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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Yes!" said Bräsig, raising his eye-brows till they were hidden by the brim of his hat he always wore a hat on Sunday and opening his mouth as wide as he could, he stared at Hawermann as if he wanted to look him through and through. "Charles," he exclaimed, "you spoke of Gürlitz church-steeple, and as sure as your nose is in the middle of your face the parson at Gürlitz must take your child."
Before he had time to answer his sister's questions, her husband, Joseph Nüssler, came in, and going up to Hawermann shook hands with him, and said, taking as long to get out his words as dry weather does to come: "Good day, brother-in-law; won't you sit down?" "Let him tell us what's wrong," interrupted his wife impatiently. "Yes," said Joseph, "sit down and tell us what has happened.
He was a man who could give good counsel in worldly matters as well as in spiritual, and he was always ready to stretch out a helping hand to those in need of it. He recognized Hawermann the moment he saw him, and welcomed him heartily. "How d'ye do, dear old friend, what an age it is since I saw you last. How are you getting on? Good morning, Mr. Bräsig."
He went to the door, and standing there signed to his guests to precede him. "Charles," whispered Bräsig, "didn't I tell you? Quite like one of ourselves?" But when Hawermann quietly obeyed the squire's sign and went out first, he raised his eyebrows up to his hair, and stretched out his hand as though to pull his friend back by his coat-tails.
The old man had become a little childish, but his wife had still all her wits about her, and could spy and pry into every hole and corner, to see that everything was going on as she wished. Hawermann rose and shook hands with the old people, while his sister stood close by looking at them anxiously, to see what they thought of the visitor.
Were you not serving your apprenticeship twelve years ago on my brother's estate?" "Yes, Sir, and my name is Hawermann." "Of course it is. And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here?" "I heard that you were looking out for a farm-bailiff, and as I was in want of just such a place *." "But I thought you had a farm in Pomerania?" interrupted the squire.
His breezy common sense often recalled his friends from useless trains of thought. "Bräsig," said Hawermann, "I don't know what other people may think of it, but life and work always seem to me to be one and the same thing." "Oh, ho! Charles, I have you now! You learnt that from pastor Behrens. But, Charles, that is a wrong way of looking at it, it goes clean against Scripture.
"Parson Behrens?" asked Hawermann. "Yes, the same Parson Behrens who taught you and me at old Knirkstädt." "Ah, Bräsig, I was just wishing last night that such a thing were possible." "Possible? He must do it.
I know that I am of use to her, for young Joseph just rolls on smoothly like the wheel of the coach that runs every winter from here to Rostock. How I should like to have him as leader in a three-horse team, harnessed into a farm cart, and then drive him with my whip!" "Ah!" said Hawermann as they came to a field, "they've got very good wheat here."
Nüssler's hand tight all the while. Suddenly he raised himself and said: "Mrs. Nüssler, please put your hand on my head; I have always loved you. Charles Hawermann, will you rub my legs, they're so cold." Hawermann did as he was asked, and Bräsig said, very slowly with one of his old smiles: "In style I was always better than you."
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