"Oh, do tell me something. About the procession. Or even if it's
only about your sow. How many little ones did she have last time?"

"Thirteen." Cilia could not resist _that_ question, but still she
remained taciturn.

"Is your cow going to calve this year too? How many cows has the
biggest farmer near you? You know, the one down near the Warthe,
Haulaender. Do tell me." He knew all about everything, knew all the
people at her home and all the cattle. He could never get tired of
hearing about them and about the country where the bells tinkle for
matins and vespers or call with a deep, solemn sound for high mass on
Sundays. He was so very fond of hearing about the country, about the
large fields in which the blue flax and golden rye grow, about the
bluish line of forest on the horizon, about the wide, wide stretches of
heath, where the bees buzz busily over the blooming heather and the
fen-fowls screech near the quiet waters in the evening, when the sky
and the sun are reflected red in them.

"Tell me about it," he begged and urged her.

But she was reluctant and shook her head. "No, go away; no, I won't.
The mistress has been looking at me like that again this evening--oh,
like--no, I can't explain. I believe she's going to give me
notice."

He had crept up to his room in a sulk and undressed himself. He had
grown so accustomed to it that he could not sleep now when Cilia did
not tell him something first. Then he fell into such a quiet sleep, and
dreamt so beautifully of wide stretches of heather covered with red
blossoms, and of quiet waters near which the fen-fowls screeched, which
he went out to shoot.

Oh, that Cilia, what was the matter with her to-day? How stupid!
"The mistress is going to give me notice." Nonsense, as if he would
stand that. And he clenched his hand.

Then the door creaked.

He craned his neck forward: was it she? Was she coming, after all?
It was his mother. He slipped hastily into bed and drew the covering up
to his forehead. Let her think he was already asleep.

But she did not think so and said: "So you're still awake?" and she
sat down on the chair near his bed on which his things were. Cilia
always sat there too. He compared the two faces in silence. Oh, Cilia
was much prettier, so white and red, and she had dimples in her fat
cheeks when she laughed, and she was so jolly. But his mother was not
ugly either.

He looked at her attentively; and then suddenly a hitherto quite
unk