n's heavy tread walking up and down.
"It is just as it used to be--that has been his Saturday's walk all
these twenty years I have known him. Marlene is with the labourers in
the hayfield--I sent her away that I might be left to do my work in
peace. When she is in the house, she would always have me sitting idle
in the corner with my hands before me. She must needs do everything
herself. We have new men just now, and I am glad that she should look
after them a little, until they get accustomed to their work. Won't
she be surprised to find you here? Now come, we must go upstairs to
father, and let him have a look at you. It will be midday directly.
Come along--he won't be angry at your disturbing him."

She led her son after her, still keeping hold of his hand while she
slipped up the narrow staircase before him; then softly opening the
door, with a sign to Clement, she pushed him forwards while she stepped
back. "Here he is at last!" she said; "there you have him!" "Whom?"
cried the old man angrily, and started from his meditations; and then
he saw his son's bright face beside him radiant in the morning
sunshine. He held out his hand: "Clement!" he cried, between surprise
and joy, "You here!" "I was homesick, father," said his son, with a
warm grasp of the proffered hand. "I am come to stay over the holidays,
if there be room for me now that you have Marlene here." "How you
talk!" eagerly broke in his mother; "If I had seven sons, I know I
should find room for them. But I will leave you to your father now; I
have to go about the kitchen, and I must rifle our vegetable-beds, for
in town, I doubt they have been spoiling you."

And with that she went, leaving father and son still standing silently
face to face. "I have disturbed you," at length said Clement; "you are
in the middle of your sermon." "You can't disturb a man who has already
disturbed himself. I have been going about all the morning, turning
over my text in my mind, but the seed would not spring up. I have had
strange ideas; misgivings I could not master."

He went to the little window that looked upon the church. The way
thither was through the churchyard. It lay peacefully before them, with
its flowers and its many crosses glittering in the noonday sun. "Come
hither, Clement," said the old vicar gently; "come and stand here
beside me. Do you see that grave to the left, with the primroses and
monthly roses? It is one you never saw before. Do you know who it