"That the farm," said the woman by way of amendment, "_had_ belonged to the sovereign, more than two hundred years ago. My ancestors bought it of the government, and paid its price. My grandfather had the papers in his possession, but at his death they were not to be found. My father was away when he died, so the authorities scaled up the inheritance and took charge of all documents. Amongst these were the papers proving the purchase of the farm, and since then we have never seen them. It was said they were not sealed up with the others, or that they got lost." "The sly judge knows well enough where they are." "Who can prove it? We told him as much, but he only laughed, and threatened us with an action for slander. Thereupon they began proceedings to turn us out of the farm. The old papers were accepted as valid; all sorts of laws were brought forward--laws which the sovereigns themselves had made; and they so twisted and turned the matter that, at last, house and land were adjudged to the crown. There is no justice for the poor peasant: justice in this country is a crying scandal. The judges think only how best to be agreeable to the nobility and the sovereign, that they may get a bit of ribbon, or an increase, of salary, or a better place. "But I have yet one hope left," continued the woman. "We have addressed a memorial to his Highness, placing plainly before his eyes the injustice that the tribunals have done us. We have told him everything--how the judge wanted to bargain with us about the documents, how he suppressed our papers, how he and the long-legged counsellor laid their heads together, and plotted, and planned, and bribed witnesses for our ruin. I expect the answer every minute. If there be yet one spark of justice in our sovereign's heart, he cannot and will not suffer them to expel us from our farm." "Poor woman, build not too much upon _that_." "But I do build upon it, for I have trust in God and in good men." "In _good_ men. Good men have a heart for poor people. But where will you find that amongst those in high places?" The old peasant's presentiment as to the fruitlessness of the memorial is well-founded. On the return of the farmer without any reply from the reigning prince, his wife appeals to the commissioners, who are busy taking an inventory--preparatory to making over the property into the hands of an administrator--to suspend execution of the judgment obtained until the pleasure of the sovereign shall be known. "Judge," said the woman, "we have petitioned the sovereign; an answer may come any minute: until then, we need not go." "But, my dear Mrs Oberhage, think of the judgment rendered. You have already made all the appeals possible. Justice must have its course."