"I'm going with you," said Ivo. Running into the tavern and telling Florian that he would soon return and overtake him, he doffed his butcher's smock and took his bugle under his arm.
As they walked down the wood-path, he heard the torrent roar and the mills rattle; every tree seemed to stand between him and Nat. "Is the Beste farmer a fine man?" he asked the boy.
"Oh, yes; a finer man than his brother who is dead."
"What's the Christian name of the one that's on the farm now?"
"I don't know: we always call him the Beste farmer: he's been in many strange countries, as a serving-man and as a doctor."
Ivo fairly shouted with joy.
"Since when has he been here?" he asked, again.
"These two years. He worked for his brother a year, till he died: they do say he did it, for he's half a wizard: he wanted to kill him many years ago, and, as there were no children, the property came to him. Otherwise, though, he's a very fine man."
It was painful to be told that his dear Nat was under the suspicion of fratricide after all, as if to punish him for having once in his life meditated the sin; but Ivo soon reflected that such could only be the gossip of envious tongues and of old women.
