“Johnny, Willie, come here!” she called, “it seems you have been taking some of my prunes?” “Oh, no!” protested the boys, while the tell-tale color mounted to their faces. “Don’t tell any falsehoods; don’t you know God hears you!” They remained silent and she knew all. The children wondered how she found out everything, and how she could tell by their noses whether they spoke the truth. They were afraid to deceive her.

When the weather was warm, she took the children to the river to bathe; but she never allowed them to go in deeper than their knees, lest they should be carried away by the force of the current and drowned. Sometimes she sat down with them on the bench from which the servants rinsed the clothes, and allowed them to paddle their feet in the water, and play with the little fishes that darted about in the stream. Dark leaved alders and willows bent down over the water, and the children were fond of breaking off twigs, throwing them into the water, and watching them as they floated farther and farther down the river.

“You must throw the twig well into the current, for if it remains near the bank, its progress will be hindered by every herb and every root,” said Grandmother.

Barunka broke off a twig and threw it into the middle of the stream; when she saw that it floated in the middle of the current, she asked:

“How will it be, Grandma, when it comes to the lock? can it go any further then?”

“It can,” replied John. “Don’t you remember how, the other day, I threw one into the water at the very lock; it turned and turned, and all at once it was under the lock and floated under the trunk, and before I passed the mill-room, it was in the stream and floated down the river.”

“And where does it go then?” asked Barunka.

“From the mill it floats to Zlicskem bridge, from the bridge to the channel, from the channel down across the dam around Bavirsky hill to the brewery. Below the rocks it will press its way across rough stones beyond the school - house, where you will go next year. From the school-house it goes to the large bridge thence to Zooli, from Zooli to Jarmirn and then to the Elbe.”

“And where will it go then, Grandma?” again asked the little girl.

“It will float far down the Elbe until it reaches the sea.”

“Oh, dear, that sea! Where is it and what is it like?”

“Oh, the sea is wide, and far away, a hundred times as far as from here to town,” answered Grandmother.

“And what will happen to my twig?” sadly asked the child.

“It will be rocked upon the waves, till they cast it ashore; many people and children will be walking there, and some little boy will pick it up and say: ‘Little twig, whence came you, and who cast you into the water? Probably some little girl sitting near the river broke you off, and sent you afloat.’ The boy will take the twig home and plant it in his garden. It will grow into a handsome tree, birds will sing in its branches, and it will rejoice.”

Barunka heaved a deep sigh. In her interest in Grandmother’s story’ she had forgotten all about her petticoats; they dropped down into the water and had to be wrung out. Just then the game-keeper came along and seeing her plight laughed at her, calling her a waterman. She shook her head and said: “There is no waterman.”

Whenever the gamekeeper passed by, Grandmother called: “Stop in, sir, stop in; our folks are at home.” The boys ran, seized him by both hands, and led him to the house. Sometimes he objected, saying that his pheasants were hatching, that he had to see to them, or that he had some other business on hand; but when Mr. and Mrs. Proshek happened to see him, willing or unwilling he was obliged to come in.

Mr. Proshek always had a glass of good wine for any welcome guest, and the gamekeeper belonged to that number. Grandmother brought some bread and salt and whatever else they had, and during the conversation he forgot that his pheasants were hatching. When he recollected himself, he cursed his thoughtlessness, and seizing his gun hastened away. In the yard he missed his dog. “Hector! Hector!” but no Hector appeared. “Where in the deuce is that brute racing?” he scolded. The boys ran out, saying that they would fetch him, that he was somewhere with Sultan and Tyrol.

The gamekeeper sat down upon the bench under the linden to wait until the boys brought his dog. Then he started, but stopped once more and called to Grandmother: “Come up our way, my wife is saving some guinea eggs for you.” He knew well the weak points of housewives. Grandmother assented at once. “Give your wife my regards and tell her we will come.” Thus they always took leave of each other with some pleasant word.

The gamekeeper used to go, if not every day, certainly every other day past The Old Bleachery. This he did year in and year out.

The other person that one would see every morning at about ten o’clock, on the walk leading to Proshek’s house, was the miller. That was his hour to see about the locks. Grandmother used to say that the miller was a good man, but somewhat of a rogue. This was because he was very fond of teasing and cracking jokes at the expense of others.