"You are weak and foolish; therefore you are deceived. "But you cannot help it, poor children. I know it well; for the children suffer because of what parents and grandparents have done. "But yet nobody receives what he does not deserve. "We suffer for our parents and grandparents. Do not call that unjust. The wise ones love their parents, and will redeem their wrong-doing. "And we can all make amends for what our parents did amiss. Yes, we can make amends to our parents--even now that they are dead. "The grave is not a snare, children, for catching soul-birds. Father and mother are living still, and are benefited through our efforts. "Make your little ones good, then, for you will have need of them. Yes, those who die like the dumb beasts--like the harlots and drunkards--even they will find good children most needful. "And no one can complain who fails of the expiation of the good children, nor is there any one who with their help cannot grow wiser. "If two travelers, wandering at night in the cold--the one having wood, the other matches--do not understand each other, both will suffer and be lost in the dark. "And if two shipwrecked people have between them a single cocoanut, and one takes the milk and the other the meat, then they both will perish--one from hunger, the other from thirst. "So, also, with wisdom; and no one lives upon the earth who can be wise alone." Markus' voice rang loud and clear, and it was as still as death in the sultry field, among those ragged people. For a time he was silent, and Johannes was so moved he was softly weeping; although he by no means accurately understood the meaning of the discourse. Finally, the husky voice sounded again, but now more gently: "I'll be darned if I can make head or tail of it; but I take it for truth." "Children," said Markus, "you are not bound to understand, and you are not bound to believe me; but will you, for my sake, remember it, word for word, and teach it to your children? Then I will be grateful to you." Softly rang the voices here and there: "Yes--yes, indeed!" "Will you not play some more?" asked a young girl with large, dark eyes. "Yes, I will play, and then you can dance," said Markus, nodding kindly. Then he took a violin from one of the musicians and began to play for the dancing--such fine music that the promenaders upon the street along the canal stood still, and remained to listen. A magistrate, who often played piano and violin duets with his friend the notary, remarked that there must be a veritable Zigeuner among the Fair-folk, since he only could play in such a manner.