Hawermann was still sitting quietly in his room thinking. His first anger had passed away, and he was able to write calmly, so he rose and wrote a few lines giving up his situation at Christmas, and asking for leave of absence during harvest, for he knew that he could be of no use there. Having done this he took his hat and stick, and went out; he felt that he must have fresh air; he was stifling in the house. He seated himself on a stone wall under the shade of an elder-bush, and gazed down the Warnitz road to see if the waggons were coming; but there were no waggons to be seen; the only moving object he could descry was Bräsig, who was coming towards them along the Warnitz road.--"As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, I can't understand you, Charles! Why are you leading in the rye so soon? It's as green as grass! And what do you mean by letting six waggons follow one another in a row? And why are the loaded waggons stopping on the road?"--"I don't know, Bräsig. You must ask the squire and Triddelfitz."--"What?"--"I've nothing more to say, Bräsig"--"How? Why? What do you mean?" asked Bräsig, raising his eyebrows as high as he could in his astonishment.--"I've nothing more to say," repeated the old man with quiet sadness, "I am put on one side; the squire thinks me too old to be of any use."--"Charles," said Bräsig, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder, "what's the matter? Tell me."--And so Hawermann told him all that had happened. When Bräsig knew the whole story he turned round, and clenched his teeth savagely, looking as if he wished the beautiful world, at which he was glaring so angrily, were a hazel-nut that he might grind it between his teeth. Then he growled passionately as he looked down the Warnitz road: "The Jesuits! The beastly Jesuits!" and turning again to Hawermann, he said: "Triddelfitz is another serpent you have warmed in your bosom, Charles."--"How do you make that out, Bräsig? He must do as he is told."--"Here he comes at a gallop, and all the six waggons after him! Will they ever keep up, I wonder--just look how top-heavy they are! It's a comedy, an agricultural comedy! Mark my words! There'll be an upset at the old bridge!" cried uncle Bräsig, dancing as vehemently on his poor gouty legs, as if he wished to make them pay the penalty of all the mischief that had been done that day. I am sorry to have to confess it, but it is nevertheless true that Bräsig was full of delight at the thought that the returning harvesters were almost certain to meet with an accident, which he thought would only serve them right after what had happened that morning. "There it is, as flat as a flounder!" he exclaimed joyfully when the first overloaded waggon reached the turn of the bridge, and then upset.--"Wo!" was shouted from the bridge. "Confound it! won't you stop! Wo, can't you!" Fred looked round about him, what was to be done? He did not know what to do. Suddenly he