She threw a defiant glance at her brother, but he was gazing with a look of horror at the enormous sausage to which his nephew and ward was helping himself for the second time.

“Have you always such a large appetite, Will?” he asked.

“Always,” Will assured him complacently, as he helped himself to a large slice of bread and butter.

“No, we don’t suffer thank God, with indigestion or any other stomach trouble,” said the mistress of the house tartly, “but we earn our bread honestly here.  First pray and work, then eat and drink, but what we do, we do thoroughly, and that keeps body and soul together.  Just look at Will, now, and you will see that what I say is true.”  She gave her brother a friendly slap on the shoulder with her last words, but this token of her good will was so energetic that Wallmoden shrank back in his chair, and immediately moved it sidewise to be out of the reach of that muscular hand.

The expression of his face showed clearly that the “creepy sensation” was coming over him again.  In the presence of these patriarchial conditions, he thought it best to forego any attempt to enforce his prerogative as guardian, an office, moreover, which, so far as he was concerned, had always been purely nominal.  It was plain from Will’s manner that his mother’s praise was highly gratifying to the young man’s feelings.

“And Hartmut is not here for breakfast again, this morning.  He seems to think there is no necessity for being punctual at Burgsdorf, but I will enlighten the young gentleman when he comes and make it clear to him that—­”

“There he is now,” exclaimed Willibald.  On the clear sunshine which flooded the room through the open windows, there fell a shadow, and a tall, slender figure appeared suddenly at the window and vaulted upon the high sill.

“Well, what kind of an imp are you anyway, that you can only come in through the window?” said Frau von Eschenhagen indignantly.  “What are the doors for?”

“For Will and all other well-ordered human beings,” laughed the new-comer good-naturedly.  “I always take the nearest way, and that led this time through the window.”  So saying he gave one spring from the high seat into the middle of the room.

Hartmut Falkenried, like the young heir of Burgsdorf, stood upon the boundary line where boyhood and manhood meet, but it needed only a glance to recognize that he was his friend’s superior in every respect.  He wore a cadet’s uniform which became him well, but yet there was something in his whole appearance which seemed to be at war with the military cut and fit.  The tall, slender boy was a true picture of youth and beauty, yet there was something odd about this beauty, something wild in his motions and appearance, with absolutely nothing to remind one of the martial figure and earnest repose of his father.  The luxuriant, curly locks which crowned the high forehead, were of a deep, blue black, and the warm, dark coloring