Fred Triddelfitz arrived. But how did he come? Being the only son of his mother--she had two daughters besides--he was so grandly got up for his new mode of life that he might have passed for a farmer's apprentice, a grain-merchant, a commercial-traveller, a farm-bailiff, a tenant-farmer or a country-gentleman, according to the part he was called upon to play, or as his own fancy dictated. He had kid-boots, and leather-boots, laced-boots, top-boots and high-lows; he had dressing-slippers, dancing-shoes, and shoes that came up well about his instep; he had buttoned leggings, leggings for riding in, and other kinds of leggings; he had evening-coats, linen smock-frocks, tweed-coats, and pilot-jackets, he had greatcoats, waistcoats, and water-proofs, and it would be impossible to mention the names of all the various kinds of trousers and breeches with which he was provided.--This outfit arrived at Pümpelhagen one beautiful morning in a number of huge boxes, together with a feather-bed and an enormous davenport; the carrier at the same time gave the pleasing intelligence that the young gentleman might be expected at any moment, for he was on the road, and his arrival had only been delayed by a slight difference between him and his father's old sorrel-horse which he was riding; the horse refused to go further than Gürlitz parsonage, because he had never before been required to do so. How the battle would end the carrier did not know, for he had left it still undecided, but the young gentleman was coming all the same. The carrier's information was correct, the young gentleman came; but how did he come? He was dressed as grandly as if he had been the agent of two large estates, and had been asked by his master, the Count, to join his great hunting-party; he had on a green hunting-coat, white leather-breeches, boots with yellow tops, and spurs, and over all he wore a water-proof, not because it looked like rain, no, but because it was a new kind of dress, and he wanted to hear what people said about it. He was riding his father's sorrel-horse, and it was easy to see that they were not on the best of terms with each other. The sorrel had come to a stand in the middle of the large pond in front of the parsonage, and had refused to move to the great terror of little Mrs. Behrens, but at last after a struggle of about ten minutes, Fred got the mastery by the aid of his riding-whip and spurs, and now when he dismounted at Pümpelhagen his new water-proof was coated with mud. The sorrel stood quietly in front of the door of the home-farm at Pümpelhagen, stared straight before him, and asked himself: "Is _he_ a fool, or am I one? I am seventeen years old, and so is he. I am of a reddish brown colour, and so is he. He got his own way to-day, but I'll have mine next time. If he ever attacks me with whip and spur again, I'll just lie down quietly in the pond."