"But he doesn't sleep," she answers, pouting like a scolded child. Then the window is shut. The voices die away. Johannes laughingly shakes his head and goes to bed, but he cannot sleep. Those flowers prevent him which Trude has placed at his bed-side, and the leaves of which hang right over the edge of the bed. Pale bluish bunches of lilac and the nebulous white stars of narcissi are mingled together. He turns round, kneels up in bed and buries his face in the flowery depths. Fondly the leaflets kiss his eye-lids and his lips. Suddenly he listens. From underneath the floor, as it were from the bowels of the earth, comes a quiet laugh. It is soft as a breath of wind passing over the grass, but so merry, so full of happiness. He listens, hoping to hear it again, but all is still. "Crazy little body, you," he says amused, then falls back upon his pillow and drops to sleep smiling. Next day Johannes fetches down his working-clothes. They are a bit tight across the shoulders. But then, one gets broader. The sun is already high in the heavens. As if it could shine so brightly, right into one's heart, anywhere else!--The sun of home is a wonderful thing. What it looks upon, it gilds, and when it touches one's lips, they begin to sing. "It is lovely at home--hurrah!" "Now I have a nest of merry birds in the house," laughs Martin, coming to greet him. "Go on singing. I am used to that from Trude--but what are you doing in that white coat?" "I suppose you think I am going to be idle here?" "At least just for a day!" "Not for an hour! My lazy times are over!" Martin has meanwhile noticed the flowers at the bed-side and says with a grumbling laugh: "Now there's a little witch for you! I have forbidden it for myself, and now she begins the same nonsense with others. That's why you look so pale this morning. "I, pale? Not in the least!" "Don't say a word! I'll cure her of her tricks." With that they go downstairs. Trude is nowhere to be seen. "She has been in the garden since five o'clock," says Martin with a pleased smile. "Everything goes like clock-work since she's at the head of affairs. As quick as a weasel, up at peep of day and always merry, always ready with a song and a laugh." On their way to the mill a young turnip whizzes past the brothers', heads. Martin turns round and laughingly threatens with his finger. "Who was that?" asks Johannes, peering in bewilderment round the empty yard. "Who but she?" "But can you see her anywhere?" "Not a trace of her! Oh, she's a teasing elf who can become invisible at will." And with a beaming face he follows his brother to the mill. The hours pass by. Johannes wants to show what he can do and works with twofold energy.