Little Joseph went to church with his parents, holding a hand of each; he looked curiously at the people he met, but said nothing, only clinging close to his father. At the church door the parents dismissed Joseph to join his schoolfellows, and themselves separated--one joining the women, and the other the men--in their different parts of the church; but the two were now united, the same building containing them, and their voices harmonizing together. The singing was not so perfect as usual, for the best singer was wanting, who had often with his deep bass notes helped the schoolmaster out of a difficulty. Haespele failed the choir, for he was so hoarse that he could not speak a word, far less sing. When little Joseph joined his comrades, some of them asked him--"Do you know what you are called now?" "Joseph Roettmann, just as I always was." "No, Joseph in the Snow, that's your new name," and they persevere in calling him by that name to this day. In the course of the afternoon many healths were drank in the inn to the worthy Pastor, and also to "Joseph in the Snow," and each had much to tell of all that had occurred during the night. The terror would have been a hundredfold increased, had they known all the steepness of the rocks and precipices. It seemed a much greater wonder that no one had been injured, than even little Joseph having made his way straight to the Forest Mill through so many perils. Schilder-David was at home, dressed in his Sunday clothes, seated before his large Bible, carefully reading its precious words--running his finger along the lines as a guide--from where he had left off two evenings before. Schilder-David lived out his life in his usual quiet fashion, constantly reading his Bible from beginning to end. There had been a wonderful combination of mercies for him, and all had turned out for the best. At noon a messenger came into the village, and declared that there was a corpse lying in the Forest Mill. "The Roettmaennin!" exclaimed all. "No! the Forest Miller himself; it seems he must have died last night, but it was only discovered to-day. There is no doubt that he killed himself by trying to drink as hard as Speidel-Roettmann, and I hear nothing could be more horrible than to hear the Roettmaennin, who tried to wake him at night to come to her aid, scolding and cursing. It was a dead man she was raging at." All shuddered, and certainly the death of the Forest Miller was much deplored, but he ought to have died at some other time, for now people spoke less of Joseph's rescue, and more of the Forest Miller's sudden death.