He turned round, groped with his hands in the air, and, as if thunder-struck, sank to the ground.
CHAPTER XVII.
The summer passed away, and autumn in its garb of mist came creeping over the heath. Red sunbeams wandered wearily along the edge of the wood, and the heather lowered its purple head. At this time in the Howdahs, which till now had been quieter than usual, strange sounds began to be heard. Like the knocking of hammers and the tone of bells at the same time, they sounded far over the heath in strict rhythm, at times louder, at times softer, but always with a harmonious echo, which slowly died away into the air.
The villagers stopped, wondering, on the road. One of them asked, “What is going on at Meyerhofer’s?”
And another said, “It almost sounds as if he had built himself a forge.”
“He will never forge luck,” said a third, and they separated, laughing.
The father, who as usual had sat in his corner yawning and grumbling, started up at the first sound, and called the twins to account for it. But they knew nothing either, but that quite early that day a workman had come from the town with files, hammers, and a solder-box, and had had a long conference with Paul, who held in his hand all sorts of plans and designs. They quickly ran to look, and this was what they found:
Behind the shed stood “Black Susy,” surrounded with a wooden scaffolding like a lady in her crinoline, and on the scaffolding Paul and the foreman climbed busily about, hammering, examining, and screwing in rivets.