I said was he really bent on it?  He said it was requisite, because away from this beautiful lady, who had torn his heart out and danced on it, he could not continue to live, even for one day.  So I come down on Herman.  I told him that, hard up as I was for help, I positively would not have a man on the place who was always knocking off work to kill himself.  It et into his time, and also it took the attention of others who longed to see him do it.

I said I might stand for a suicide or two—­say, once a month, on a quiet Sunday—­but I couldn’t stand this here German thoroughness that kept it up continual.  At least, if he hoped to keep on drawing pay from me, he’d have to make way with himself in his own leisure moments and not on my time.

Herman says I don’t know the depths of the human heart.  I says I know what I pay him a month, and that’s all I’m needing to know in this emergency.  I thought, of course, he’d calm down and forget his nonsense; but not so.  He moped and mooned, and muttered German poetry to himself for another day, without ever laying a violent hand on himself; but then he come and said it was no good.  He says, however, he will no longer commit suicide at this place, where none have sympathy with him and many jeer.  Instead, he will take his fowling piece to some far place in the great still mountains and there, at last, do the right thing by himself.

I felt quite snubbed, but my patience was wore out; so I give Herman the money that was coming to him, wished him every success in his undertaking, and let him go.

The boys scouted round quite a bit the next few days, listening for the shot and hoping to come on what was left; but they soon forgot it.  Me?  I knew one side of Herman by that time.  I knew he would be the most careful boy in every suicide he committed.  If I’d been a life-insurance company it wouldn’t have counted against him so much as the coffee habit or going without rubbers.

And—­sure enough—­about two months later the dead one come to life.  Herman rollicked in one night with news that he had wandered far into the hills till he found the fairest spot on earth; that quickly made him forget his great sorrow.  His fairest spot was a half section of bad land a hopeful nester had took up back in the hills.  It had a little two-by-four lake on it and a grove of spruce round the lake; and Herman had fell in love with it like with Eloise.

He’d stay with the nester, who was half dead with lonesomeness, so that even a German looked good to him, and wrote to his uncle in Cincinnati for money to buy the place.  And now I’d better hurry over and see it, because it was Wagner’s Sylvan Glen, with rowing, bathing, fishing, and basket parties welcome.  Yes, sir!  It goes to show you can’t judge a German like you would a human.