my own thoughts, but the water-doctor came up to me, and said courteously: 'Don't be angry with me, Mr. Bailiff, but you've made yourself very remarkable this afternoon.' 'How?' I asked. 'Miss von Hinkefuss was crossing the passage when you ran out of your room, and she has told every one else in strict confidence.' 'And so,' I said, 'you give me no sympathy, the gentlemen laugh at me, and the ladies turn their pretty backs upon me. No, I didn't come here for that! If Miss von Hinkefuss had met _me_, if half a bushel of bee-stings had been planted in _her_ body, I should have asked her every morning with the utmost propriety how she was. But let her alone! There is no market where people can buy kind-heartedness! Come away, doctor, and pull the stings out of my body.' He said he couldn't do it. 'What!' I asked, 'can't you pull bee-stings out of a man's skin?' 'No,' he said, 'that is to say, I _can_ do it, but I dare not, for that is an operation such as surgeons perform, and I have no diploma for surgery from the Mecklenburg government.' 'What?' I asked, 'you are allowed to draw gout out of my bones, but it is illegal for you to draw a bee-sting out of my skin? You dare not meddle with the outer skin which you can see, and yet you presume to attack my internal maladies which you can't see? _Thank_ you!' Well, Charles, from that moment I lost all faith in the water-doctor, and without faith they can do nothing as they themselves tell you when it comes to the point. So I went away quietly and got old Metz, the surgeon at Rahnstädt, to draw out the stings. That was the end of the water-cure; still it's a good thing; one gets new ideas in a place like that, and even if one's gout is not cured, one gains some notion of what a human being can suffer. And now, Charles, this is a water-book I have brought you, you can study it in the winter-evenings." [Three more years had passed, and Louisa Hawermann at the parsonage was repaying her father's and her foster parents' love and care by growing up the loveliest girl of the neighborhood. Uncle Bräsig, to be sure, would have qualified this by saying "next to his two round-heads." No qualification, however, was justified in the eyes of Frank von Rambow and Fred Triddelfitz, the two young men studying agriculture under Hawermann. They fell in love with her, each after his own fashion. Frank deeply and lastingly, Fred--whom uncle Bräsig loved to call the "gray hound"--ardently if not irretrievably. This, however, he did not know, and as he felt his blood seething, he was thoroughly wretched.]