It never ceased snowing, and Joseph, being quite alone on the ice, kept sliding backwards and forwards on the ground, and constantly looking at the path where his father was likely to come. But he found himself at last so solitary, that he went to his grandfather's. He remained standing outside the door of the workshop, for he heard two men talking there. He knew their voices: they were the two churchwardens Wagner and Harzbauer. They were saying that the cook at the Parsonage had let out that the Pastor intended to leave the village, and that she believed Roettmann and the Forest Miller were the chief cause of this; and then they abused Adam, saying that he well deserved his nickname of _The Horse_, for he allowed himself to be bridled and driven about, just as other people chose. The men now came out, along with Schilder-David, who said, "So you are there, Joseph? Go home, and I will soon come to you." His grandfather did not take him by the hand, as usual, but went with his two friends to the Parsonage. Joseph stood still. But suddenly, as if some one had whistled to him, he turned round, and ran off through the village into the fields, to meet his father. "He will be so glad to see me! and he will put me before him on his horse." Away ran the boy, jumping merrily along through the fields, and into the wood. Every now and then he wiped off the snow from his face and breast with his hands, and making small snowballs, he threw them at particular trees that he fixed upon, and never failed to hit them. He went more slowly when he was once fairly in the wood, and often looked round. Two bullfinches were perched on a mountain ash close to the path, twittering incessantly, but as if half asleep, and every now and then picking the red berries; but many more than they ate, were scattered on the ground. "You are silly, greedy fellows, and destroy more than you eat," said Joseph, and, despising the simple creatures, went on his way. Below in the valley a bird was singing charmingly, and with infinite tenderness: it sounded something like the notes of a thrush. What could it be? And the bird went on singing and flying--on and on, further and further! Deep snow was lying where the path takes a sharp turn. At the very first step Joseph sunk up to his knees. He was, however, quick enough to clamber up an overhanging bank, and then to get down again into the path beyond the snowdrift. It was lucky that this steep declivity was planted with mountain ash, to show the way.