as they can be. But then they are very poor, and they
live on here from year's end to year's end, barely able to earn their
daily bread. Poverty degrades--there is no doubt of it, whatever the
wise men may say. A few generations of it makes men little better
than----" He stopped.

"Than?" I asked.

"Than," the old philosopher of the post-house went on, "pardon the
expression--than pigs."

There were two or three of the fraternity grubbing about at the side of
the road; they may have suggested the comparison. I could hardly help
smiling.

"But I have travelled a good deal in Germany," I said, "and I have never
anywhere found the people so stupid and stolid and ungenial as here."

"Perhaps not," he said. "Still there are many places like this, only
naturally they are not the places strangers visit. It is never so bad
where there are a few country houses near, for nowadays it must be
allowed it is seldom but that the gentry take some interest in the
people."

"It is a pity no rich man takes a fancy to Silberbach," I said.

"That day will never come. The best thing would be for a railway to be
cut through the place, but that, too, is not likely."

Then the old postmaster turned into his garden, inviting us civilly to
wait there or in the office if we preferred. But we liked better to
stay outside, for just above the post-house there was a rather tempting
little wood, much prettier than anything to be seen on the other side of
the village. And Nora and I sat there quietly on the stumps of some old
trees, while Reggie found a pleasing distraction in alternately chasing
and making friends with a party of ducks, which, for reasons best known
to themselves, had deserted their native element and come for a stroll
in the woods.

From where we sat we looked down on our late habitation; we could almost
distinguish the landlord's slouching figure and poor Lieschen with a
pail of water slung at each side as she came in from the well.

"What a life!" I could not help saying. "Day after day nothing but work.
I suppose it is not to be wondered at if they grow dull and stolid, poor
things." Then my thoughts reverted to what up here in the sunshine and
the fresh morning air and with the pleasant excitement of going away I
had a little forgotten--the strange experience of the evening before. It
was difficult for me now to realise that I had been so affected by it.
I felt _now_ as if I wished I could see the poor ghost for myself