“And you have not learned to play the flute either, I suppose?” “No.” “Oh, fie! If you love me, you will learn it.... I will give you a beautiful flute next time.” “I have nothing to give you in return.” “Oh yes--you shall give me all the songs which you play. And when your heart is very sad ... well, only read that book; everything is in there.” Paul looked at it from all sides. “What a wonderful book it must be!” he thought. “And now tell me something about yourself,” she said. “What are you doing? What are you working at? How is your dear mamma?” Paul gave her a grateful glance. He felt he could speak to-day of all that was in his heart; then it suddenly occurred to him that the pause for breakfast was long over, and that the servant was waiting for him with the horses. By noon he must finish, for after dinner the cart was to drive to the town with a load of peat which he had had secretly cut. “I must go to work,” he faltered. “Oh, what a pity! And when will you have done?” “At dinner-time.” “I can’t wait so long as that or mamma will be uneasy. But in the next few days do come and look here again--perhaps you’ll find me. Now I shall lie here for another hour or so and watch you. It looks quite splendid when you walk up and down in your big snowy white cloth and the grain flies round you.” He gave her his hand silently and went away. “I shall leave the book here,” she called after him; “fetch it when you have finished.” The servant smiled knowingly when he saw him come, and Paul hardly dared to raise his eyes to him. Each time when he passed at his work the place where she was resting in the wood she raised herself up a little and waved to him with her pocket-handkerchief. About twelve o’clock she rolled up her hammock, stepped to the edge of the wood, and called out a farewell to him through her folded hands. He took off his cap to thank her, but the servant looked the other way and whistled softly, as if he had seen nothing. During dinner that day his mother could not take her eyes from her son, and when they were alone she went up to him, took his head in both her hands, and said, “What has happened to you, my boy?” “Why?” he asked, with embarrassment. “Your eyes sparkle so suspiciously.” He laughed loudly and ran away; but when at supper she still looked at him--inquiringly and sadly--he was sorry that he had not given her his confidence, and went after her and confessed all that had happened to him. Then her haggard face suddenly lit up as by a ray of sunshine, and while he crept away ashamed, with glowing cheeks, she looked after him with moist eyes and folded her hands as if in prayer. He sat up in his room till nearly midnight, his head leaning on his hands. The mysterious book was lying on his knee; but he could not read it, because his father had forbidden him to burn a light at night. He had to wait till Sunday.