hat is evident," said Anton.

"In olden times the brook ran differently," continued Fink. "It swept
along the curve of the wood, and its old bed is still visible. If you
walk along the ancient water-course toward the west, you come to the
point where the old channel diverges from the new. It is the point where
a wretched bridge crosses the brook, and the water in its present bed
has a fall of more than a foot, strong enough to turn the best mill
going. The ruins of some buildings stand near it."

"I know the place well enough," said Anton.

"Below the village, the old channel bends down to the new. It
encompasses a wide plain, more than five hundred acres, if I can trust
the paces of this horse. The whole of this ground slopes down from the
old channel to the new. There are a few acres of meadow, and some
tolerable arable land. The most part is sand and rough pasture, the
worst part of the estate, as I hear."

"I allow all that," said Anton, with some curiosity.

"Now mark me. If you lead back the brook to its old channel, and force
it to run along the bow instead of forming the arc of that bow, the
water that now runs to waste will irrigate the whole plain of five
hundred acres, and change the barren sand into green meadows."

"You are a sharp fellow," cried Anton, excited at the discovery.

"These acres, well irrigated, would yield a ton of hay an acre;
consequently, each acre would bring in a clear profit of five dollars,
or, in other words, the five hundred acres would give a yearly income of
two thousand five hundred, and to bring this about would require an
outlay of fifteen thousand dollars at the very outside. This, Anton, was
what I had to say to you."

Anton stood there amazed. There was no doubt that Fink's calculations
were not made at random either as to outlay or return, and the
advantageous prospect which such a measure opened out occupied him so
much that he walked on for some time in silence. "You show me water and
pastures in the desert," said he, at length. "This is cruel of you, for
the baron is not in a condition to carry out this improvement. Fifteen
thousand dollars!"

"Perhaps ten might do," said Fink, sarcastically. "I have drawn this
castle in the air for you, to punish you for your stiff-neckedness the
other evening. Now let us speak of something else."

At night the baron, with an important air, summoned his wife and Lenore
to a conference in his room. He sat up in his arm-chair, a