For all of this, from the second opening of that door, old Liebereich had only dreamed. But, quite as they had said, he would never know better, for he never woke. And when the neighbors indeed came through that door again in the morning, with guilt upon them, with stealth, wondering whether he were now dead, while it was yet dark, holding candles once more to his eyes, old Liebereich met them with such a beautiful, smiling, heaven-touched face that, one and all, they dropped to their knees. And their eyes were not dry. And I am no longer sure of that philosophy, a few pages past, where we agreed that nothing could be better than to wait for old Liebereich’s wife—and Christmas. Or maybe the German wives are right, and he is better off? For perhaps he hears sweeter music than the Christmas bells; perhaps there is a more glorious light than the morning sun in that doorway; perhaps the background of his picture is crowded with fairer faces than those of his former neighbors. God knows! Perhaps immortal youth has, in truth, come. Perhaps he does, indeed, embrace his wife. Else what is the use of heaven? God knows! “IUPITER TONANS”[5] I THE SERIOUS INSOMNIA OF HIER RUHET The Spring of The Thousand Years on the Island of Floresnik, in the South Pacific, has now a pink marble panel, with an ornamental border, put up by the Society for the Prevention of Disappointment, warning the traveller, in Gothic letters and seven languages, that he who drinks of it will sleep unchanged a thousand years. But no such warning was there on the morning of the 15th of December, 1504, when the Iupiter Tonans, seventy-two guns, Admiral Hier Ruhet, from Amsterdam eighty-eight days, bore down upon the little island. The great new battleship had been separated from her consorts by the thick weather following the storm on the 12th of January of that year, and had now been out of her reckoning and without fresh water for twenty-three days. There was little attempt at discipline as the great ship came to anchor. Indeed, none was needed. From Ruhet down to the ship’s boots, Jawrge, but one desire prevailed,—water. Nor was there any waiting for boats. The crew waded or swam ashore and drank till they could drink no more. Nicht Wahr, the haughty first officer, dropped to the earth by the side of the third cook and put his face into the enchanting pool with him—jowl by jowl. So that around the great spring, like the fringe on the admiral’s cap—which he had taken off to drink—was the crew of the Tonans. And when all were satisfied, the pool had nearly vanished. “Ah, Nicht Wahr,” said the admiral, to his next in command, “now I am again filled up, thank God!” with which he rolled over on his back and disposed himself to sleep. But he remembered then how the pool had lowered as they drank and cried out humorously to his men: “On your life, don’t no one but me go to sleep till the ship has had her drink. Fill everything!”