een better, though, if they
had carried it along the other bank."

The new road had, however, only been laid out as far as the boundary
line; from there unto my dwelling, which was fully two hours distant,
there was only the old road, which was in a horrible condition.

"Father," exclaimed Wolfgang, "here are the boundary posts that you
told me of."

"Yes," said Ludwig; "this is yet old Germany. Here, there is still
separation."

I believe that I have not yet mentioned that I live near the border.
Our village is the last point in our territory, and further down the
valley is the beginning of the neighboring principality.

How strange! There was so much that we wished to speak of to one
another, and the first subject of conversation was the laying out of
the new road.

And it is well that it is so; for this helps one over the heart-throbs
that otherwise would be almost insupportable.

Ludwig had mentioned mother, and for the present she was not referred
to again.

He had a quick glance, and always thought of what might benefit the
community; and when Wolfgang expressed his delight at the wild, rushing
valley stream, Ludwig said to me, "That stream could do much more work.
There is a fortune floating there, thrown into the water, as it were,
and flowing away from our valley out into the ocean."

"To whom does water-power belong?" inquired Wolfgang.

We gave him the desired information, and this question was a happy
proof of his active, inquiring mind.

"Over yonder," said Rothfuss, "there is a miller who has his
water-power direct from the heavens." He pointed to the house of the
so-called "thunder miller," who had built his mill in such a way that
its wheel would only go after there had been a storm.

The ground for some distance before we reached the tunnel, was covered
with cherry-trees with straight trunks, the branches of which looked
like a well-arranged bouquet; and on the heights were the beech-trees
with their red buds, and one could follow the gradual development of
the foliage.

"Look, Wolfgang," said Ludwig, "you can see here how spring gradually
climbs up the mountain side."

"Father," exclaimed Wolfgang, "the people in the fields are all looking
up at us."

"They all know grandfather," replied Ludwig; and, turning to me, he
explained: "It seems strange to the boy, for the American never looks
up from his work, even if seven trains of cars rush by within ten paces
of him."

At the bound