The ground on which he had been walking had so far been undulating; now it became level, like the surface of the sea during a calm. A vast heath lay before him; beyond it the village with the church, which was the goal of his pilgrimage. Other farms appeared here and there against the horizon. The willows, which so far had followed the road on both sides, became scarcer, and at last disappeared entirely. Here and there the turf had been taken off and the peat lay bare, or was piled up high in long black rows, for the purpose of drying. In the ditches glimmered the black waters. Pee-wees and other marsh-birds were flying to and fro. In the whole wide expanse Oswald did not see a human being, except a woman who was sitting a few hundred yards before him, upon a boundary-stone. As he came nearer he saw that it was an old woman, dressed very poorly, but scrupulously neat. She must have fallen asleep on the stone from the fatigue of her journey, for she quickly threw up her head when Oswald approached, and looked with astonishment at the young man. "Good-morning, mother," said the latter, stopping; "is the village there before us Fashwitz?" "Yes," said the woman, with a vivacity rare at her time of life; "are you going to church there?" "Yes, mother. When does service begin?" The old woman glanced up at the sun, and said: "I have slept too long; it is too late now for me; my old legs won't carry me fast enough; but you are a young man. You will be in time yet I beg your pardon, sir, but what is your name?" "Stein--Oswald Stein." "Stein? I must have heard that name somewhere." "Maybe. It is not a rare name." "Stein--hm, hm; I beg your pardon, sir, where do you come from?" Oswald, who was rather amused at being questioned in this naïve way, and who liked the manner of the old woman, sat down opposite to the old lady on the trunk of a fallen willow-tree. He knew there was time enough for him; and while she, with her wrinkled hands resting on her knees, fixed her deep-sunk but expressive eyes firmly upon his face, he said to her: "From Grenwitz, mother." "From Grenwitz? Is it possible? That is where I came from. I beg your pardon, sir, are you on a visit there?" "Not exactly. I teach the boys." "Is that possible?" "Why not?" "Well, the candidates for the ministry generally look very differently." Oswald laughed. "And you are walking the long way quite alone, mother?" "I have not a soul who could walk with me; my husband died ever so long ago, and my boys died and my girls died--they all died." The old woman smoothed the folds of her dress on her knee as if she meant to say: All buried, and the earth smoothed down over them, and there is an end of them all. Oswald felt deep pity for the lonely, helpless old age of the woman. He said, merely in order to say something which he thought might be of some little comfort to the poor old soul: "Well, you will see all your dear ones again in the other world."