ay as though he had said
something more than unkind. Then he strode over to the other side of
the road and kept his head obstinately turned towards the field. He did
not look at his friend again, so that Mikolai, who was completely
nonplussed, grew silent too.

So they walked along in silence through the soft mud and deep ruts,
each on his side of the road. Mikolai's eyes suddenly felt wet. The
deuce, what was that? He rubbed them angrily, but they were wet the
next moment again. Here, here they had driven last summer--only a few
months ago--with hay and flowers on the wagon, and had been so gay. And
now? His lips trembled, he felt unstrung. At last he had really seen
that things must take their course.

When they reached the farm the house lay in darkness. There was only a
light in Mr. Tiralla's room to the right of the passage; they could see
it shining through the closed shutters.

What, was that confounded Boehnke there again? If you had a sharp ear
you could hear somebody speaking in a subdued voice, almost a whisper,
and a gurgling sound as though they were drinking quickly and then
putting their glasses down. Mikolai flew into a rage; he felt just in
the humour to pitch the fellow out. It was not exactly the thing he
cared to do, for a guest is sacred; but that cad was no guest, he was
[Pg 263] a monster. He was ruining his father entirely. Mikolai lifted
the latch angrily, but the door did not yield, it was locked. Then he
shook it in his fury, "Hi, open the door!" He banged and scolded. But
everything remained quiet in the room, nobody answered and nobody
opened the door.

Then he rushed out of the house and into the barn in his anger, threw
himself down on the straw, clenched his fists and wept aloud until he
fell asleep.

When the schoolmaster left the farm at a late hour that evening Mr.
Tiralla was quite drunk. He had only enough sense left to whisper in a
tender voice, "Little Boehnke, friend, take care. If Mikolai catches
you, he'll chop you into small pieces, perhaps with the hatchet,
perhaps with the chopper. Ugh! he's a brute--they're all brutes
here--ugh! my friend, you don't know what brutes they all are. My dear,
beloved friend." Mr. Tiralla fell on the other's neck, kissed him and
stammered in a hiccoughing voice, while he stroked his cheek, "If
I--I--ha--hadn't you--God--bless--you--it would--b--be all--up--with
me."

Boehnke left the room filled with a strange emotion. He was not so drunk