"That's right, go on whistling!" screamed Auntie Schlotterbeck with her arms angrily akimbo. "Go on whistling, you fool! But I tell you, you may stand on your head, the child shall go to the great schools and the universities nevertheless. Sit there like a blind bullfinch and go on whistling. Cousin Christine, don't cry, don't show him you care, it only gives him a wicked pleasure. Such a tyrant! Such a barbarian! And after all, it's your child, not his! But the Lord will set things right, I know, so do take your apron from your eyes. Keep on whistling now, Master Grünebaum, but remember, you'll answer for it by and by; think what you will say to Master Anton up above when the time comes!"
It seemed as if when the time came Uncle Grünebaum intended to justify himself to his sainted brother-in-law by the beautiful song: "A squirrel sat on the thorny hedge"—at least he whistled it with pensive emotion, and twiddled his thumbs in accompaniment.
"Oh, Niklas, what a hard-hearted man you are!" sobbed his sister. "Auntie is right, you will never be able to justify yourself for what you are doing to your brother-in-law's child——"
"And it's better to be a rag-picker than such a shiftless cobbler who wastes the time God has given him at the beer table in the Red Ram. And a creature like that wants to balk and kick out behind if a poor child wants to get ahead! If he'd only wash his hands and comb his hair, the fellow! I'd like to see anybody that would want to take him for an example and a model. There isn't anybody else like him and a man like that wants to keep others from washing themselves and being an honor to their parents. But I build on God, Master Grünebaum. He'll show you what you really are. It's really absurd that a man wants to play the guardian who can't even guard himself."
The melody "Kindly moon, thou glidest softly" must have a very soothing effect indeed on human feelings; Uncle Grünebaum whistled it meltingly as long as Auntie Schlotterbeck continued to speak, and however great may have been the anger that boiled in his breast, the world saw nothing of it. When Hans Unwirrsch came home from school with his bag of books he found the two women in a very excited state with scarlet faces, and his uncle quite composed, even-tempered and calm;—he did indeed guess what they had been talking about again but he seldom learnt any of the details of the discussion.
Usually Uncle Grünebaum took his departure while whistling a hymn or some other solemn air and at the same time pinching poor Hans' ear with a grin; Mephistopheles might have envied him his smile and after he had gone the women generally dropped on the nearest chairs, exhausted and broken in spirit, and for several hours were incapable of believing in human and divine justice.
In the cornfields the scythes flashed and swished; Uncle Grünebaum had still not given in. Without the aid of any wind all kinds of fruit detached themselves from the branches and fell to the ground; Uncle Grünebaum held more obstinately to his opinion than ever. Silver threads spread over the earth and wavered through the air: Uncle Grünebaum did not waver with them but laughed scornfully from his low three-legged stool. The foliage in the woods changed daily to an ever gayer hue, but Uncle Grünebaum's view of the world and life did not change. Moses Freudenstein boasted more and more proudly in his triumph, and Hans Unwirrsch's expression grew more and more miserable and depressed. The song-birds chirped their last melodies and prepared for their flight to the South: Uncle Grünebaum joined in the chirping, but he put his trust in the psalmist's promise "so shalt thou dwell in the land and verily thou shalt be fed," for he was too thoroughly convinced that he was indispensable in Neustadt, in the "Red Ram" and in his family. No Deus ex machina descended to bring aid to poor Hans and so he finally had no alternative but to help himself. He carried out a plan which had required a long time to mature in his mind, thus throwing Auntie Schlotterbeck and his mother into giddy amazement and putting his stiff-necked Uncle Grünebaum entirely beside himself.
One Sunday morning at the beginning of September Professor Blasius Fackler, doctor of philosophy and one of the lights of the local "Gymnasium," ruled alone in his house and felt safe and comfortable, as he seldom did, in his study.
His wife with her two daughters was at church, in all probability praying to God to forgive her for the agitated hours which she occasionally caused the "good man," that is, her lord and master. The maid had absented herself on private business; the house was still, it was indeed a gray day that looked into the study filled with clouds of tobacco smoke, but the joyful soul of the professor roamed over a blue welkin with the song-book of Quintus Valerius Catullus and drank in the ecstatic moments of freedom,—
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis.