Thus every generation had for a thousand years contributed something to the strengthening or beautifying of the old castle, from the giant wall which belonged to pagan times, to the asparagus beds that had been laid out this spring. Much had disappeared without leaving a trace; much also had been preserved; but as even the oldest parts bore the marks of life, of continued usefulness, there was no sudden break visible, and the whole produced a most pleasing impression, as if everything was just as it ought to be. Castle Grenwitz had lost, it is true, its primitive character, and Oswald hardly thought he was looking upon an old feudal castle, built by robber-knights, but fancied rather he saw a peaceful convent of contemplative monks, when he returned in the evening from a walk with his pupils, and remained standing at a certain place of the wall, from whence he could look down upon the grass-covered yard in its dark shade, the garden with its countless flowers, and the castle itself, whose gray walls shone dimly in the twilight, while the swallows were flying swiftly to and fro, twittering merrily in their evening sport. CHAPTER IV. A quiet, convent-like life it was which they led at Castle Grenwitz. The region enclosed by the old wall lay virtually behind an ivy-covered churchyard wall, and no noise, no disturbance was ever heard there. No dogs barked there, no horses neighed; the hours glided quietly away, like the shadow on the sun-dial above the portal--quietly as the flowers in the garden bloomed and gave out their perfumes. The very wind seemed but to rustle gently in the branches; the birds sang low melodies in the tree-tops; and as for the inhabitants of the castle, why, the large hall-clock in its oaken stand could not do its daily work more punctually and systematically, or be freer from all desire of innovation than they were. The servants did their work with the regularity of automatons. Even the furniture seemed to be imbued with this spirit of order, so that Oswald could not get rid of the idea that the chairs and sofas moved by themselves back to their proper places, if by a rare chance they had been dislodged for a time. Little as Oswald had ever been accustomed to such a methodical life, and much as he disliked it by nature, he still had enough elasticity in him to adapt himself readily to the profound peace which reigned all around--an effort in which he was largely aided by his gentle disposition, full of good-will towards man. He did what he saw others do, and returned the formal bows with which people greeted each other on all occasions, with the same air of solemnity which he would have assumed when dancing a minuet at a masked ball.