he could
read an answer on the label.

It was a large room in which they were sitting, a sort of garden-hall,
furnished very simply and in an old-fashioned style, with two birchen
corner-cupboards, which in our grandmother's time served the purpose of
the present elegant buffets, and which, instead of costly majolica,
displayed painted and gold-rimmed cups behind their glass doors;
with a large sofa, whose black horse-hair covering never for a
moment suggested the possibility of soft luxurious repose; with
six simply-constructed cane-seated chairs grouped about the large
table, and finally, with several dubious family portraits, among
which especially to be noted was the pastel portrait of a youthful
fair-haired beauty, whose impossibly small mouth wore an embarrassed
smile as if to say: "I beg you to believe that I did not really look so
silly as this!" And over all this bright orange-colored curtains shed a
peculiarly unpleasant light.

The door of the room was open and as if in compensation for all this
want of taste, a wonderful prospect spread itself out before the eye.
Lofty wooded mountain tops, covered with rich foliage which the autumn
frosts had already turned into brilliant colors, formed the background;
close by, the neglected garden, picturesque enough in its wild state,
and shimmering through the trees, the red pointed roofs of the village;
the whole veiled with the soft haze of an October morning, which the
rays of the sun had not yet dispersed. The regular strokes of the
flails on the threshing floors of the estate had a pleasant sound in
the clear morning air.

The young man's dark eyes strayed away from the wine-bottle; he started
up suddenly and went to the door.

"And in spite of all that, Richard, it is a charming spot," he said
warmly. "I have always had a great liking for North Germany. I assure
you 'Faust' is twice as interesting here, where the Brocken looks down
upon you. Don't croak so like an old raven any more, I beg of you. I
shall never forget Frankfort, but neither shall I miss it too much--I
hope."

"Heaven forbid!" cried the little man, still playing with the empty
wine-glass. "You don't pretend to say--"

But Linden interrupted him. "I don't pretend anything, but I am going
to try to be a good farmer, and I am going to do this, Richard, not
only because I must, but because I really like this queer old nest; so
say no more, old fellow."

"Well, good luck to you!" replied the o