And it is well that it is so; for this helps one over the heart-throbs that otherwise would be almost insupportable. Ludwig had mentioned mother, and for the present she was not referred to again. He had a quick glance, and always thought of what might benefit the community; and when Wolfgang expressed his delight at the wild, rushing valley stream, Ludwig said to me, "That stream could do much more work. There is a fortune floating there, thrown into the water, as it were, and flowing away from our valley out into the ocean." "To whom does water-power belong?" inquired Wolfgang. We gave him the desired information, and this question was a happy proof of his active, inquiring mind. "Over yonder," said Rothfuss, "there is a miller who has his water-power direct from the heavens." He pointed to the house of the so-called "thunder miller," who had built his mill in such a way that its wheel would only go after there had been a storm. The ground for some distance before we reached the tunnel, was covered with cherry-trees with straight trunks, the branches of which looked like a well-arranged bouquet; and on the heights were the beech-trees with their red buds, and one could follow the gradual development of the foliage. "Look, Wolfgang," said Ludwig, "you can see here how spring gradually climbs up the mountain side." "Father," exclaimed Wolfgang, "the people in the fields are all looking up at us." "They all know grandfather," replied Ludwig; and, turning to me, he explained: "It seems strange to the boy, for the American never looks up from his work, even if seven trains of cars rush by within ten paces of him." At the boundary line, Gaudens greeted us. We halted there for a while. He came up to the carriage, stretched out his hand, and exclaimed, "Do you know me yet?" "Certainly I do; you are Gaudens." "Yes, it is easy to find me; from here around the corner, down to the Maiengrund is my district. I was in the revolution too, but I lied my way out. Yes, Ludwig, you have wandered about a great deal in the wide world. It is best at home, after all; isn't it? Is this your son?" "It is." "God bless him. And what a splendid wife you have!--What a pity about Ernst; he has such a good heart and is such a sensible fellow, and yet commits such wicked and foolish tricks. All I wish for is to have a place where I might have some little extra profits from fruit and grass by the road; nothing ripens here but pine cones." When Wolfgang shook hands with him at parting, he said, "He has a soft hand; he cannot swing the pickaxe as you did when you were building your first road." "How lovely it is here," said Wolfgang. "Here you know every one, and every one knows you; you cannot meet a stranger." He was right; it is so; and this makes a full life, but a hard one too.