ed
in this out-of-the-way corner for fifty years, had disappeared last
Christmas. The whole next day the rain continued to beat against the
window. There was nothing to be done, and I spent my time in arranging
the scattered but numbered sheets of the vanished schoolmaster's
manuscript, which I found littered in the drawer allotted to me for my
scant belongings. And then I began to read that strange man's diary, the
first page of which only bore the words:

_The Papers of the Forest Schoolmaster_

So I am at last settled in this wilderness. And I will write it all
down, although I know not for whom. My father died when I was seven, and
I was taken charge of by an itinerant umbrella-maker who taught me his
trade, and on his death left me his stock of some two dozen umbrellas,
which I took to the market. A heavy shower just at midday helped me to
sell them rapidly, and I only retained one for my own protection and for
that of an elegant gentleman who, unable to secure a carriage, made me
accompany him to town to save him from getting drenched. He made me tell
him all about myself, and offered to take me as apprentice in his
bookshop. He was a kind master. When he discovered' that I was more
interested in the contents of his books than in my work he secured me
admission in a college. I studied hard, and obtained my meals at the
houses of private pupils whom I undertook to coach. My friend Henry, a
clothmaker's son, had procured me a post as teacher to Hermann, the son
of the Baron von Schrankenheim. I was treated with every consideration
in his house, and became deeply attached to my pupil's sister. Of
course, the case was hopeless then; but in a few years, when I should
have passed my examinations and taken my degrees--who knows?

An indiscreet speech, which offended my teachers, made an end to all my
dreams. I was ploughed, and I resolved at once to leave the town, and to
seek my fortune in the world. I first enlisted with Andreas Hofer to
fight the French invaders, and was carried off a prisoner into France.
Then only I learnt that the Tyrolese were rebels against their own
emperor, that I had fought for a bad cause; and to atone for it I took
service with the great Napoleon's army. I was among those who escaped
from the Russian disaster, and, in my enthusiasm for Napoleon, whom I
regarded as the liberator of the peoples, fought for him against my own
country. At Leipzig I shot Henry, my best friend, whom I only r