Yes, he had a pond, and he had a lot of trout. They were not very big as yet, but they would soon grow; was he not feeding them on lumps of the dead cow whose remains had caused me to get to windward of his brother. Would we like to see the pond? Nothing was easier. Down another small valley, therefore, we plunged again till the road came to an end, and a pretty path through a wood brought us out on the shore of a secluded pond. It was a peaceful scene, with the warm sunlight on the wood and the water, and the sweet smell of new-cut hay reaching us from a neighbouring meadow. As we walked we admired the beauty of the country. This moved Herr Klassen to a flow of words: the country was beautiful, but men were bad; since the war there was no honour, no goodness, no morality. It was all greed and grab, “Wucher” and “Schieber.” And the end would be Bolshevism. Herr Klassen’s lack of faith in human nature was demonstrated practically by the barbed-wire entanglements which surrounded his trout pond. Along the narrow track by the water’s edge were various, almost invisible, contrivances destined to show whether any trespasser had come that way. Here at last were some trout, if only little ones. But little trout grow, and Herr Klassen was emphatic that if we would come back in a fortnight or three weeks we should have good sport. As for payment, it was to be strictly by results--no fish, no cash. All fish caught were paid for at so much a pound--a very fair arrangement. It was pleasant to linger by the water-side in the evening sunshine, and, pipes and cigarettes being produced, the talk slid east and west over matters of greater moment than the trout. We had been joined by a friend of Herr Klassen’s, a wag with red hair and freckled face who poked fun at his neighbour with great vigour. Freckles had been to the war, Herr Klassen had not--the women and the Church would not let him go, declared the former; at which Herr Klassen raised protesting hands to heaven. Both men spoke with evident alarm of Bolshevism. Another war was bound to come, only next time it would be a Bolshevist war. It must be remembered this pleasant Bergische Land is not so very far removed from the Ruhr district, and that at Remscheid only a few miles away there had been shootings and murders. The spectre of anarchy and red revolution has come very near homes such as Herr Klassen’s, and for revolution a small farmer of his type has nothing but horror. We asked about the new Republican Government. It moved neither man to much enthusiasm. Weakness can never inspire enthusiasm, and the policy pursued by the Allies towards Germany has made it impossible for any government to be strong. Herr Klassen said what they wanted was a constitutional monarchy like England. They were doubtful of Republics. France was a Republic and they did not want to be like France.