Martin was already at the close of his boyhood; his serious, thoughtful mien and measured, old-fashioned speech made him appear older than he was. Besides, he was already destined to commence work in the following year. Under these circumstances it was only natural that he should assume a somewhat fatherly tone towards his younger brother, and though he was not ashamed to join in his childish games and to be driven as his patient horse with a "gee-up" and a "whoa," through the mill-yard and across the fields, there was even in this more of the smiling indulgence of a kindly tutor than of the spontaneous pleasure of an older playmate. The affectionate-natured boy, craving for love and sympathy, gave himself up heart and soul to his big brother. He recognized his boundless authority more even than that of his father and mother, who were further removed from his childish sphere--and when school-days commenced and Martin proved such a patient helper in word and deed whenever lessons were hard, then the younger boy's veneration for his elder brother knew no bounds. Old Rockhammer was the only one who was not pleased with the closeness of their friendship. They were too sweet; they "slobbered" each other too much, they had much better "live like cats and dogs together" as a proof that they were really "one's own flesh and blood." But their gentle mother was all the happier. Her prayer to the Almighty by day and night was to protect her children and nevermore to allow the flame of wrath to burst forth in Martin. And her supplication seemed to have been heard. Only once more was her soul filled with horror through an outburst of rage in her son. Johannes--then nine years old--had been playing with a whip near some carts standing in the yard ready to take away flour. Suddenly one of the horses took fright; and the driver, a coarse, drunken fellow, tore the whip out of the boy's hand, and gave him a cut with it across his face and neck. At the same instant Martin, lithe as a tiger, rushed out of the mill; the veins on his temples swollen, his fists clenched, got hold of the man and began to throttle him so that he was already black in the face. Then his mother threw herself with a loud scream of terror between the two. "Think of Fritz!" she cried, throwing up her arms in an agony of horror; and the infuriated boy let his hands drop as if paralyzed, tottered back and fell down sobbing on the threshold of the mill. Since then his temper seemed to have died out entirely, and even when he was once insulted and attacked on the highroad, he kept his knife, which the people of those parts are quick to use, quietly in his pocket.