“Thou wert ever absent in thy mind,” said Mother Werther, with a laugh. “Thou wilt find it in some odd place where it ought not to be.” “I was sure I put it safely in my chest of drawers,” said the school-master. “I recall the very day on which I laid it in the topmost place.” “Now recall the day thou didst take it from the drawer,” said the overseer. “Nay, I know it hath lain there undisturbed by my hand,” said Gerson Brandt. “Was it a book of much worth?” inquired Mother Werther. “Yea, one most precious to me—the Bible that I have been illuminating these many months.” “The Bible that the stranger coveted?” inquired the overseer, pointing towards Everett, who stood by, listening to the conversation. The school-master nodded. It was not five minutes before every one working in the vineyard knew that Gerson Brandt had lost his Bible, and there were some, Everett noticed, among both men and women, who muttered to one another as if they accused the school-master of some sinister design concerning the book the colony claimed. Everett walked up and down among the rows of vines, until he noticed that Adolph Schneider had come to the place where Gerson Brandt had busied himself. He could see that the Herr Doktor spoke emphatically and waved his cane, and that the school-master replied with quiet dignity. “The Bible that thou wouldst buy hath disappeared in a strange manner,” said Adolph Schneider, addressing Everett. “It will be found in the space of a day or two, for we have no thieves in Zanah. The overseer and I both believe Brother Brandt hath forgotten where he put it, and that he will find it when he maketh a more thorough search.” There was something like insinuation in his tone, and Gerson Brandt’s face flushed. “The book hath been taken from my room,” he said. “It is where I cannot find it.” “Thou speakest as if thou wert brother to the simple one,” said Herr Schneider. “I speak the truth,” said Gerson Brandt. “Yea, he telleth the truth,” declared Hans Peter, pulling himself up on his knees and looking at the Herr Doktor. “The truth! What dost thou know about it—thou of little mind and less judgment?” said Adolph Schneider. “I may know much, and I may know little,” said Hans Peter, swaying himself back and forth on his knees. “Surely thou hast not taken my Bible?” said the school-master, with a look of mingled hope and fear on his face. “Nay, I have not said that I took it,” replied the fool. “Yet thou hast knowledge of it, Hans Peter?” asked Gerson Brandt, his eyes scanning the dull face of the simple one. “It is said I have knowledge of naught,” said Hans Peter, who rose to his feet and, folding his arms across his ragged, blue blouse, confronted the school-master and the Herr Doktor with fearless eyes. “Why bandy words with a fool?” said the overseer. “There is much to be done.”