I noticed slight changes when I arrived home. The lodging was the same, but I missed several pieces of furniture, which I knew had formerly been there. At first I wanted to ask for them, but a strange sensation of fear and cowardice closed my lips. There was also a pipe lying on one of the shelves.

"Who smokes a pipe?" I remarked.

My mother threw a quick glance at it.

"Father, of course; he thinks a pipe comes cheaper."

There were also other things that I thought surprising, but I would ask no more.

"I dare say you know that Charlie has left his master," said my mother.

"How should I know? Nobody has told me; where is he?"

"With father; I expect they will come in soon."

Although I felt pleased to see my brother again, of whom I had heard nothing all the time he had been away, I was not pleased that he had broken off his apprenticeship and had to begin afresh.

My mother had started to put the children to bed and to lay the table. When it was dark my father came in with my brother, and after the simple greetings were exchanged we sat down to supper. I noticed now how handsome my brother had become. Although he was only sixteen years of age, he was much taller than my father, and of such gracefulness that I could hardly take my eyes from him. His face was very beautiful. His eyes blue and large, and shadowed by most exquisite lashes. On his upper lip a fair, downy moustache showed, but his under-lip was, I thought, just a little too full.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked him once during the meal. "Speaking frankly, you are too big (and too handsome I had almost added) to be an apprentice."

"You are right, my beloved sister," he answered with a touch of scorn in his voice; "for that sort of position I have grown too big and, to tell the truth, too superior."

"Too superior?" I asked in amazement, and noticed how white and beautiful his hands were. He looked at his well-kept nails thoughtfully for awhile.

"Yes, too big and too superior to have my ears boxed."

"Did they?" I gasped, not daring to complete my sentence.

"Yes, and that's why I ran away."

"Perhaps you ought to have stayed there, after all," remarked my mother somewhat timidly. "What will you do now?"

He gave my mother a look that alarmed me. It was an ugly, almost threatening look, which robbed his face of all its beauty. But as if conscious of the impression produced upon me, he calmly leant back on the wooden chair and smiled self-contentedly.

"There is no need for you to lament," he said, addressing my mother; "I shall not be a burden to you.... I am going to Vienna," he finished, turning to me.

"To Vienna?" I asked. "What are you going to do there?"

He smiled again, and on this occasion contemptuously.

"I don't know yet; but there is no need to worry about such a fellow as I am; it is true that I have no money, but here (he pointed at his forehead) I have got something that is worth more than money," and after this introduction he started to picture his future.

"To begin with," he said, "it is undoubtedly a great misfortune to be born in the country. Think of the vast possibilities that are open to you in town. There are the well-managed schools, the places of historic importance, the innumerable means of earning a living, and the very air of culture and refinement that envelopes everybody. There is no real work in the country, and there never will be. It is true that the people get up in the mornings and try to do what there is to be done; but where is, I ask you, that race of all the different brain and bodily powers that is so characteristic of life in town, where the clever man is superseded by the cleverest man, and everybody tries to reach the top in consequence?... If I were silly enough to stay at a little country-place, what would become of me? Nothing but a mere loafer, who drags about quite uselessly the great gift of intelligence that fortune (my dear, I am above that nonsense of God and Church) has bestowed upon his cradle or rather upon his brain. I have therefore decided to throw in my lot with the quickest and cleverest of my age, and it must be hell itself playing against me if I do not succeed in getting enough money to enable me to buy a few hundreds of such dens"—he looked round the room contemptuously—"in a couple of years."

With my hands folded almost devoutly I sat silent during the whole of this speech, and did not quite know what to make of it. I greatly admired the graceful flow of his words, as well as his thoughts which were entirely new to me. Nevertheless there was something within me that warned me not to surrender the views and ideas I had so far held.

"I hope you will have good luck," I said at last when he made a little pause; "but I should like to know what you are going to be."

"Alas!" he replied, "I can see for myself now that you are not much better than these folks"—he pointed with his thumb at my parents—"and that you have never, not even in the least, raised yourself above the level of your birth. Your way of thinking is the way these folks think"—he pointed at my parents again—"and they think as their grandparents did. Progress is to all of you as foreign as China. How can you be so silly," he continued, somewhat more gently, "to ask me what I am going to be? How can I tell to-day? At the present I have not the faintest notion of the conditions and circumstances of Vienna, and how am I to know which of my capacities is likely to be the most eminent? Let me have the choice of a profession, the possibility of a trial, and I will tell you what I am made of."

Greatly ashamed of my ignorance, I was silent again.

"If you possessed brain," my brother continued—"a thing which I am sorry to say I do not suspect you of after I have had the pleasure of exchanging these few words"—he bowed ironically—"you might have perceived by now that I am no ordinary person, but of an artistic turn of mind. These people"—he pointed again at my parents—"have, unfortunately, little or no understanding of that, and will in all probability fail to comprehend the greatness that the future holds in store for me. That is, however, of little consequence; it is you whom I expect to escape from your present station in life"—I admired the delicate way in which he referred to my station—"as soon as possible. It is true that you will never succeed in reaching the height destined for me, but you may, nevertheless, go on to perfect yourself in every way possible, in order to spare me the distress of blushing for your ignorance and social standing later on."

My father had got up from the table some time before, and with his hands crossed on his back nervously paced the room. He coughed now and again, as if something irritated his throat, and it was plain that he was angry. All at once he stopped in front of my brother.

"Don't you think," he asked, "that it would be best for you to mix with your own class of people as soon as possible?"

"Why, of course," my brother replied with utter coolness, "I have already decided to leave for Vienna to-morrow; all that I must ask you is to let me have the money for the journey, a sum so trivial that I can repay it to you multiplied a hundred times in a few months."

They looked quite calmly at each other, but it was a calm that seemed to be loaded with thunder and lightning. My mother must have felt the same, for she got up rather hastily, and her voice trembled as she said: "There is plenty of time to settle that to-morrow. You had better go to bed now."

The thunderstorm, however, broke next day. My brother insisted on a certain sum of money, which my father thought too great and refused to let him have the whole of it.

"Do you want me to reach Vienna without a single penny in my pockets?"

"I will give you as much as I can spare; there are the little ones to be thought of; I cannot let them starve."

"Then you wish rather that I should starve?"

"I don't think that it would come to that. You are old enough to earn your living."

"Old enough! Do you really mean to say that a fellow sixteen years of age is old enough to earn his living?"

"Why not? I myself had to leave home when I was only a child of eleven, and have worked for my living ever since."

"Worked for your living!" my brother cried scornfully. "Wasting money and getting into debt to such an extent that no dog will take the trouble to look at us. Do you call that working for your living?"

The veins showed thickly on my father's forehead.

"You wretch!" he cried, and flew at my brother's throat, "is that what I get for having taken endless trouble to bring you up?"

It was evident that my brother had not expected so violent an outburst on the part of my habitually gentle father. He grew deadly pale and tried to free himself from my father's clutch.

After he had succeeded in doing so, he reached for his hat and turned to the door. But, before he closed it behind him, he said: "You will find me in the Kamp, if you should happen to look for me to-morrow."

What he called the Kamp was a river of considerable depth. After he had left, the room looked a picture of misery and grief. My mother was leaning against the wall weeping violently; my father was pacing the room, his face rigidly set and breathing rapidly; the smallest of the children, roused by the noise, had started to cry; and I trembled in every limb with excitement.

It was my brother's last words that worried me beyond expression—"You will find me in the Kamp, if you should happen to look for me to-morrow."

I imagined him plunging into the dark green water, sinking slowly and being found entangled in the tall reeds near the banks. "Mother," I said, speaking incoherently and almost inaudibly, "do you think that he will?"

"Don't ask me anything," she replied; "I am the most unfortunate woman under the sun."

During the whole day I hoped that he might still come back. He did not return, however, and when evening drew near I dismissed all hope of ever seeing him again. The next day I could not remain indoors any longer, so I went out and walked towards the river without actually knowing or wishing it. Every time I saw a group of people coming towards me I stopped in terror, for I believed that they had found him. Nobody, however, seemed to be on so terrible a mission.

The people looked gaily at me, and passed on to their work in the vineyards. When I reached the church square, the very sight of which was enough to arouse such sad and sweet memories that I felt more wretched, my brother appeared on the scene. Giving a joyous exclamation, I hastened towards him.

"Where did you spend the night, Charlie?"

But this question did not seem to please him.

"I certainly expected more tact on your part," he replied, stepping over to my side, "than even to allude to that distressing scene at which you were unfortunate enough to be present."

I did not dare to ask another question, and walked along in silence. Secretly I was surprised at his composure.

"I am extremely sorry for your misfortune," my brother said after a pause. According to my opinion it was he who was the more unfortunate of the two.

"Why are you sorry for me?" I asked him, and regretted the question the next moment, because his face flushed with anger.

"How can you ask why, when you yourself were present at this miserable occurrence, which must have taught you of what low descent you are."

"I?"

"Well, of course I mean we, but as I have ceased to belong to these folks any longer, I cannot help feeling extremely sorry at the thought that you will have to spend the whole of your life amongst these narrow-minded people, who are little better than savages. Ever since yesterday I have thought how I could help you."

According to my opinion he needed help far more than I did; but he did not seem to think so.

"What I have decided to do is this: I will take you down to Vienna, where I shall watch over you, cultivate any abilities that you may show—in short, educate you. As soon as I have shaken my boots free from the dust of this place and reached Vienna, I am going to work day and night in order to save enough money to enable me to write for you, and to let you learn all the important branches of art and science, such as languages, music, etc. Do you agree to it?"

I felt mightily touched at his generosity and could not speak for a while.

"As a matter of course," he continued hurriedly, "that cannot be done right away; you will have to wait a little, and in the meantime there is nothing to prevent you from accepting the place that mother has found for you. Your leisure time, however, I want you to fill up usefully, so that I shall not be ashamed of you when I introduce you to my friends. I strongly advise you to read Schiller. There is everything in his dramas that you may need to appear clever and witty in whatever situation you find yourself. It would be an excellent thing if you could quote from his works at every possible opportunity. I also advise you to read Goethe's works. Be careful, however, not to quote from them, as your mind is not yet ready to fathom the profound depth of his thoughts, and you might fall into the evil habit of quoting passages at quite inappropriate moments. Perhaps it is better for you to refrain altogether from reading his deeper works, until I myself shall be able to expound them to you. But," and a very winning smile parted his lips, "it is now time for me to say good-bye."

"Good-bye!" I exclaimed; "where do you want to go to?"

"I am travelling down to Vienna."

"But you have got no money!"

His lips closed, and the winning smile vanished.

"I can see," he retorted, "that you are backward in every way. The thing you most lack, and that you need to acquire first, is tactfulness. Because, alas! one of our family happens to have no feeling at all, do you really expect everybody to be in the same miserable state? Always be careful, I tell you, about mentioning anything that might recall occurrences or situations of a distressing character. A certain pride exists, which is alive even within the most pitiable wretch ... take care never to rouse that," and holding out his hand, he said good-bye.

I did not take his hand, but stared at his beautiful fingers.

"I don't mean to hurt your feelings," I said almost crying, "but how can you get to Vienna without a single penny?"

He frowned, and his handsome face darkened.

"It seems that I cannot expect from you that delicacy of feeling which you must possess if you are ever to deserve my affection. But since you are my sister, and really not to blame for your imperfections—because it is the duty of parents to attend to their children's education, and yours, I mean ours, have neglected that important thing entirely—I will answer your question about the money. You are perfectly right in suspecting that I have not a single penny, but let me tell you that I would much rather walk all the distance from here to Vienna than bring myself to accept another sou from the man who, on account of a strange accident, is entitled to call himself my father. I have tried to find out when the goods-train leaves for Vienna, and have decided to hide myself in it."

I shook my head in horror.

"No, never!" I cried; "you must not do that. I have got some money," and I pressed the rest of my ten shillings, which I had carefully wrapped up in a piece of white paper, into his hand; whereupon I detected signs of both anger and pity on his face.

"Surely," he said, "I should be a scoundrel of the meanest order if I touched this small sum of yours. Far be it from me to do such a thing;" and he put the money back into my hand. "It is true," he added, "that you have shown great tactlessness again, but I will forgive you this time."

Almost immediately he was gone, and although I was standing in the street, I began to cry most piteously, regretting my poverty, my lack of nobleness, even my very existence. I felt convinced that my brother was not only an artist, but also a hero and a martyr.