"Three and thirty years come Midsummer."
"Hm--Hm," again muttered the Amtshauptmann, "and how old are you, Miller?"
"Come peas-harvest five-and-sixty, or may be six-and-sixty; for as to our old Pastor Hammerschmidt he wasn't much given to writing, and didn't trouble his head about parish registers, and the Frau Pastor, who made the entries--I' faith she had a deal to do besides--only attended to them every three years, so that there might be enough to make it worth while; and then some fine afternoon she would go through the village and write down the children's ages, but more according to height and size than to what they really were; and my mother always said she had cut off a year from me, because I was small and weakly. Bat less than five-and-sixty I'm not. I am sure of that."
During this speech the Amtshauptmann had kept walking up and down the room, listening with only one ear; he now stood still before the Miller, looked straight into his eyes, and said sharply: "Then, Miller Voss, you're much too old for anything of the kind."
"How so, Herr?" exclaimed the poor Miller, quite cast down.
"Bankruptcy is a hard matter; at your age you could not carry it through."
"Do you think so, Herr?"
"Yes, I do. We are both too old for it. We must leave such things to younger people. What do you think folks would say if I were to get myself declared bankrupt? Why, they would say, of course, the old Amtshauptmann up at the Schloss has gone quite mad! And," added he, laying his hand gently on the Miller's shoulder, "they would be right, Miller Voss. What say you, eh?"
The Miller looked down at the toes of his boots and scratched his head: "It's true, Herr."
"Tell me," said the old gentleman, patting him kindly on the shoulder, "where does the shoe pinch? What is troubling you?"