It began already to grow dusk as he walked across the sweet-scented heather. His heart was weighed down with secret fear. He did not dare to think out the cause, but as he walked past the juniper-bush, beneath which he once had whistled his most beautiful song to Elsbeth, a pain shot through his breast as if he had been stabbed. He stopped and reconsidered whether it would not be better to turn back. “My coat is much too shabby,” he said to himself; “I can’t show myself in any decent society.” He took it off and looked at it on all sides. The back was getting shiny at the seams; at the elbows there was a dull silver gloss, and the border on the flaps of the breast even showed a little fringe. “It won’t do with the best will in the world,” he said, and then he sat down beneath the juniper-bush and dreamed how smart and elegant he would look if only he could afford a new coat. “But that won’t be yet a while,” he continued; “first Max and Gottfried must have permanent places, and Greta and Katie must have the ball-dresses they wish for, and mother’s arm-chair must be newly done up--” and the more he thought the more other things came to his mind which had a prior claim. Then again he saw himself in a brand-new black suit, patent-leather shoes on his feet, a fashionable tie round his neck, entering the dancing-room with a careless, distinguished air, while Elsbeth smiled at him very respectfully. Suddenly he started from his dreams. “Oh, fie! what a fop I am growing!” he scolded himself. “What have I to do with patent-leather shoes and fashionable ties? And now I will just go in my old coat to the wood. Besides, it has almost grown dark,” he added, prudently. Louder sounded the trumpets, and through the branches of the fir-trees joyful laughter met his ears. A turfy spot in the wood had been selected for the principal scene of the festival. In the middle of it stood the platform for the musicians, on the right the tent of the village innkeeper, who sold sour beer and sweet cake, and on the left a place for dancing was fenced off, the entrance to which cost a groschen more, as one might read on a white board. Round about in a big circle tables and benches had been placed where the different families enjoyed the supper they had brought with them, and through it all a jubilant, giggling, staring crowd was pressing, eager for either love or a good hand-to-hand fight. The concert was already finished, the dancing had begun; on the firm, trodden-down moss the couples circled round breathless and stumbling. The glow of the sunset lay on the open space, while the wood bordering it was already buried in darkness. Here were the farm-servants and maids from the neighboring hamlets; even the coachmen had left their carriages, because it would have broken their hearts to have looked on at these love-makings from the distance. Every bush, every small tree seemed alive, and out of the darkness came low, amorous tittering.