"Well, it is as much as to say a place for loading and unloading. The whole stretch of land hereabouts (and he pointed backward) was, in fact, always one great domain, and was called under Old Fritz and even earlier under the warrior kings the domain Wusterhausen. And the thirty villages as well as the forest and moorland all belonged to it. Now you see the thirty villages naturally had to obtain and use many things, or what amounts to the same thing, they had to have egress and ingress, and for both they needed from the beginning a harbor or a place to buy and sell, and the only doubt would have been what place they should choose for the purpose. They actually chose this place; this bay became a harbor, a mart, an 'Ablage' for all that came and went, and since the fisher who lived here at that time was my grandfather Hankel, the place became 'Hankel's Ablage'." "It is a pity," said Botho, "that this cannot be so well and clearly explained to everyone," and the host who felt encouraged by the interest shown was about to continue. But before he could begin, the cry of a bird was heard high in the air, and as Botho looked up curiously, he saw that two large, powerful birds, scarcely recognizable in the twilight, were flying above the water. "Were those wild geese?" "No, herons. The whole forest hereabouts is full of them. For that matter, it is a regular hunting ground. There are huge numbers of wild boar and deer and woodcock, and among the reeds and rushes here ducks, and snipe." "Delightful," said Botho, in whom the hunter was waking up. "Do you know I envy you. After all, what is in a name? Ducks, snipe, woodcocks! One could almost wish to be in such pleasant circumstances also. Only it must be lonely here, too lonely." The host smiled to himself and Botho, who noticed this, became curious and said: "You laugh. But is it not so? For half an hour I have heard nothing but the water gurgling under the pier, and just now the call of the herons. I call that lonely, however beautiful it may be. And now and then a couple of big sailboats glide by, but they are all alike, or at least they look very similar. And really each one seems to be a phantom ship. It is as still as death." "Certainly," said the host. "But that is only as long as it lasts." "How so?" "Yes," repeated the host, "as long as it lasts. You speak of solitude, Herr Baron, and for days together it is truly lonely here. And it might be so for weeks. But scarcely has the ice broken up and the spring come when we have guests and the Berliner has arrived." "When does he come?"