his swine. "Are there many pigs?"

"Pigs?" repeated Dellwig, lifting up his hands as though mere words were
insufficient to express his feelings, "such pigs as the gracious Miss
now possesses are nowhere else to be found in Pomerania. They are the
pride, and at the same time the envy, of the whole province. 'Let my
sausages,' said the Herr Landrath last winter, when the time for killing
drew near, 'let my sausages consist solely of the pigs reared at
Kleinwalde by my friend the Oberinspector Dellwig.' The Frau Landraethin
was deeply injured, for she too breeds and fattens pigs, but not like
ours--not like ours."

"Who is the Herr Landrath?" asked Anna absently; but immediately
remembering the description of the Amtsvorsteher she added quickly,
"Never mind--don't explain. I suppose he is some sort of an official,
and I shall not be quite clear about these different officials till I
have lived here some time."

"_Natuerlich, natuerlich_," agreed Dellwig; and leaving the Landrath
unexplained he launched forth into a dissertation on Anna's pigs, whose
excellencies, it appeared, were wholly due to the unrivalled skill he
had for years displayed in their treatment. "I have no children," he
said, with a resigned and pious upward glance, "and my wife's maternal
instincts find their satisfaction in tending and fattening these fine
animals. She cannot listen to their cries the day they are killed, and
withdraws into the cellar, where she prepares the stuffing. The gracious
Miss ate the cutlets of one this very day. It was killed on purpose."

"Was it? I wish it hadn't been," said Anna, frowning at the remembrance
of that meal. "I--I don't want things killed on my account. I--don't
like pig."

"Not like pig?" echoed Dellwig, dropping his lower jaw in his amazement.
"Did I understand aright that the gracious one does not eat pig's flesh
gladly? And my wife and I who thought to prepare a joy for her!" He
clasped his hands together and stared at her in dismay. Indeed, he was
so much overcome by this extraordinary and wilful spurning of nature's
best gifts that for a moment he was silent, and knew not how he should
proceed. Were there not concentrated in the body of a single pig a
greater diversity of joys than in any other form of pleasure that he
could call to mind? Did it not include, besides the profounder delights
of its roasted ribs, such solid satisfactions as hams, sausages, and
bacon? Did not its liver, discreetly manip