“Walda, when thou art given the tongue of the Spirit, thou wilt be separated from all Zanah. Thou wilt then live close to thy Creator, and, even though I am an elder, I shall be denied the privilege of speaking to thee. Lest there be no opportunity to talk again to thee alone, I will tell thee now that always my thoughts will dwell close to thee. In my heart the memory of the little girl that I have known so many years will remain forever.” The tremor in his voice and the solemnity of his manner cast a feeling of awe upon Walda. Moved by an irresistible impulse, she dropped on her knees at his feet. “Give me thy blessing, Gerson Brandt,” she said; and the man held his hands high above her bent head as he said, simply: “God bless thee and keep thee, Walda Kellar.” The girl rose and slowly passed out of the door. Gerson Brandt went back to his desk. Again he put his elbows on the worn lid. Again he rested his chin in his hands. He sat thus for half an hour. Hans Peter, coming in on tiptoe, walked up a side aisle without being noticed. He climbed upon the stool, and the school-master roused himself to ask: “Dost thou want me?” “Thou wast thinking about thy lost Bible,” said the simple one, ignoring the question. “Thou hast no cause to borrow trouble.” “What dost thou know about it?” demanded the school-master. “I know that it is where the Herr Doktor seems not to be able to find it,” said the simple one, twirling his thumbs. “I know that it is lost. I know thou canst not find it.” “Hush, hush, Hans Peter. The Bible is not a subject by which thou canst display thy talent for speaking foolish words.” VIII It was the beginning of spinning-time in Zanah. The grape crop had been gathered, the bare fields had been raked, and nothing remained to be done outside that could not be accomplished by the men and boys. Therefore the women of the colony were assigned the task of making the linen used in the households at Zanah. Although the very latest machinery had been installed in the mills, it was still the custom among the women to spin the colony sheets and table napery. The large dining-room in the inn had been cleared, and twenty wheels had been distributed here and there for the use of the favored “mothers” privileged to enjoy what was really an annual week of gossip. Gathered in the great dining-room were Mother Schneider, Mother Kaufmann, Mother Werther, and their nearest cronies. It was a bright afternoon, and the sun came in through the vine-covered windows. The door on the wide porch was open, and near it, in the choicest place in the room, sat Mother Schneider busy at her wheel. She paused to put back one of the strings of her black cap and asked: “What say they up at the school-house concerning the lost Bible, Sister Kaufmann?”