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Updated: June 30, 2025
Besides the country-clergyman brother, who so often was a power for good in my life, I had another brother, also older than I, who had been living more than ten years as a well-established tradesman and citizen in Osterode, amongst the Harz Mountains; head of a quiet, self-contained, happy family, and father of some fine children.
So long as the flowers remained there, they were supposed to guard the house from fire and lightning. In the southern Harz district and in Thuringia the Midsummer or St. John's fires used to be commonly lighted down to about the middle of the nineteenth century, and the custom has probably not died out.
On Christian's face was the quiet smile of one who knows that she has only to turn her eyes to see what she wishes to see; of one whose possessions are safe under her hand. She looked at Harz with that possessive smile.
But these, and many other instances which they quoted, of mischance and ill-luck ultimately attending on the apparent benefits conferred by the Harz spirit, failed to make any impression upon Martin Waldeck, the youngest of the brothers.
The ends of her hair fell about him; she looked up at Harz, who said: "Not at all! Let me give him some bread." "Oh no! You must not I will beat him and tell him he is bad; then he shall not do such things again. Now he is sulky; he looks so always when he is sulky. Is this your home?" "For the present; I am a visitor." "But I think you are of this country, because you speak like it."
Walking along the river wall at Botzen, Edmund Dawney said to Alois Harz: "Would you care to know the family at that pink house, Villa Rubein?" Harz answered with a smile: "Perhaps." "Come with me then this afternoon." They had stopped before an old house with a blind, deserted look, that stood by itself on the wall; Harz pushed the door open. "Come in, you don't want breakfast yet.
With the same success as his brother George, but with courage far superior, Martin crossed the brook, ascended the hill, and approached so near the ghostly assembly, that he could recognise, in the presiding figure, the attributes of the Harz demon.
"It is a friend of Herr Harz," she whispered; "he will drink coffee. I am going to find Chris." "Greta!" gasped Miss Naylor. Mrs. Decie put up her hand. "Ah!" she said, "if it is so, we must be very nice to him for Christian's sake." Miss Naylor's face grew soft. "Ah, yes!" she said; "of course." "Bah!" muttered Herr Paul, "that recommences. "Paul!" murmured Mrs.
Harz sent in his card, and asked to see "der Herr." The servant, a grey-eyed, clever-looking Swiss with no hair on his face, came back saying: "Der Herr, mein Herr, is in the Garden gone." Harz followed him. Herr Paul, a small white flannel cap on his head, gloves on his hands, and glasses on his nose, was watering a rosebush, and humming the serenade from Faust.
Treffry found his voice again: "It's for the child to say. Well, Chris!" Christian did not speak. It was Harz who broke the silence. He pointed to Mr. Treffry. "You know I can't tell you to come with that, there. Why did you send for me?" And, turning, he went out. Christian sank on her knees, burying her face in her hands. Mr.
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