"To value?" replied Knips, contemptuously. "They know nothing about me or my learning, and the less one teaches them the better they are pleased. It is a labor for them even to look for what stands at everybody's disposal, and what has been put in hundreds of folios is new to them. I treated them like little boys, and they did not find it out. No, mother, they understand how to value me even less than the Professor world here. No one appreciates my knowledge. Yes, there is one that does," he murmured to himself, "but he has more pride than the Chamberlain. The Chamberlain seems to wish to inform himself about the old tilts and masquerades; I will send him my little edition of Rohr as a present. There is so little in it that it is good enough for him. I bought the book for four groschens; the parchment is still tolerably white. I will wash it with sal-ammoniac, and paste his coat of arms into it. Who knows what may come of it?" He cleaned it, and prepared his paints. "The world is full of tricks, mother. Who would have thought that I could have earned anything by this old absurd nonsense of heraldry?" He drew and painted at the coat of arms. "I have seldom brought gold into the house, and then it was always for underhand traffic that did me no honor." Here he broke off. "I will once more put on my livery when I take him the book, then put it out of sight." * * * In the district of Rossau the road surveyors put up their stakes, and at the University, Magister Knips placed the white pig's-skin binding in the hands of his illustrious patron. Ilse rejoiced that the road to her father's estate would be useful to every one, and the professor heard with interest that the man whom he had recommended had succeeded well, and he smiled kindly at the expressions of gratitude tendered by the Magister. But for the good formation of the new road, and the approved dexterity of the little man, the happy couple, who in both cases had hit upon the right person, were to receive thanks that they did not desire. _CHAPTER XXIII_. PHILOPENA. One evening Ilse had placed the last remaining dainties of the holiday season on the table; Laura was rattling an uncracked almond, and asked the Doctor whence arose the time-honored custom of Philopena. The Doctor doubted the antiquity of the custom and could not explain its origin at the moment, but he was evidently perplexed at his uncertainty in the matter. Thus, he neglected to request the mutual pledge of the double almond. Laura cracked the shell and carelessly laid two almonds between him and herself, saying: "There they are." "Shall we share them?" cried the Doctor, gaily. "If you like," replied Laura, "giving and taking, as is usually done. But it must be only in joke," she added, thinking of her father; "and no presents."