the name of "Brethren's House," rather in
remembrance of the custom still existing in Moravian villages than
because it was strictly the abode of unmarried men who sought there a
home. It was the fact that many unmarried men did dwell there, but also
it was true that the house was the one inn of the place, and at this
time it was well filled, as Loretz had said to Leonhard when he opened
for him his hospitable gate.
At the head of the long dining-table Albert Spener took his place, and
room was made beside him for his guest; and truly it was a company of
cheerful-hearted workers, on whom no director might look without a
thrill of satisfaction.
"Stay a month with us as a probationer," said Spener suddenly, bringing
his eyes to bear upon Leonhard, and there was kindly and powerful
persuasion in them. "We can make you comfortable at least, and perhaps
you may be brought to like us. I want to have a school-house built here:
it is getting to be a necessity. You shall give us something ornamental
in spite of ourselves, if you insist upon it. And it may be no difficult
thing to compel me to put up houses on both those sites. But you are
settled already, I suppose?"
"No," answered Leonhard: "I am much more unsettled than any man of my
years ought to be. I am so unfortunate as to have two professions."
"Get into debt, and that will straighten you for a while," said Spener,
laughing heartily. "When I had fairly left my employer and set this
enterprise afoot, I gave up my sleeping habits. You will be obliged to
part with something in order to convince yourself that you are in
earnest. If you give up sleep, you will soon come to decisions."
"I owe enough," said Leonhard.
"I should not have guessed it. You sleep yet, though."
"Because I can't help it. Yes, I sleep."
"Then you will have to part with something of your free will--one of the
professions, I suppose: you can't follow two very well. It is
astonishing," Spener continued, not averse to talking about himself just
now, when he was so much occupied with thoughts which concerned himself
chiefly--"it is astonishing how different things look from the two sides
of an action. Do your best, you cannot tell before you have taken a step
how you will feel after it." On that remark he paused for a moment. Then
he went on. It was a relief to talk with this young stranger: he had
this advantage in the talk--it relieved him, and what he said, much or
little, did not affect
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