It was a lonely place, but Trudel liked it, and went on toward the wood, turning the heel of her stocking while she walked,--pausing now and then to look over at the sluice-gates which stood here and there ready to let off the water when autumn rains made the lake rise, or in the spring when the flax-fields were overflowed before the seed was sown. At the last of these she paused to gather a bunch of yellow stone-crop growing from a niche in the strong wall which, with earth and beams, made the dike. As she stooped, the sound of voices in the arch below came up to her distinctly. Few people came that way except little girls, like herself, to gather fagots in the wood, or truant lads to fish in the pond. Thinking the hidden speakers must be some of these boys, she knelt down behind the shrubs that grew along the banks, and listened with a smile on her lips to hear what mischief the naughty fellows were planning. But the smile soon changed to a look of terror; and she crouched low behind the bushes to catch all that was said in the echoing arch below. "How did I think of the thing? Why, that is the best part of the joke! Mein Herr von Vost put it into my head himself," said a man’s gruff voice, in answer to some question. "This is the way it was: I sat at the window of the beer-house, and Von Vost met the burgomaster close by and said, ’My friend, I hear that the lower sluice-gate needs looking to. Please see to it speedily, for an overflow now would ruin my flax-fields, and cause many of my looms to stand still next winter.’ ’So! It shall be looked to next week. Such a misfortune shall not befall you, my good neighbor,’ said the burgomaster; and they parted. ’Ah, ha!’ thinks I to myself, ’here we have a fine way to revenge ourselves on Master von Vost, who turned us off and leaves us to starve. We have but to see that the old gate gives way _between_ now and _Monday_, and that hard man will suffer in the only place where he _can_ feel,--his pocket.’" Here the gruff voice broke into a low laugh, and another man said slowly,-- "A good plan; but is there no danger of being found out, Peit Stensen?" "Not a chance of it! See here, Deitrich, a quiet blow or two, at night when none can hear it, will break away these rotten boards and let the water in. The rest--it will do itself; and by morning those great fields will be many feet under water, and Von Vost’s crop ruined. Yes, we _will_ stop his looms for him, and other men besides you and I and Niklas Haas will stand idle with starving children round them. Come, will you lend a hand? Niklas is away looking for work, and Hans Dort is sick, or they might be glad to help us." "Hans would never do it. He is sober, and so good a weaver he will never want work when he is well. I _will_ be with you, Peit; but swear not to tell it, whatever happens, for you and I have bad names now, and it would go hard with us."