Although it may, in these pages, seem as if I had cherished too high an ideal of the people, I desire right here to say that I have found among the lower classes that which is noblest and highest in man. But I have also found much that is mean and revolting. Envy and malice are characteristics almost peculiar to the farmer, and are especially shown about the time of irrigating the meadows. It affords him peculiar pleasure to wait until a neighbor has set his water-traps, and to sneak out and reverse them so as to make the water flow on to his own meadows. The authorities had forbidden the watering of meadows after two o'clock on Sunday morning, but it availed nothing. I appointed a servant who was to have the sole right of setting the water-gates and opening them again; and the meadow farmer could not forgive me for this. I had robbed him of the pleasure of wreaking his spite on others. It was not so much on account of the advantage he had gained thereby; but, like the rest of them, he had found it great sport to outwit the "gentleman farmer," as they called me. The meadow farmer really hated me and Joseph; for if it had not been for us he would have been the first man in the village. Wherever he went, they inquired, "How goes it with Waldfried?" or "How is Joseph Linker?" It annoyed him that they did not ask after him first of all. He would have been glad to take a share in politics, but was too mean to bestow the requisite amount of time upon such matters; and then he would say, "Such folks as Funk should not be permitted to put in their say; there is nothing behind him." We had just reached the saw-mill, down in the valley, when we saw a large hay-wagon coming along the road in the direction of the meadow. Martella sat on top: Rothfuss was walking beside the horses. Martella alighted. She looked quite troubled. She welcomed Richard, and asked me, "Where have you left Ernst?" "He is not with us." "Where then?" We had no time to reply before Martella called out, "So he must go to war after all!" "Of course." "Of course? Of course?" Martella asked repeatedly. She stopped for a moment, and removing the rake from her shoulder rested herself upon it. I told her that in all likelihood there would be no war, and that all the clamor was nothing more than angry threatening on both sides. "That is not true!" cried Martella; "you should not tell me an untruth!" "Martella, this is my father!" cried Richard. "And mine too," she interrupted; "forgive me! Because you are my father you should forgive me; if you did not you would not and could not be my father. Forgive me! Oh! they will shoot my good, kind Ernst!"