English Translation

3 Password: "Quintus" my finger should not fit" - he raised the index finger of the right hand into the light, the front link was missing and he stood now almost a little grayy in the bright, fermenting air - "if it doesn't fit you - can change it quietly!" The boy pretended as if he didn't hear anything; he had discovered a beetle between the Bretterns, a small, nimble waggon, now frantically running through the damp sand and to which he stormed stones and branches like mountains and primeval forests before the run. Then the old man might be afraid that he would still come around his beautiful morning chat and he said comfortingly: *You know, it doesn't matter to me at all at the beginning! You can put it on later if you only want to know how this can become a sight, that of the paradise and so on!" "That's the beginning!" said the boy rudely. He was angry, he thought that now he would have to explain to the old man how this actually behaves, with the life and art, and he already knew how the old woman would annoy him. He acted as if all the effort was tiresome: "You don't understand that!" - Now they both kept quiet. It was very quiet over the gardens, you almost felt the warm air dancing over the beds. Then it was heard over there, from the railway-Michel-house, that a bucket was drawn, that the horses were gathered out of the stables, and the rebuke of his servant, to whom at the well the Zubers were collapsing over the Gredsteine. Chickens were gazing, a cloud of light pigeons stood over the house, they heard the fluttering of the wings, and now the tower clock struck from the castle behind the steep forest hill of hot eleven. "Yes - I want to tell all this!" said the boy and he dashed through the air, as if he wanted to capture everything, the narrow valley, the spring and the life all around: "Yes, all this and how it came to be, that they baptized this Plack the "spa- tzenparadies", and how your house grew over there and now also spreads its bread crumbs to us in the Seicksal hand!" "Yes so swollen I thought, with the sparrows in the chic sals hand!" the old man nipped. - "And do you even know how this used to happen?"* "What does that have to do with my story?" "Perhaps that's the beginning?" "Tell Michel!" The old man looked after his dog with satisfaction; his face looked like a look at the head of a cockerel, as he cunningly pushed the hook nose into the air: "I want to tell you already, but first I want to know how you'll write it!n "You're threatening me?" "Why?" "If you don't like my story, you won't tell me the beginning!"