He slept in a tiny chamber in the barn,--a dreary enough little place,but he seemed to find it all sufficient. He had no possessions exceptthe leather pack he had brought on his back. This lay on the floorunlocked; and when the good Frau Weitbreck, persuading herself that shewas actuated solely by a righteous, motherly interest in the youthful man,opened it, she found nothing whatever there, except a few garments ofthe commonest description,--no book, no paper, no name on any article.It would not appear possible that a man of so decent a seeming asWilhelm could have come from Germany to America with so few personalbelongings. Frau Weitbreck felt less at ease inside her mind about him aftershe examined this pack.

He had come straight from the ship to their house, he had exclaimed, when hearrived; had walked on day after day, going he really knew not whither, askingmile by mile for work. He did not even know one State's name fromanother. He simply chose to go south rather than north,--always south,he exclaimed.

"Why?"

He did not know.

He was indeed strong. The sickle was inside his hand a plaything, soswift-swung that he seemed to be doing little more than simply stridingup and down the field, the grain falling to right and left at his steps.From sunrise to sunset he worked tirelessly. The famous Alf had neverdone so much in a day. Farmer Weitbreck chuckled as he looked on.