But the child opened her eyes wide: "It speaks," she said; "Wienke is frightened." "It doesn't speak; it only roars and surges." The child looked off into the distance. "Has it legs?" she asked again; "can it come over the dike?" "No, Wienke, your father takes care of that, he is a dikegrave." "Yes," said the child and clapped her hands with an idiotic smile; "Father can do everything--everything." Then suddenly, turning away from her mother, she cried: "Let Wienke go to Trien' Jans, she has red apples!" And Elke opened the door and let the child out. After she had shut it again she looked up at her husband, and an expression of the deepest sorrow lay in the eyes which hitherto had always brought consolation and courage to his aid. He held out his hand and pressed hers as if there were no need of any further word between them; but she said softly: "No, Hauke, let me speak: the child that I have borne to you after waiting for years will always remain a child. O, dear God! She is feeble-minded; I must say it before you once." "I have known it a long time," said Hauke, and held tight the hand that his wife wanted to draw away from him. "And so we are still alone after all," she said. But Hauke shook his head: "I love her and she throws her little arms around me and presses herself close against my breast; I would not do without that for any treasure!" The woman looked darkly ahead of her: "But why?" she said; "What have I, poor mother, done to deserve it?" "Yes, Elke, I too have asked that, asked Him who alone can know; but, as we both know, the Almighty gives men no answer--perhaps because we should not understand it." He had taken his wife's other hand and drew her gently to him: "Don't let yourself grow disturbed and be hindered in loving your child, as you do; you can be sure she understands that." At that Elke threw herself on her husband's breast and wept her fill and was no longer alone with her sorrow. Then suddenly she smiled at him; after pressing his hand vehemently she ran out and fetched her child from old Trien' Jans' room, and took her on her lap and fondled and kissed her till the little girl said stammeringly: "Mother, my dear Mother!" Thus the people on the dikegrave's farm lived quietly together; if the child had not been there much would have been lacking.