneath the Christmas tree, and had hidden his picture-
book and his first pair of skates under them, she cheered up
a little, and then a little more, and brought the shirts she had
made for Jorn.
“This pipe is for Thiess, and the two-and-sixpenny Atlas
into the bargain. What else could one give Thiess Thiessen ? ”
“Tve only one great wish, Lisbeth,” said Thiess, “ and
that is that Elsbe and her child might be standing beneath
this Christmas tree to-night. . Hist! . . . No, it’s the wind.”
“ Now IIl call the names.”
First of all came the little boy with his hand in that of his
father. He was a grave and thoughtful lad, and remained
quiet even when he saw the tree. He stood awhile in front
of it, and it was easily seen that in his heart he was rejoicing.
But he didn’t show it except by his sly glance at Lisbeth
Junker when he stepped up to her and stood at her side. He
looked at the books and asked, “ I say, who are they for?”
 MORIN TOHE 403
Then he busied himself in looking through his possessions,
and the lights played over his fair hair.
Thiess and Wieten had never before seen a Christmas tree
in their life, and had no clear idea of what it meant. Fiete
Cray began walking up and down the room and humming
to himself, a habit that loneliness had taught him. Jörn Uhl
stood and stared at the tree, and the lights that were to have
shown the beautiful face of his betrothed showed him nothing
but the darkness of this hour. Mute and helpless they stood
there, feeling, “ We can’t keep Christmas. Put out the lights
on the Christmas tree, Lisbeth; the light hurts us.”
In that silent and painful moment, when two beautiful
proud eyes were brimming full of tears, they suddenly heard
a noise outside, as if two or three people were moving about
under the window. A thrill of terror ran through them,
and they stood as if fixed to the spot. Their hearts beat
violently, trembling in a great fear between hope and terror
at the supernatural. Jörn Uhl with a great effort rushed to
the door and went out. He strode across the great middle
room and dashed open the door.
Out there in the snow he saw what he had hoped. His
voice hardly obeyed him, as he said, “Is it you, Elsbe? Is it
ou?”
“Oh! Jorn. . .. Is that you, Jorn? This is the way I’ve
come back.”
“Come inside, child. Come in. Thats it... . Let me
take the little one. That’s the way. . . . Now, come.”
“Me, Jorn? . . . Jom, what do I want here? m .”
“Come, Elsbe, I say. Now do! ... Lisbeth, come here a
moment. She’s tired.”
Thiess stood in the doorway and kept saying, “ My little
Whitey!” stretching his hand out toward her, but unable to
move from the spot.
“ Oh, Thiess, Thiess! How often I’ve told you you do
everything topsyturvy! . . . Oh, my God! ... Wieten, your
hair is white.”
“ Here, let her sit in this chair, Lisbeth! Wieten, where
are the slippers?”
She sat in the warm chair near the big stove weeping, and
Wieten knelt before her and pulled off her wet shoes. Lis-
beth undid her jacket that was all encrusted with hoarfrost,
404 JORN UHL
and Jorn tried to take off the child’s cloak and couldn’t, while
Fiete Cray took hold of Thiess Thiessen, and said, “ Here’s a
chair for you, Thiess. Sit down.”
The child was blinking at the Christmas tree. “ Are we
going to stay here, mother?”
“The poor child!” said Thiess, “the poor child!” He
sprang up and got a plateful of cakes and filled the little one’s
hands.
Jorn looked from the child to his sister. She lifted her
head and looked at him, and suddenly the vision of the whole
misery of his youth and of hers flashed before him. He clenched
his hands and cried with a wild gesture, “Curse my father
for this!”
Then Lisbeth jumped up and ran toward him, weeping and
crying, “Oh, Jörn, do not forget me!”
“ Leave me, leave me, Lisbeth!” he cried. “ When I think
of how my mother’s life was ruined, and all the peaceful happy
days made sordid and filled with misery by the treatment she
CO ye. scr
She fondled and coaxed and kissed him, and begged him
to rejoice that his sister was back home again. ‘She thinks
that you are angry with her!”
“What?” he cried. “I? I angry with her?” And he ran
up to her, this broad-shouldered, austere man, and knelt before
the broken figure of his little sister, stroking her hand and call-
ing her all the pet names that he thought he had long forgotten,
and saying, “ My father is to blame, and I am to blame... .
Am I not, Wieten? . . . Thiess, you tell me. Am I not to
blame, too?” ‘Then he spoke great things about the future.
“ You shall live like a princess here at the Haze, and no one
shall touch or harm you, and old Wieten will always be by you,
and Thiess will talk to you until, at least, you'll have to laugh
again.”
She let it pass over her unheeded. She had laid her hand
upon her brother’s hair and wept herself quiet. Gradually
her breath became heavy and deep, and her weeping more sub-
dued and wearier. She sank down like a traveller who has put
his heavy burden on the earth beside him, and sits down awhile
on some stone by the wayside.
Then Wieten and Lisbeth went out to prepare the beds.
At last the woman who had returned home and her child lay
 JÖRN UHL 405
under the roof of the Haze in deep and heavy sleep. Jörn
Uhl stood at the window with Lisbeth Junker.
“ There you've had a proof of it,” said he. “ A part of my
soul has grown hard and turned to ice.”
And she repeated, “ Don’t look away over my head, Jörn.
Come quite close and look straight at me. You must be able
to see that I can help you, and will help you, as far as in me
lies! ”
He looked down at her without a word, and as he looked
upon her and she held up her face with clear eyes toward him,
it seemed to him as if he were looking into some wide valley
in which, between the green of the meadows and the gloom
of beautiful trees, lay deep and tranquil lakes. His heart
grew lighter within him. He said, “ I must always come to you,
Lisbeth, when I get these gloomy fits, mustn’t I, lass?”
 CHAPTER XXIX.

YEARS came and went.

Jörn Uhl took over the management of his comrade’s fac-
tory, and helped, besides, at the building of the great canal
that goes right through Germany, and which we all are so
proud of. He built locks, too, on the Stor and the Buhnen,
and on the isles of Sylt and Rom, and in winter taught draw-
ing and mathematics in a college for working men. So people
came in time to look up to him as a man whose words and
knowledge could be thoroughly relied on. The boy who, long
years before in the school-sergeant’s little room, had said, “ It’s
all one, Thiess, whether I become Provost or not, as long as
I learn something. And, mark you, I’ve made up my mind
to learn,” — this boy, I say, had had to begin twice over from
the very first rung of the ladder. But life, after all, is long
enough to make oneself into something, if one only has faith
enough and a sturdy will.
But he didn’t come through it all without a few scars.
As long as he lives, Jorn Uhl’s character will show traces
of rifts and flaws here and there. Although his wife knows
his nature well, and although she is so blithe and strong, and
so loving toward him, she has never been altogether able to
smooth out these flaws, the remnants of evil days gone by.
It was some short time after the birth of her first child.
Heim Heiderieter, who was among the guests, had made a
somewhat indiscreet joke which set the room in a roar. As
the spirits of the party became more and more boisterous, Jörn
Uhl left the room. Dame Lisbeth missed him at once, and
went seeking all through the house for him. She found him
at last standing outside in the dark, and went to him and
asked, “ What are you standing out here alone for, Jörn?
Why don’t you come in and sit with the others?” At first
she could get nothing out of him; gradually, however, he
406 N
 TORN UHL 407
admitted that all this merrymaking and laughter was intoler-
able to him: it brought too many old pictures up before his
mind. But he promised to pull himself together again and
go back into the room, and she wasn’t to say anything about
it. She put her arms around him; spoke affectionately, soothed
and fondled him, and went inside again. By and by he fol-
lowed her, and sat there at first taciturn and moody, listening
with an attentive face to what was said. After awhile he
lifted his glass and pledged one of the guests with half-em-
barrassed looks of kindness, and then he told a short story, and
then he glanced over at his wife. Lisbeth’s eyes were bright
with tears as she nodded her pleasure and recognition. And
now he found her helping him, he succeeded in being blithe
and jovial along with the others.
It would often chance, too, that he would come back home
from some journey or other downhearted, silent, and tired,
as if he were half-frozen. And then when he heard the sound
of children’s pranks and laughter inside as he entered the
house, he would turn as stiff as Lanky Sott of yore under
the leak in the spout. Then they’d look at each other and
run off to their mother in the kitchen, and after a swift, eager
council of war, they would come back into the sitting-room,
and keep very grave and quiet; after awhile one would come
up with some sore spot to be kissed, and another for help of
some sort, all of them treating him as thoughtfully as ever
they could. Then the first one smiled; then the second would
risk a smile, too. Then they’d make off to the kitchen, shouting:
“ I say, mother! father’s thawing! ”
Then he would shake his head at them, and smilingly
threaten them, and brighten up, and the sky would be clear
again.

Years came and went.

One day the spirit of unrest came over Heim Heiderieter,
and he determined to visit the country around Ringelshorn
and Wentorf. He arrived without mishap or adventure at the
first houses of St. Mariendonn, on the edge of the heath, and
saw a sailor-lad of the Imperial Navy standing there, dressed
in a white duck suit, and stuffing the heather he had cut into
a sack. His mother, a haggard and overworked little woman,
was raking the remnants together.
408 JORN UHL
“ Where do you hail from, seaman?” asked Heim.
“ Oh,” said the sailor, “ I’ve been out in the China Seas on
a man-o’-war, and have just got four weeks’ leave of absence.”
Heim sat himself down awhile on the slope of the hill, and
listened awhile to the sailor yarns. At last, when Heim
thought of getting under weigh again, a thought struck him,
and he asked, “ What’s your name, then?”
“ Stoffer Cray,” said the sailor.
Heim thought, “ Weil, now, if that’s a good beginning!”
and went on his way.
When he reached the first houses, he was in doubt as to
which road he should choose, and whether he would find the
Goldsoot if he kept along the Heide hills. Up to then he
had never approached the Soot from this side of the country.
So, at the first house he came to, he made inquiries from a
man who was standing before the door trimming a post for
a fence. The latter turned around and looked toward the
brownish hills that rose away over beyond the village, and
said: “ Thats a simple matter. You go down there past that
farmhouse on the left. Then you come to that tree on the
right; ye see it, eh? Why, then you strike the foot-track,
and go along it to where it forks, straight across that field
of rye. Then you go on straight ahead, and make a bee-line
for that gray horse there that’s browsing up there at the top
in the heath. Do ye see? ‘Then you go along the ridge,
close to the edge, keeping well to the right, till you come
across a big valley that slopes down to the marsh. In that
valley you’re pretty sure to find the Goldsoot.”
Heim Heiderieter nodded, as though taking it all in, although
all these directions were mere Dutch to him;- and on taking
leave of the man, he asked, “ What’s your name?”
“ Stoffer Cray,” said the man.
Heim gave a friendly nod, and went on, thinking, “ Well,
I’m blest! Now, I just wonder what’s going to happen next.”
He managed to get through the upper village all right, with-
out getting entangled in talk with anybody, and made a straight
course for the gray horse that was standing up in the heath;
but as he went he fell a-dreaming, after his usual fashion, and
tramped along with his eyes fixed on the heath at his feet.
When he awoke and looked up, lo! the gray horse was gone!
“ Of course,” said he; “there you are, now! Not a sign of
 JORN UHL 409
him. Strange thing that Nature seems to get out of gear as
soon as I start to go anywhere. That was the gray steed of
Woden.” He trusted the good spirits and pressed forward
to the heights. Standing still at times and looking around, and
thinking all sort of things about the objects he saw, as was
his wont, he found himself at last in the middle of young oak
thickets, but had not the faintest notion of how he had
got there. ‘‘ The Goldsoot’s not to be found, anyhow!” he
said. “They've hidden it away somewhere. They don’t want
me to see it, and are on for a little fun at my expense.” But
he didn’t lose heart over it, but went on whistling merrily
and giving a laugh now and again. “ You sha’n’t spoil my
good humor; I’m hanged if you shall,” he said, and found
it pleasant enough up there on the heights, stumbling through
the heath and the oak thickets, with occasional glimpses out
over the wide marsh. Now and again he turned around, for
it seemed to him as though some one were calling out behind
him. He thought, “ Of course, that’s some more of their
mockery and pranks. Pll bet my life on it!”
And now he really did hear light, swift steps behind him,
and suddenly turned around in terror. ‘There stood a bare-
footed, yellow-haired lad who was saying, “I’m to tell Heim
Heiderieter that he’s on the wrong track. He has to go in this
direction!” and he shot ahead and entered a narrow foot-
path that wound through the waist-high brushwood of young
oaks. Heim walked behind in silence, wondering that the
lad never ran into anything. Not a single branch was moved,
not a single dry leaf was rustled as he passed. So the lad
led him down a steep path into the little valley that sloped
into the marsh. ‘‘ Here is the Goldsoot,” he said.
“Eh?” said Heim. “How do you know I’m looking for
the Goldsoot?”
“ My father sent me here,” said the boy.
Heim looked at him distrustfully. There was something
so fresh and frank in the lad, and yet something quite awk-
ward and new, as though he had been a root a moment or
so ago, and, just to meet an emergency, had for a time been
changed into a human being. Heim hoped to catch him stum-
bling, and said, “ What’s your teacher’s name? ”
“ Brodersen.”
“Do you see?” said he. “ That’s not true. Hermann von
 `

410 JORN URL

Rhein is his name, and he’s an old schoolmate of mine. I’m
not so stupid as other people think, my lad. Now just tell
me straight out what you’re after.”
The boy laughed, and dipped his bare toes into the water
of the Soot. Heim’s eyes opened wide with expectation, and
he thought to himself, “ Now, he’ll spring in and nothing more
will be seen of him.”
“ Why, the teacher you mean, he’s away to Brunsbüttel,” he
said, as he drew his foot out of the water and waited till the
mirror was placid again. “ Now I can see the frog,” he said.
“ What frog?” said Heim, and he knelt down on the edge.
“Theres a gray frog in the Soot. See, there, on the
bottom! Hes sitting on the moss.”
“So he is!” said Heim. “That’s the first time in all my
born days that I’ve seen a gray frog. Lets get him out! ”
The boy laughed. “I think it’s a dead one,” he said, “ and
its color’s faded.”
“What?” said Heim, “a faded, dead frog? Well, if that
doesn’t beat everything!” He looked at the boy distrust-
fully, observing, “There are stupider boys than you in your
school, I should say. Eh, youngster?”
“ You're right there,” said the boy.
Heim got up off his knees. “‘ Just show me if you know the
tables yet? Now, how much is once seven? ”
The boy solved it.
“Hm!” said Heim. “ You’ve managed to hit it. . . . Now,
you'd better go. Thank you for coming with me. And here
are a couple of nickels for you.”
“Father says I’m not to take money.”
“What? I should say you’re not overrich by the look of
you. Eh? Suppose you folk down there haven’t got more
bawbees than me, have you? You pay your debts with col-
ored pebbles and mica quartz, don’t you? . . . Gad! I verily
believe there’s something uncanny about you after all. Just tell
me, so as to make sure, what you had to-day for dinner.”
ee and bacon,” said the boy, grinning and showing his
teeth.
“Well, I grant that sounds human enough.”
The boy jumped up and ran away up the hill-slope.
“Heigh!” shouted Heim after him, “ just tell me, laddie,
have you seen a gray mare that was said to be about here?”
 JORN UBL 411
A “A gray mare? ” said the boy. “ What gray mare? Why, it
isnt a gray mare at all. Its a big, bare sand-patch. See!
there it is. It only looks like a gray mare from a distance.”
Heim Heiderieter stood gazing first at the sand-patch and
then at the boy, who was now trotting away over the heath.
“ Strange thing,” he said, “ that it’s always me who has such
odd experiences. “There was something eerie about that boy,
I’m sure of it.”
He went down into the valley again, and laid himself in the
long gray grass beside the small clear pool.
It was not long before he heard footsteps approaching from
down the valley, and saw a man, still in his prime, somewhere
in the forties, with hair and beard of the hue of rye-straw,
and oval face, and eyes wonderfully deep and true. Half-
scholar, half-farmer. Suddenly he saw it was Jorn Uhl, and
sprang to his feet.
After they had done shaking each other’s hands, they lay
down in the grass, one on each side of the Goldsoot, and began
talking about old times. They had not seen each other for
two years.
“Old Wieten’s dead,” said Jorn; “you knew her, didn’t
you?”
“ Why, man, I should think I did! Do you know the sort
of life they used to lead over there at Haze Farm? ‘Thiess
would sit between the table and the stove, deep in the geog-
raphy of East Asia, with his feet propped up against the tiles.
And then he would pitch yarns about what he had been
reading. But the old chap hasn’t been farther away from
the Haze than the next village these ten years, never since
Elsbe’s return. Wieten used to sit by the stove darning and
knitting, just as she used to do at the Uhl when she sat between
you and Fiete Cray.”
“ How do you come to know all that?” asked Jörn.
“Oh, many a chat I’ve had with old Wieten Penn. She
had a most wonderful store of knowledge in that old head of
hers. She knew all the thousand and one things that have
happened these fifty years past in the little triangle that lies
between this quiet pool and the old town over yonder and
the church spire of Schonefeld, and she had a vivid recollec-
tion of all of them. That interested us, Jorn Uhl; yes, more
than all old Thiess’s Manchurian lore. She was a woman
 `

412 JORN UD
who always kept things pretty much to herself, though. She
had had to build a high wall around that fantastic world
within her, because stupid people laughed when they got a
glimpse of it.
“ And thats the reason why many deep and earnest people
are so taciturn, Jörn. But to me she sometimes opened the
door and let me see the house. You know, Jörn, what it’s
like—a good Old Saxon farmhouse, a little low in the roof,
and with many dark nooks and corners, but trusty and true.
. . - What do you say to Elsbe, Jörn? ”?
“No! what do you say?”
“ I should have thought she would have married Fiete Cray.
And he asked her, that I know. But she was against it. Do
you know what she said, Jorn?”
“What! do you mean to say you’ve been talking about it
with her?”
“Yes! why not, man? We're old friends, arent we?
‘You see, Heim,’ says she, ‘he’s a Cray, and they’re not the
most reliable people in the world, the Crays. And what’s
more, I don’t need him: I’ve got enough to mother already.’
. . e She’s mistress of Haze Farm, Jorn, and manages it better
than Thiess ever did; and lays special stress on keeping six
or seven good milch-cows. ‘Thiess has to obey her, and even
likes to do so. About Manchuria he can say what he likes,
even before her; that’s his special domain where nobody in-
terferes with him. But when he wants to get on to other
topics and talk about human life and God and the world, then
` he has to wait till I come, and he can go outside with me.
In summer we sit on the embankment by the edge of the Haze,
in winter we go into the cowshed. . . . It’s a pity, Jorn, that
Elsbe never marries; she would have made one of the right
sort of wives who keep always their husbands and children
warm.”
Jorn Uhl gazed away before him. “She is content,” he
said, “ and so is Fiete Cray. What he dreamed as a boy has
all come true. Hes now in charge of the Uhl, and can see
the low-roofed little cottage where he was born. He has
debts enough, almost as many as I once had; but he bears
them more lightly than I did; and the new railway line has
been a great lift for him. His business in all sorts of odds
and ends — in timber and firewood and coals and sand and what
 JORN UHL 413
not — is flourishing. My heart’s sore when I think of the clean,
neat old farmyard, and how it looks now, littered about with
everything; and I’m glad the old house is no longer standing.
Of a Sunday he’ll sometimes drive over to the Haze and drink
a cup of coffee there, and chat with Elsbe and the old man.
I believe things will go on so, and they’ll gradually grow old
without noticing it, and at last they’ll leave it all and go
away.”
“You've had a hard life of it, Jorn; I often wonder what
you yourself think about it all.”
“ How would you like to write the story of my life, Heim?
But perhaps it’s hardly the right stuff to make anything out
ro) ig
“Your life, Jorn Uhl, has been no commonplace one. Your
youth was still and quiet, decked out with all sorts of fantastic
pictures. As you grew up you were lonely, and in your lone-
liness, without any one’s help, you struggled manfully with
Life’s enigmas, and although you only managed to solve a
few of them, the trouble was not in vain. You went away
to fight for the land that lies around these water-rills of ours,
and you grew hard in fire and frost, and made progress in the
most important thing of all in life, you learned to distinguish
the value of things. You learned what woman’s love was
in all its intensity, and that is the second highest that Life
can give us. You laid Lena Tarn in her grave, and your
father and brothers, and you looked human misery in the tace
and learned humility. You fought against a hard and hostile
fate without succumbing, and won your way through at last,
although you had to wait many a day for help. You worked
your way into science with clenched teeth and dauntless will,
at an age when many a one is thinking of retiring on his
income, and although building, ditching, and surveying have
now been your work and delight for many a year, you haven’t
grown one-sided, but still take an interest in all the land that
lies beyond the reach of your surveying-chains, and still bother
yourself with the books written by a certain friend, Heim
Heiderieter by name. I wonder what stories one ought to
tell, Jorn, if such a deep and simple life isn’t worth the
telling.”
Jorn Uhl looked at him with kindly, thoughtful eyes.
“What you say sounds well,” said he. “And if I were to
414 JORN UHL
talk matters over with you, you could put many a thing in order
for me, that I have a feeling is still lying about meaninglessly.
It always seems to me as though there is a big rent in my
life.”
“I know,” said Heim, stretching his arm out over the Gold-
soot toward him. “ Look, Jörn. If you had had the kind,
clear-headed care of a mother, and had gone smoothly and
evenly into the study of science, you think your life would
have had a better course; while now, as you say quite rightly,
there is a break in it. You’ve got the feeling as though, some-
time or other, years ago, you got on to the wrong track,
and as if you were still upon a by-path, and could only catch
sight of the road you ought to be travelling from afar. But,
I tell you, Jörn, — you can ask any earnest man, — there’s
something in every life that doesn’t exactly tally, that’s out
of tune, so to say, and do you know why? If it were exactly
in tune the sound would be too thin. And if we were always
to go the way that mother would choose for us, we would
turn out dull, monotonous beings. We all have to take roads
heavy with sand, Jorn, before we get breadth and depth.”
“Yes,” said Jörn Uhl, “to have faith is everything.”
“Right! That’s everything!”
“Heim, Heim,” said Jörn, “there come years when it isn’t
easy.”
Heim reached out over the Goldsoot again. “ I know what
you’re thinking of,” he said. “ But after all, help came at the
right time, didn’t it? Wieten stood by you, and your little
son’s laughter sounded in the farmyard. ‘Then the door of
the manse opened to you—the broad green door with the
brass knocker. You got new heart there. “Then came death
and served you hand and foot, and smoothed your way for
you. And then came a proud and bonnie girl and walked beside
you, and played marbles with you on the Rugenberg. ‘Then
came your studies, and a fresh breeze blew into your life.”
Jorn nodded, and said, “ You know everything.”
“I know but little, Jorn, and I don’t like those who try to
make out they know everything; but it’s a fine thing to be
able, sensibly and cleverly, to see good meanings hidden in
things, even in the clouds that pass over the face of the
sky.”
“I can’t express myself like you do,” said Jorn, “ but I’m
 JORN UHL 4is
glad that I am of the same opinion. When I was a boy, I
fixed up a chest and a room for myself according to my fancy,
and used to think them the very hub of the universe, and from
there I spied out upon God and the world, and felt myself
on equal terms with both of them. But the older I grow the
more ignorant I am, and the greater is my reverence and
wonder.”
“You are right,” said Heim. “It’s a mistake to indulge in
too much talking. One should make things clear by deeds,
not by words. But as we both of us have a stretch of work
behind us already, there is no harm in our talking about it.
After the battle the soldier’s allowed to tell his comrades how
strokes were dealt and strokes were parried. Now I’m off.
Where are you going to?”
“I have been inspecting a lock in Brunsbüttel,” said Jorn
Uhl, “and now I’m going over to the Haze on foot. Kind
remembrances to your wife and children, Heim!”
“The same to yours, especially the second eldest — a bonnie
little lass, Jorn.”
“ When you come to see us, mind you don’t tell either her
or her mother that! ”
They went up the valley to the heath road.
“ And if I were to tell the story of your life,” said Heim,
“what title ought I to give the book?”
Jörn stood still and said gravely, “ My wife once proposed
Craig jack’!
“There’s some sense in that, Jorn, upon my word! Oh,
these women, Jorn! But it’s wrong, without a doubt. Every-
thing they say is only half-true, Jorn. They see things flat;
even an egg looks flat to them, because they only look at things
from one side.”
“ Theres something true in it, though, Heim. I don’t
know whether it’s because I had no guiding hand in the most
critical years. It’s not been an easy matter for me to find the
right track. I have the feeling that I have often gone long
roundabout ways when it was quite unnecessary.”
Heim shook his head. ‘ All of us who didn’t follow others
and swear by them, but sought to understand things for our-
selves, have that feeling.”
“ Well,” said Jorn, “if the title I suggested is no use, find
me another good old German name, and say when you've
 `

416 PORN "UE

finished your book, ‘ Although his path led through gloom
and tribulation, he was still a happy man. Because he was
humble and had faith.’ But don’t say too many wise things,
Heim. We can’t unriddle it, after all.”

THE END.
 -= -Date Due
JAN 14°

i
le |
PTZ NAIZ
RABI CB
1965
 ST. OLAF COLLEGE
PTA
Fren:sserm sta - Jorn Uhl, by Gustg