ere not
so obstinate and jealous, they would long ago have accepted that
standard regulator we made together; I say we made, but must honestly
confess he did the greater part of it."

Nobody paid much attention to what Proebler said, especially as he spoke
so unintelligibly--hardly above a mutter--that little could be made out
except the words "standard regulator."

With more interest did they turn to old David, who next took up the
word. "Lenz never passes a man without doing him a good turn. Every
year he takes some of his leisure Sundays for tuning the organ of the
blind old organist of Fuchsberg, and charges nothing for it. That is a
labor of love that must please our Father in heaven. I too have
profited by his help. He found me once in trouble over my barrel, that
would not turn easily. So off he started to the mill, fitted me up a
workshop in the loft, put my barrel in communication with the wheel,
and now I can accomplish three times the work with half the labor."

Every one hastened to throw in a good word for young Lenz, as if it
were a copper into the poor's box.

The weight-manufacturer had said nothing as yet, but contented himself
with approving nods. He was the wisest of the party. The truth, and
nothing but the truth, had been spoken, he very well knew, but not the
whole truth. He could tell them there was no better man to work for
than Lenz. The work must be thoroughly done, to be sure; but then you
got not only full pay, but good words besides, which were worth more
than the money.

Faller parted from the group here, and took the path towards his house
among the hills. Soon afterwards the whole party dispersed in various
directions,--each, as he went, accepting a farewell pinch from
Proebler's birch-bark snuff-box. Old David, with his stout staff, went
on alone up the valley; he was the only one from his parish who had
come to the funeral.

CHAPTER II.

THE MOURNER AND HIS COMPANION.

Narrow footpath leads from the village to a solitary thatched
cottage, only a small part of whose roof, just about the chimney, is
covered with tiles. The house does not come in sight till you have
climbed a good half-mile up the mountain. The path leads behind the
church,--between hedges at first, then across open fields, where you
hear the murmur of the pine-woods that cover the steep mountain-side.
Behind this mountain, the Spannreute, rise still othe