The son drew a deep breath, and for some time both he and his mother were silent. At last the mother laid her hand on his shoulder, and said: "Oh, you are good! And I thank God that He has made you so. You did well to put that out of your mind. Your father would never have consented to it, and you know what a father's blessing means." "No, mother, I will not make myself out better than I am. I myself was annoyed that she was only a servant; I knew it would not do, and therefore I went away. But it is even harder than I expected to get her out of my mind--but now it's over, it must be over. I have promised myself not to make any inquiries about her, not to ask anybody where she is, or who she is, and, God willing, I shall bring you home a worthy farmer's daughter." "Surely you acted fairly by the girl, and did not put any foolish notions into her head?" "Mother, there's my hand--I have nothing to reproach myself for." "I believe you," said the mother, and she pressed his hand repeatedly. "And now, good luck, and my blessing go with you!" The son mounted his horse, and his mother looked after him. But suddenly she called out again: "Stop--I must tell you something else. I have forgotten the most important of all." The son turned his horse around, and when he got back to his mother, he said, smiling: "But mother--this is the last, eh?" "Yes, and the best test of all. Ask the girl about the poor people in her town, and then listen to what the poor people have to say about her. A farmer's daughter who has not taken some poor person by the hand to help her, cannot be a worthy girl--remember that. And now, God keep you, and ride forth bravely." As he rode off the mother spoke a prayer to speed him on his way, and then returned to the farm. "I ought to have told him to inquire about Josenhans's children, and to find out what has become of them," said the mother to herself. She felt strangely moved. And who knows the secret ways through which the soul wanders, or what currents flow above our wonted course, or deep beneath it? What made the mother think of these children, who seemed to have faded from her memory long ago? Was her present pious mood like a remembrance of long-forgotten emotions? And did it awaken the circumstances that had accompanied those emotions? Who can understand the impalpable and invisible elements that wander and float back and forth from man to man, from memory to memory? When the mother got back to the farm and found the father, the latter said: "No doubt you have given him many directions how to fish out the best one; but I, too, have been making some arrangements. I have written to Crappy Zachy--he is sure to lead him to the best houses. He must bring a girl home who has plenty of good coin." "Plenty of coin doesn't constitute goodness," replied the mother. "I know that!" cried the farmer, with a sneer. "But why shouldn't he bring home one who is good and has plenty of coin into the bargain?"