By Autumn he had fallen so into the habit of going to the forester’s house that he was oftener there than at his own; and the Head Forester, not knowing to what love of fishing to attribute these visits, often found himself embarrassed at being obliged to refuse the multiplicity of presents which the worthy ex-magistrate (he himself being very much at home) begged of him to accept in compensation for his daily hospitality.

Besides, Mr. Seiler wished to share all his occupations, following him in his rounds in the Grinderwald and Entilbach.

Yeri Foerster often shook his head, saying:  “I never knew a more honest or better judge than Mr. Zacharias Seiler.  When I used to bring my reports to him, formerly, he always praised me, and it is to him that I owe my raise to the rank of Head Forester.  But,” he added to his wife, “I am afraid the poor man is a little out of his head.  Did he not help Charlotte in the hay field, to the infinite enjoyment of the peasants?  Truly, Christine, it is not right; but then I dare not say so to him, he is so much above us.  Now he wants me to accept a pension—­and such a pension—­one hundred florins a month.  And that silk dress he gave Charlotte on her birthday.  Do young girls wear silk dresses in our valley?  Is a silk dress the thing for a forester’s daughter?”

“Leave him alone,” said the wife.  “He is contented with a little milk and meal.  He likes to be with us; it is a change from his lonesome city life, with no one to talk to but his old governess; whilst here the little one looks after him.  He likes to talk to her.  Who knows but he may end by adopting her and leave her something in his will?”

The Head Forester, not knowing what to say, shrugged his shoulders; his good judgment told him there was some mystery, but he never dreamed of suspecting the good man’s whole folly.

One fine morning a wagon slowly wended its way down the sides of Bigelberg loaded with three casks of old Rikevir wine.  Of all the presents that could be given to him this was the most acceptable, for Yeri Foerster loved, above everything else, a good glass of wine.

“That warms one up,” he would say, laughing.  And when he had tasted this wine he could not help saying: 

“Mr. Zacharias is really the best man in the world.  Has he not filled my cellar for me?  Charlotte, go and gather the prettiest flowers in the garden; cut all the roses and the jasmine, make them into a bouquet, and when he comes you will present them to him yourself.  Charlotte!  Charlotte!  Hurry up, here he comes with his long pole.”

At this moment the old man appeared descending the hillside in the shade of the pines with a brisk step.

As far off as Yeri could make himself heard, he called out, his glass in his hand: 

“Here is to the best man I know!  Here is to our benefactor.”

And Zacharias smiled.  Dame Christine had already commenced preparations for dinner; a rabbit was turning at the spit and the savory odor of the soup whetted Mr. Seiler’s appetite.