"God grant," she said, "that you don't cause too much mischief in this world, my child." "Why should I cause mischief?" Lilly faltered, mortified again. "I don't do a bit of harm to anybody." Miss von Schwertfeger laughed. "The one good thing is, you don't know who you are," she said, and drew her to the corridor and down the old stairway, which cracked at every step. In the dining room were four dark men's figures besides the colonel's. At Lilly's entrance they hastily drew up in line. One was the man with the round grey beard--"Mr. Leichtweg, our chief inspector," said the colonel. The next was the stout, copper-coloured man--"Mr. Messner, our bookkeeper." Somebody else was introduced, and then--then-- "Lieutenant von Prell, who is learning farming here," said the colonel. Just a slight inclination of her head, the same as to the others, no more. But my poor, merry friend, how you look! A long frock-coat fell below his knees, his narrow-pointed head was lost in his high collar, his clothes hung in loose, limp folds. Every feature of his, every marionette movement bespoke rigid formality and obsequiousness. Lilly stood there lost in pity and astonishment. If she had not seen him that very morning while he was-- "Shake hands with the gentlemen," she heard whispered behind her. She started and pressed the honest country fists more firmly than beseems a chatelaine. But she quickly let go Von Prell's freckled hand, which was still well kept. "Thank the Lord, he won't betray us," she thought. Then came grace. CHAPTER XVI The finches were the maddest of all. The titmice, too, made a racket, and so did the nuthatches, and the blackbirds behaved as if they were lords of the place, while the stay-at-home starlings formed in groups among themselves and paid no attention to the rest of the world. Beside, there were the hedge-sparrows and wrens, who added a fair share to the chorus. But the fanfare of the finches was too much for ears accustomed to the tiny twittering of a caged canary. Old Haberland knew them all. Old Haberland was the gardener, who pottered about in felt shoes and lived, in a measure, from the colonel's bounty, since he held sway now over nothing but the lawn sprinkler. He knew which birds nested on the ground and which in the branches. He knew the time each began to sing and the best place to stand if you wanted to study their plumage and habits.