Aunt Ninette resolved to turn to the pastorate of Tannenberg at once in order to inquire for a suitable place to live. The sparse information from the letter pleased her and her husband well enough: quiet and solitude were just the things they looked for. The answer was not slow in coming and proved very satisfactory. The pastor wrote that Tannenberg was a small village consisting of scattered cottages and houses and suitable rooms could be had at the home of a school teacher's widow. She could rent two good rooms and a tiny chamber, and for further questions, the pastor enclosed the widow's address.
This proved an urgent need to Aunt Ninette's anxious mind and she wrote to the widow at once, asking for a detailed description of the neighborhood. Beginning with expressions of joy at the knowledge that Tannenberg was a scattered village, she yet questioned the widow if by any chance her house was in the neighborhood possibly of a blacksmith's or locksmith's shop, or stonemason's, or a butcher's, also if any school, mill, or still worse, a waterfall were near—all objects especially to be avoided by the patient.
The widow wrote a most pleasant letter, answering all these questions in the most satisfactory way. No workshops were near, the school and mill were far away and there were no waterfalls in the whole neighborhood. The widow informed her correspondent further that she lived in a most pleasant location with no near dwellings except Mr. Birkenfeld's large house, which was surrounded by a splendid garden, fine fields and meadows. His was the most distinguished family in the whole county; Mr. Birkenfeld was in every council, and he and his wife were the benefactors of the whole neighborhood. She herself owed this family much, as her little house was Mr. Birkenfeld's property, which he had offered to her after her husband's death. He was a landlord such as few others were.
Everything sounded most propitious, and a day was set for the departure. Dora was joyfully surprised when she heard that she was to go along, and she happily packed the heavy linen for the six large shirts she was to sew there. The prospect of working in such new surroundings delighted her so much that even the thought of sewing those long seams was quite pleasant. After several wearisome days, all the chests and trunks stood ready in the hall and the maid was sent to get a carriage. Dora, all prepared, stood on the top of the staircase. Her heart beat in anticipation of the journey and all the new things she would see during the next six weeks. It seemed like immeasurable bliss to her after the long, long hours in the seamstress's tiny room.
Finally Aunt Ninette and Uncle Titus came out of their rooms, laden with numerous boxes and umbrellas. Their walk down stairs and into the waiting carriage proved rather difficult, but at last each object had found a place. A little exhausted uncle and aunt leaned back in the seat and expectantly drove off to their destination in the country.
[CHAPTER III]
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE
LOOKING far out over the wooded valleys and the glimmering lake stood a green height covered by meadows, in which during the spring, summer and fall, red, blue and yellow flowers gleamed in the sunshine. On top of the height was Mr. Birkenfeld's large house, and beside it, a barn and a stable where four lively horses stamped the ground and glossy cows stood at their cribs quietly chewing the fragrant grass, with which Battist, the factotum of long years' standing, supplied them from time to time.
When Hans, the young stable boy, and the other men employed on the place were busy, Battist always made the round of the stable to see if everything had been attended to. He knew all the work connected with animals, and had entered Mr. Birkenfeld's father's service as a young lad. He was the head man on the place now and kept a vigilant eye on all the work done by the other men. In the hay-lofts lay high heaps of freshly gathered hay in splendid rows, and in the store rooms in the barn all the partitions were stacked up to the ceiling with oats, corn and groats. All these were raised on Mr. Birkenfeld's property, which stretched down the incline into the valley on all sides.
On the other side of the house stood a roomy laundry, and not far from there, but divided off by a high, thick hedge from the large house and garden, was a cottage also belonging to the property. Several years ago, Mr. Birkenfeld had turned this over to Mrs. Kurd after her husband's death.