Then when they came into the spacious living-room of the dikemaster, where the shutters were already closed and the two candles burning on the table, the latter wanted to rise from his armchair, but his heavy body sank back and he only called to his former man: "That's right, that's right, Hauke, that you've come to see your old friends. Come nearer, still nearer." And when Hauke had stepped up to his chair, he took his hand into both of his own: "Now, now, my boy," he said, "be calm now, for we all must die, and your father was none of the worst. But Elke, now see that the roast gets on to the table; we have to get strength. There's a great deal of work for us, Hauke! The fall inspection is coming; there's a pile of dike and sluice bills as high as the house; the damage to the dike of the western enclosure the other day--I don't know where my head is, but yours, thank God, is a good bit younger; you're a good boy, Hauke." And after this long speech, with which the old man had laid bare his whole heart, he let himself drop back into his chair and blinked longingly toward the door, through which Elke was just coming in with the roast on the platter. Hauke stood smiling beside him. "Now sit down," said the dikemaster, "so that we won't lose time for nothing; that doesn't taste well cold." And Hauke sat down; it seemed to be taken for granted that he should help to do the work of Elke's father. And when the fall inspection had come and a few more months of the year were gone, he had indeed done the greatest part of the work. The story-teller stopped and looked round. The scream of a gull had knocked against the window, and out in the hall one could hear a stamping of feet, as if someone were taking the clay off his heavy boots. The dikemaster and the overseers turned their heads toward the door of the room. "What is it?" called the first. A strong man with a southwester on his head had stepped in. "Sir," he said, "we both have seen it--Hans Nickels and I: the rider on the white horse has thrown himself into the breach." "Where did you see that?" asked the dikemaster. "There is only the one break; in Jansen's fen, where the Hauke-Haienland begins." "Did you see it only once?" "Only once; it was only like a shadow, but that doesn't mean that this was the first time it happened." The dikemaster had risen. "You must excuse me," he said, turning to me, "we have to go out and see what this calamity is leading to." Then he left the room with the messenger; the rest of the company too rose and followed him. I stayed alone with the schoolmaster in the large deserted room; through the curtainless windows, which were now no longer covered by the backs of the guests sitting in front of them, one could have a free view and see how the wind was chasing the dark clouds across the sky.