r peaks; but even
this front slope is so steep that the harvest gathered on the upland
meadows has to be brought down to the valley on sledges.

Along the footpath between the hedges two men were now walking, one
behind the other. The one in front was a little old man, whose dress
showed him to be a person of property. He carried a cane in his hand,
with the tasselled string twisted about his wrist by way of precaution.
His step was still firm; his face, a perfect mass of wrinkles, moved up
and down as he mumbled lumps of white sugar, which he produced from
time to time from his pocket. His sandy eyebrows were brushed out till
they stood almost at right angles with his face, and from under them
peered a pair of shrewd, light blue eyes. The young man who walked
behind was tall and slender, with crape on his hat and on the sleeve of
his long blue coat. He kept his face turned to the ground, and shook
his head sadly as he walked. At last he stopped, and straightened
himself up, bringing to view a fresh face, with light beard and blue
eyes, whose lids were red with weeping.

"Uncle," he said, hoarsely. The sugar-eater turned round. "Uncle, you
have gone far enough. Thank you heartily; but the way is long, and I
would rather go home alone."

"Why?"

"I don't know why; but I feel it were better so."

"No, no; turn back with me."

"I am sorry not to oblige you, uncle; but I cannot,--I really cannot go
to the inn just now. I am neither hungry nor thirsty; I don't know when
I shall ever eat and drink again. It is a pity you should take this
long walk for me."

"No, no; I will go home with you. I am not so hard-hearted as your
mother tried to make you believe."

"My mother tried to make me believe no evil of you. She spoke nothing
but good of any one, and especially against her relations she would
hear no tales. 'To speak evil of a brother is to slander yourself,' she
used to say."

"Yes, yes; she had plenty of proverbs. 'Marie Lenz used to say so and
so,' is in every one's mouth. Nothing but good should be spoken of the
dead, and in fact there can no evil be said of her."

The young man cast a sad glance at his uncle. He always managed to put
a sting even into his kindliest words.

"How often she has said to me lately," continued the young man, "and
how it pained me to hear her, 'Lenz, I have lived six years too long
for you. You ought to have married at five-and-twenty; it will come
harder now. You have grown too