Again Everett’s heart smote him. He who had come to love Wilhelm Kellar’s daughter knew that he stood ready to tempt Walda away from her vocation as prophetess. He had always held honor first, and he was ill at ease. The day had gone by, however, when he could consider the possibility of renunciation where his heart’s desire was concerned. He had meant to flee from Zanah, but he had stayed because he loved Walda, and because he did not mean to be disappointed in the hope of winning her. “You are not indebted to me,” he said to Wilhelm Kellar. “The weeks spent in Zanah have been very pleasant to me.” “Thou art truly a good man, Stephen Everett, and I am thankful that the Lord did turn thy steps to Zanah,” the old man replied. Piepmatz, looking out from his rustic cage, moved his head from side to side as if he were listening to the conversation. Presently he whistled the bar of the love-song that Everett had taught him. The first notes sounded clear and true, and then Piepmatz sang a false note or two. He began the bar a second time and broke down. Everett heard the song, and the bird-voice carried with it an accusation against his loyalty. “You had better go back to your doxology,” he said, snapping his fingers at the bird. He said a hasty farewell and went back to the inn. The stocks had been completed and Hans Peter had just been placed in them. His fat, red hands and his bare feet were held so firmly that it was plain the pressure was most uncomfortable. The simple one’s face, however, betrayed no sign of pain. He kept his eyes shut so that he could not see the passers-by, who paused to stare at him. His shock of tow hair was matted on his head, and his blue shirt-sleeves were torn from the arm-holes by the unusual strain upon the garment, which was too small for him. When Everett beheld the simple one thus ignominiously punished his indignation arose. Without speaking to Hans Peter he went into the inn, where he found Adolph Schneider and Karl Weisel. “It is only fair to believe you do not know you are inflicting a cruel penalty upon Hans Peter,” he said, addressing the Herr Doktor. “You must lessen the pressure on the boy’s wrists and ankles, and you must do it now.” “Whence didst thou get thine authority to issue commands to the president of the colony of Zanah?” asked Karl Weisel. “I was not addressing you,” answered Everett, and the head of the thirteen elders, taking account of the athletic build of the man of the world, deemed discretion the better part of valor. He forbore to pick a quarrel. “Speaking as a physician, I must protest against the use of the stocks,” said Everett. His tone was so cool and determined that Adolph Schneider adopted a conciliatory manner.