e so much out of a little, and never have I seen a happier or more
peaceful face on a death-bed.

My grand-uncle's burial was grand and magnificent. All the town-council,
and many of the nobles joined in the funeral-train. Bells tolling and
priests chanting, crape, tapers, incense and the rest of it--we had more
than enough of them all. Only one thing was lacking, namely, tears--not
those of the hirelings who attended it, but such as fall in silence from
a sorrowing eye.

In the Im Hoffs' great house all was silence till the burying was done;
up in the tower, where old Adam Heyden lay asleep, the bells rang out as
they did every day, for wedding and christening, for mass and mourning;
yet by the low door which led to the narrow turret-stair I saw a crowd
of little lads and maids with their mothers; and albeit the leaves were
off the trees and the last flowers were frozen to death, many a child
had found a green twig or carried a little bunch of everlasting flowers
in its little hand to lay on the bier of that kind old friend. It was
all the sacristan could do to keep away the multitudes who were fain to
look on his face once more; and when he was borne to the grave-yard, not
above two hours after my grand-uncle, there was indeed a wondrous great
following. The snow was falling fast in the streets, and the fine folks
who had attended him to the grave were soon warming themselves at home
after the burying of old Im Hoff. But there came behind Adam Heyden's
bier many right honest and respected folk, and a throng, reaching far
away, of such as might feel the wind whistling cold through the holes in
their sleeves and about their bare heads. And among these was there many
a penniless woman who wiped her eyes with her kerchief or her hand, and
many a widow's child, who tightened its little belt as it saw him who
had so often given it a meal carried to the grave.

CHAPTER XIV.

Our good hope of going forth with good-speed into the wide world to risk
all for our lover and brother was not to be yet. We were fain to take
patience; and if this seemed hard to us maidens, it was even worse for
Kubbeling; the man was wont to wander free whither he would, and during
these days of tarrying at the forest-lodge, first he lost his mirthful
humor, and then he fell sick of a fever. For two long weeks had he to
be abed, he, who, as he himself told, had never to this day needed any
healing but such as the leech who medicined his beast