Ilse clasped her hands together, lamenting over the fall of so much fruit; but there was still much on the trees, and they might yet hope for a rich harvest. The Professor sympathized with her and advised her to dry the fallen fruit, and Ilse laughed again at this because most of it was unripe. The Professor confided to her that he as a boy had helped his dear mother when she used to arrange the fruit on the drying-board; for his parents had owned a large garden in the town in which his father was an official. Ilse listened with eager interest when he related further how he had lost his father as a boy, and how lovingly and wisely his mother had cared for him, how confidential his relations with her had been, and that her loss had been the greatest sorrow of his life. Then they walked up and down along the gravel walk, and in both of them an echo of the sorrow of past days intermingled with the cheerful mood of the present; just as in nature the movement of a violent storm leaves after it a gentle trembling, and the pure light of day sparkles on bower and blade like countless glittering precious stones. Ilse opened a gate which led from the lower part of the orchard into the open country, and standing still, said, hesitatingly: "I propose a walk into the village to see how our Pastor has stood the storm; would you like to make the acquaintance of our dear friend?" "I shall be delighted to do so," answered the Professor. They walked along a damp footpath that wound its way through the length of the valley by the side of the churchyard. Near it lay a little village of closely-packed houses, in which dwelt most of the laborers of the estate. The first building below the church was the Pastor's house, with a wooden roof and small windows, differing little from the dwellings of the country people. Ilse opened the door, and an old maid-servant hastened toward her with a familiar greeting. "Ah, Miss," she exclaimed, "we had bad weather to-day. I thought the day of judgment had surely come. Master stood constantly at the chamber window looking up to the manor and raising his hands in prayer for you. He is at present in the garden." The guests passed out through the rear door into a small space between the gables and barns of the neighboring farmyards. A few low fruit trees stood along the edges of the flower-beds. The old gentleman, in a dark dressing-gown, stood by an espalier, working industriously. "My dear child," he cried, looking up, and a smile of pleasure lighted up the kind face under his white hair, "I knew that you would come to-day." He bowed to the stranger, and, after a few words of greeting, turned again to Ilse. "Only think what a misfortune--the storm has broken our peach tree, the espalier is torn up and the branches are shattered; the damage is irreparable." He bent over the disabled tree, which he had just bound up with a bandage of tree-gum and matting.