Within the house matters were going on in the same unsatisfactory manner; uncle Braesig refused to go to bed in spite of all Mrs. Behren’s entreaties.  “I can’t,” he said, “that is to say, I can, but I musn’t do it; for I must go to Rexow.  I had a letter from Mrs. Nuessler saying that she wanted my help.”  The same yeast which had caused Fred to seethe and boil over was working in him, but more quietly, because it had been a part of his being for a longer time.  At last, however, he was persuaded to go to bed as a favor to Mrs. Behrens, and from fear of bringing on an attack of gout by remaining in his wet things, but his thoughts were as full of anxious affection for Mrs. Nuessler as Fred’s were of love for Louisa when on leaving the parsonage he exclaimed passionately:  “Give her up, does he say!  Give her up!  The devil take that young sprig of the nobility!”

Next day—­it was Sunday morning—­when Braesig awoke, he gave himself a comfortable stretch in the soft bed.  “A luxury,” he said to himself, “that I’ve never before enjoyed, but I suppose one would soon get accustomed to it.”  Just as he was about to get up the house-maid came in, and taking possession of his clothes, placed a black coat, waistcoat and pair of trousers over the back of a chair in their stead.

“Ho, ho!” he said with a laugh as he examined the black suit, “it’s Sunday, and this is a parsonage; but surely they never think that I’m going to preach today!” He lifted one article of clothing after the other curiously, and then said:  “Ah!  I see now, it’s because mine were wet through in the ditch last night, so they’ve given me a suit belonging to his Reverence.  All right then!—­here goes.”  But it did not go so easily after all!  And as for comfort, that was totally out of the question.  The trousers were a very good length, but were frightfully tight.  The lower buttons of the waistcoat could neither be coaxed nor forced into the button-holes, and when he put on the coat, there was an ominous cracking somewhere between the shoulders.  As for his arms, they stood out from his body as if he were prepared to press the whole world to his faithful heart on this particular Sunday.

After he was dressed he went down stairs, and joined Mrs. Behrens in the parlor.  As to his legs, he looked and walked very much as he had done ever since he had received his pension; but as to the upper part of his body!  Mrs. Behrens burst out laughing when she saw him, and immediately took refuge behind the breakfast table, for he advanced with his arms outstretched as if he wished to make her the first recipient of his world-embrace.  “Keep away from me, Braesig!” she laughed.  “If I had ever imagined that my pastor’s good clothes would have looked so ridiculous on you I’d have let you remain in bed till dinner-time, for your own things won’t be washed and dried before that.”  “Oh, ho!” laughed Braesig, “that was the reason you sent me these things, was it?  I thought perhaps you wanted to dress me up for another