The farmer upon whom Frederick had operated fairly persecuted him with gratitude.  He expatiated upon how he had always relied upon God and how a man always can rely upon God, and how God on this occasion had sent him the right man at the right time.  Frederick now realised the profound motive that destiny had had in sending him on his fearful trip.

In a morbid disinclination to learn of his comrades on the sea trip, Frederick avoided reading newspapers.  One day Ingigerd Hahlstroem accompanied by a distinguished looking American by no means in his prime got off the Boston train and went directly to Peter Schmidt’s office.  She introduced herself and asked whether Frederick von Kammacher was still in Meriden.  Before he was taken ill they had exchanged letters.  Later she had had no time to write because she had been making a rapid tour of the whole United States.  She knew nothing of his illness.  Peter Schmidt and his wife, though they had an instinctive habit of always telling the truth, a habit which interfered with their success in life, now deliberately, shamelessly, boldly told a bare-faced lie.

“Frederick has returned to Europe.  He took a White Star steamer, the Robert Keats,” they told Ingigerd.

Without informing anyone, Frederick had engaged passage on the Auguste Victoria for the same crossing as Miss Burns.  Peter and his wife wanted to go by a slower, less expensive steamer.  They were all in a glorious state of impatience.  Once more the ocean became nothing but a small pond across which their yearning lightly swung a bridge.

At that time a sentimental song was being sung in all the theatres in America, entitled “Hands Across the Sea.”  Every bill-board, fence and barrel bore “Hands Across the Sea.”  Frederick went about humming “Hands Across the Sea.”  Whenever he saw “Hands Across the Sea,” his soul was stirred by a rich, beautiful melody.

But there was one thing that still prevented Frederick from enjoying complete serenity of spirit.  A single thought kept haunting him.  Should he express that thought by word of mouth or by letter?  He constantly wavered between the two impulses.  Not a day passed that he did not make ten decisions, one way or another, until one Sunday chance came to his rescue in the form of Willy Snyders and Miss Eva Burns, who had come to Meriden on an excursion.  When he saw the lovely girl, dressed in light summer clothes, coming towards him with a smile, he realised that “Shall I?” or, “Shall I not?” had until then played an important role in his deliberations.  But now that question was decided.

“Willy,” he cried beaming, “do what you will, go wherever you will, stay wherever you will, amuse yourself as best you can, and at supper we’ll all meet at the hotel.”  He grasped Miss Eva’s hand and drew her arm in his, and she went off with him, laughing.  Willy was greatly amazed, but he, too, burst out laughing and said in his comic fashion: