"The fields too?"

"The fields?" repeated Marx, in surprise. "The fields? The fields are a
different matter." He glanced as he spoke, at the field of oats he had
sown in the autumn, and which now bore blades a finger long. "The fields
are man's work and belong to him who tills them, but the forest, stream
and meadow were made by God. Do you understand? What God created for
Adam and Eve is everybody's property."

As the sun rose higher, and the cuckoo began to raise its voice, Ulrich's
name was shouted loudly several times in rapid succession through the
forest. The arrow he had been shaping flew into a corner, and with a
hasty "When it grows dusk, Marxle!" Ulrich dashed into the woods, and
soon joined his playmate Ruth.

The pair strolled slowly through the forest by the side of the stream,
enjoying the glorious morning, and gathering flowers to carry a bouquet
to the little girl's mother. Ruth culled the blossoms daintily with the
tips of her fingers; Ulrich wanted to help, and tore the slender stalks
in tufts from the roots by the handful. Meantime their tongues were not
idle. Ulrich boastfully told her that Pater Benedictus had seen his
picture of her father, recognized it instantly, and muttered something
over it. His mother's blood was strong in him; his imaginary world was a
very different one from that of the narrow-minded boys of the Richtberg.

His father had told him much, and the doctor still more, about the wide,
wide world-kings, artists and great heroes. From Hangemarx he learned,
that he possessed the same rights and dignity as all other men, and
Ruth's wonderful power of imagination peopled his fancy with the
strangest shapes and figures. She made royal crowns of wreaths,