Yes, in prayer! No one in all Pomerania had so much need of a little talk with his God as this man. ''Tis a hard blow for any one when he sees the household goods which he has brought together with the labour of his hands and the sweat of his brow scattered over the wide world. 'Tis a hard blow for a farmer when he is obliged to let the cattle he has reared with pain and trouble, pass into the hands of strangers, who know nothing of the struggles that have filled his life; but it was neither of these things that was lying so heavily on his soul just now, it was another grievous sorrow that made him fold his hands, and raise his eyes to heaven.
He had been a widower for one day only. His wife lay upon her last bed--his wife! For ten long years he had been engaged to her; for ten years he had toiled and laboured and done all that man could do to provide a fitting home for her. His deep faithful love for his promised wife filled his heart with tender music, such as the Whitsun bells ring out over the green fields and blossoming trees. Four years ago he had attained the end for which he had striven, had scraped together enough money to set up house. An acquaintance of his who had inherited two farms from his parents, let one of them to him at a high rent; a very high rent; he knew that, none better; but love gives a man courage, that kind of courage which conquers difficulties. All would have gone well with him, if his good little wife had not got up so early in the morning, and worked so hard, and if she had not come to have that burning red spot on each cheek. All would have gone well with him, if his landlord, instead of being a mere acquaintance, had been a friend--and he was not that, for it was because of him that the auction was going on in the farm-yard to-day.
Friend?--A man like that one who is sitting in the oak arbour can have no friends? He had true-hearted friends, but they could not help him, they had nothing to give or lend. Wherever he looked, it seemed to him as though he were surrounded by a high wall which hemmed him in and stifled him, and so he cried with all his strength to God to save him in his sore distress. A linnet and a chaffinch were singing in the oak-boughs above his head, their feathers shining in the sun, the flowers in the neglected garden scattered their fragrance all around, and the oak-trees cast their cool shadow over him. If two lovers had been sitting there, they would never have forgotten the place and how it looked all their lives long.
And had he not sat in that shady bower with a gentle hand clasped within his own? Had not the birds sung as cheerily, and was not the perfume of the flowers as sweet then as now? Had he not dreamt of sitting on that very seat in his old age, and while immersed in that dream of the future--who was it who had brought him a cool draught to refresh him after his hard day's work? Who was it who had shared the toil and care of his daily life, and had encouraged him by her sympathy?
Gone--all gone!--Everything he had was to be sold, and the gentle loving hand he had held in his own was stiff and cold. Then the man felt as if the birds no longer sang their glad songs for him, as if the flowers no longer grew for him in their sweetness and beauty, and as if the glorious sun no longer shone for him, although his poor overcharged heart still went on beating as strongly as before; and so he stretched out his hands beyond birds and flowers, and even the golden sun, to the divine Comforter, who better than any earthly joy can soothe the wounded heart.
Hawermann sat thus in silent prayer, his hands clasped, and his brave blue eyes, in which a wondrous light was shining as though from God's own sun, raised to heaven, when a little girl came up to him and laid a daisy on his knee. He drew the child,--she was his only one--closer to him, and rising, took her in his arms. His eyes were full of tears as he walked down the garden-path carrying his little girl and holding the daisy she had given him in his hand.
He came to a young tree that he himself had planted; the straw rope by which it was fastened to the pronged stick that supported it had become loose, and the young tree was leaning all on one side. He straightened it and fastened it again to its prop, scarcely conscious of what he was doing, for his thoughts were far away, but it was his nature to give help wherever it was wanted.
When a man is lost in thought, even though that thought may have led him up to the blue heavens, if any little bit of his daily work should happen to fall under his notice, he takes up the wonted task involuntarily, and does what may be required at the moment, and so he is wakened out of his reverie, and reminded of what is lying close at hand and ought to be done, and that it is so is a great gift of God.
Hawermann walked up and down the garden, his eyes saw what was round about him, and his thoughts returned to earth once more. Though the sky of his future life was heavy with black, stormy clouds, still there was one little scrap of blue that the clouds could not overcast, and that was the thought of his little girl whom he was carrying in his arms, and whose small childish hand was playing with his hair.
He left the garden and entered the farm-yard.--And what was going on there?--Indifferent strangers were pressing up to the table where the auctioneer was selling off the farmer's effects, each thinking only of the bargains he wished to make. One after another all of Hawermann's possessions were knocked down to the highest bidder. Those things that he had collected bit by bit with toil and trouble to furnish his house, were now being scattered abroad amid the jokes and laughter of all present. Even the old things were going--that cupboard had belonged to his old mother; that chest of drawers his wife had brought home with her when she was married; he had given her that little work-table when he was engaged to her.--His cows were tied in a long line and were lowing to be taken to the pasture-field. The brown heifer his wife had reared from a calf, and which had always been her pet, was standing amongst them. He went up to it, and passed his hand caressingly down its back. "Sir," said Niemann, the head-ploughman, "this is very sad."--"Yes, Niemann, it is sad, but it can't be helped," he answered, turnings away and mingling in the crowd round the auction-table.