and all the more so that his wife is extravagant, and likes to live in a constant whirl of gaiety.  He is a worthy man and kind to his people, and although the von Rambows are of very old family—­my master, the Count, often asks him to dinner, and he will not admit any but members of the nobility to the honor of his acquaintance—­he goes about quite doucimang, and makes no fuss about his position.”

Hawermann listened attentively to all that was said, for if he succeeded in getting the place of bailiff, these things would all be of importance to him, but his thoughts soon returned to the subject of his greatest present anxiety.  “Braesig,” he said, “who is the best person to take charge of my little girl?” “I can’t think of any one.  I’m afraid that we must take her to the town to Kurz.  Mrs. Kurz is an excellent woman, and he, well he is a good hand at a bargain like all tradesmen.  Only think, he sold me a pair of trousers last year.  I wanted them for Sundays—­they were a sort of chocolate color:  well listen:  the first morning I put them on, I went through the clover-field, and when I came out of it, my trousers were as red as lobsters, as high as the knee—­bright scarlet I assure you.  And then he sent me some kuemmel, it was Prussian made, wretched sweet stuff, and very bad.  I returned it, and told him a bit of my mind.  But he won’t take the trousers back, and tells me he never wore them.  Does the fellow imagine that I will wear red trousers?  Look, Charles, that’s Guerlitz down there to the left.”  “And that, I suppose, is Guerlitz church-steeple?” asked Hawermann.  “Yes!” said Braesig, raising his eye-brows till they were hidden by the brim of his hat—­he always wore a hat on Sunday—­and opening his mouth as wide as he could, he stared at Hawermann as if he wanted to look him through and through.  “Charles,” he exclaimed, “you spoke of Guerlitz church-steeple, and as sure as your nose is in the middle of your face the parson at Guerlitz must take your child.”  “Parson Behrens?” asked Hawermann.  “Yes, the same Parson Behrens who taught you and me at old Knirkstaedt.”  “Ah, Braesig, I was just wishing last night that such a thing were possible.”  “Possible?  He must do it.  It would be the best thing in the world for him to have a little child toddling about his knees, and growing up under his care, for he has no children of his own, has let all the glebe land, and has nothing whatever to do but to read his books and study, till any other man would see green and yellow specks dancing before his eyes even with looking at him from a distance.  It would be a capital thing for him, and Mrs. Behrens is so fond of children that the little ones in the village cling to her skirts whenever she goes there.  She is also a most excellent worthy woman, and so cheerful that she and your sister get on capitally together.”