"Good morning, master," was the greeting of the head-servant Tobias, in a confidential tone. "You will find everything, the stock and the fields, in good condition." Landolin only nodded. So Peter had not yet dismissed the head-servant; perhaps he will not do it. Landolin spoke to the servant who had been taken in Fidelis' place; and asked him, condescendingly, from what district he came, and in whose service he had previously been. The servant answered respectfully, and Landolin was reassured. Peter had evidently not announced that he was now to be master, and Landolin was almost grateful for this deference, which in reality was simply what was due to him. He went through the stables, and found everything well cared for. A maid, who was singing as she filled the racks with fresh clover for the cows, did not stop her song when she saw him. He looked at her in astonishment, and asked at length, "Why do you not speak to me?" "Because I've hired out to the Gerlach farmer, and the other two maids are going too." "Why?" "Peter has dismissed us; but we would have gone anyway." Landolin went into the yard again, and while he unfastened the dog's chain and patted him, he said, "You'll not forsake me, will you?" He pushed the dog's jaws apart, to look into his mouth. "You must be happy! they have broken out my teeth. I can bite no more, and people are no longer afraid of me. Come; hold still, while I put a spiked collar round your neck. I must have something of the kind for myself." He went in and sat down in his arm-chair. The dog lay on the floor beside him. Strange! The chair is not so easy as it used to be--the seat is hard, the back too straight! But, notwithstanding this, Landolin forced himself to stay quietly at home. He felt sure that somebody or other would call, if only as they were passing. He frequently looked toward the door; but it did not open, and no one came. Finally, when evening drew near, he went out of doors. CHAPTER XLIII. Only a few months ago a strong man had crossed this threshold. He was now changed, and the world was changed, particularly his own household. During his absence he had constantly thought how merry it was at home. And yet there was nothing merrier there than quiet, uninterrupted work; and he himself had always been a stern, morose man, before whom every one in the house, save Thoma, trembled. To be sure Thoma had always been light-hearted, and perhaps that was why he thought the whole household merry. With downcast gaze Landolin went up the road. His present frame of mind was the most injurious a man could be in, and highly improper for a farmer. He was irritable, and, as is always the case with irritable people, he was weak and helpless, and trusted to external causes to bring him new energy and incitement. As he raised his eyes he saw, at some distance, a woman with a red kerchief approaching him. Is that "Cushion-Kate?" Should he turn back?