Two days and two nights it stormed in the valley and on the plateau, with only short intermissions. When the thunder-clouds are ensnared between close-set wooded mountains and sharply pointed rocks, they can find no outlet. They toss hither and thither; they break and then come together again; it thunders and lightens, rains and hails, till they have entirely disburdened themselves. One could almost say that it was the same with the people here; when bad humor had fastened on these hard, sharp-pointed natures, the anger and quarreling had no end. Landolin and Thoma sat by the mother's sick bed; sometimes together, sometimes alone. Their eyes flashed, but their thoughts were unspoken. The mother was constantly faint, for the air did not cool off during the two days and nights. On the third day, however, when the sun shone again, and a balmy, fresh air quickened everything anew, she said: "I feel better. Thoma, it would do you good to go out, and the judge's kind wife has certainly something good to say to you. Go and see her. She sent you word by the doctor. Go, for my sake, and bring me back good news. You can go right away. You have nursed me as I hope some day your child may nurse you." Peter had told them that Anton had returned from Holland, and that he had seen him talking earnestly with the judge's wife. And, although her mother did not say so, she secretly hoped to live to see their reconciliation. Thoma prepared herself for the walk into the city. But she did not wish a stranger to mix in their affairs. She did not need outside help, and it would do no good. When she went to her mother, in her Sunday dress, the mother said, taking her hand: "Child, you look quite different, now you have fixed yourself up a little. Let me give you this advice. You are so gentle and so kind to me; be the same to others. Don't put on such a dark face. There, that's right. When you laugh you are quite another person. Say good-bye to your father; he is at the stable. The bay mare has a colt. That is a good sign. Go in God's name, and you will come home happy again. God keep you!" As Thoma went past she called a hurried good-bye into the stable, and did not wait for an answer. On the road it seemed to her as if she must turn back: she ought not to leave her mother to the care of strangers; but she went forward, thinking over what she should say to the judge's wife. Thoma often threw up her hands in distress, and looked sadly at the destruction which the hail had wrought in the fields; but she soon comforted herself. She knew that her father had them insured against hail. Now they should have something in return for the tax they had paid so many years. When she reached the beautiful pear-tree which before had looked like a nosegay, she stood still. The storm had shaken off almost all the pears, and they lay scattered on the ground. Thoma called a girl who was working in the potato field to come and pick them up. Then she went on her way.