When he found the sitting-room empty, he said to himself:  “Of course, every one’s out at the hay.  Well, I ought to be looking after my hay too, but the little round-heads have made such a mess of these two bits of grandeur, that they’d be sure to get into a scrape if the old people were to see what they’ve been after; I must stay and repair the mischief that has been done.”

[Illustration:  FRITZ REUTER]

With that he pulled out the pocket-comb that he always carried about with him to comb his back-hair over to the front of his head, and so cover the bald place that was beginning to show.  He then set to work at the peruke, and soon got that into good order again.  But how about the cap?  “What in the name of wonder have you done to this, Lina?  It’s morally impossible to get it back to the proper fassong.  Ah—­let me think.  What’s the old lady like on Sunday afternoons?  She has a good bunch of silk curls on each side of her face, then the front of the cap rises about three inches higher than the curls; so the thing must be drawn more to the front.  She hasn’t anything particular in the middle, for her bald head shows through, but it always goes into a great bunch at the back where it sticks out in a mass of frills.  The child has crushed that part frightfully, it must be ironed out.”  He put his clenched fist into the cap and pulled out the frills, but just as he thought he was getting them into good order, the string that was run through a caser at the back of the frilled mass gave way, and the whole erection flattened out.  “Faugh!” he cried, sending his eye-brows right up in the air.  “It wasn’t half strong enough to keep it firm.  Only a bit of thread!  And the ends won’t knot together again!  God bless my soul! whatever induced me to meddle with a cap?  But, wait a bit, I’ll manage it yet.”  He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a quantity of string of different sizes, for like every farm-bailiff who was worth anything he always carried a good supply of such things about with him.  He searched amongst his store for some thing that would suit the case in hand.  “Whip-cord is too thick; but this will do capitally,” and then he began to draw a piece of good strong pack-thread through the caser.  It was a work of time, and when he had got about half of it done, there was a knock at the door; he threw his work on the nearest chair, and called out:  “Come in.”

The door opened, and Hawermann entered with his little girl in his arms.  Braesig started up.  “What in the—­” he began solemnly, then interrupting himself, he went on eagerly:  “Charles Hawermann, where have you come from?” “From a place, Braesig, where I have nothing more to look for,” said his friend.  “Is my sister at home?” “Every one’s out at the hay; but what do you mean?” “That it’s all up with me.  All the goods that I possessed were sold by auction the day before yesterday, and yesterday morning”—­here he turned away to the