“What does he look like?” continued Simon.

“He’s a good deal like you, Simon, a good deal.”  Simon laughed.  “Indeed, he must be a rare fellow; I’m getting better-looking every day.  Of course he shouldn’t be wasting his time at school.  You let him pasture the cows?  Just as well; what the teacher says isn’t half true anyway.  But where does he pasture?  In the Telgen glen?  In the Roder woods?  In the Teutoburg forest?  At night and early in the morning, too?”

“All through the night; but what do you mean?”

Simon seemed not to hear this.  He craned his neck toward the door.  “Look, there comes the youngster!  His father’s son!  He swings his arms like your departed husband.  And just see!  The lad actually has my light hair!”

A proud smile spread secretly over the mother’s face; her Frederick’s blond curls and Simon’s reddish bristles!  Without answering she broke a branch from the hedge near-by and went to meet her son, apparently to hurry on a lazy cow, in reality, however, to whisper a few hasty, half threatening words into his ear; for she knew his obstinate disposition, and Simon’s manner today had seemed to her more intimidating than ever.  But everything ran smoothly beyond expectation; Frederick showed himself neither obdurate nor insolent-rather, somewhat embarrassed and anxious to please his uncle.  And so matters progressed until, after half an hour’s discussion, Simon proposed a kind of adoption of the boy, by virtue of which he was not to take him entirely away from his mother but was, nevertheless, to command the greater part of his time.  And for this the boy was eventually to inherit the old bachelor’s fortune, which, to be sure, couldn’t have escaped him anyway.  Margaret patiently allowed her brother to explain how great the advantages of the arrangement would be to her, how slight the loss.  She knew best what a sickly widow misses in the help of a twelve-year-old boy whom she has trained practically to replace a daughter.  But she kept silent and yielded to everything.  She only begged her brother to be firm, but not harsh, with the boy.

“He is good,” she said, “but I am a lonely woman; my son is not like one who has been ruled by a father’s hand.”

Simon nodded slyly.  “Leave it to me; we’ll get along all right; and, do you know what?—­let me have the boy right now; I have two bags to fetch from the mill; the smallest is just right for him and that’s how he’ll learn to help me.  Come, Fritzy, put your wooden shoes on!” And presently Margaret was watching them both as they walked away, Simon ahead with his face set forward and the tails of his red coat flying out behind him like flames, looking a good deal like a man of fire doing penance beneath the sack he has stolen.  Frederick followed him, tall and slender for his age, with delicate, almost noble, features and long blond curls that were better cared for than the rest of his exterior appearance would have led one to expect;