At last they drove up to the assembled villagers, and Hawermann approaching the carriage said a few words of welcome that came straight from his heart, and as Alick, in spite of his knowledge of human nature, had nothing ready to say on the spur of the moment, the young lady bent forward and gave the old man her hand with a friendly smile. As she did so, she read in his face as he did in hers, truth, honesty and uprightness. Alick now shook hands in his turn. Then the schoolmaster came forward followed by the line of Äsel, and gave out the key-note of one of the "Hymns of thanksgiving for peculiar mercies." The one chosen was No. 245 in the Mecklenburg hymn-book, and was intended to be used "after a severe thunder-storm." Very wisely, however, Master Strull began at the second verse because he thought it most suited to his squire: "Lord, we praise thy might."--Bräsig now wanted to wave his flag, but Gustavus Kegel held on tight: "Will you let the string go, you young rascal!" he cried.--"We know thy dreadful wrath!" sang the schoolmaster.--"Let the string go; d'ye hear me, boy?" said Bräsig impatiently.--"Yea, in thee do we trust, nor find thee to fail," sang the schoolmaster.--"Wait till I get hold of you, boy, and I'll give you such a thrashing," cried Bräsig.--"Thy kindness how tender, how firm to the end," sang the schoolmaster.--"I say, Sir, the strings have caught in the poplar," cried Gustavus. So Bräsig pulled and tugged at the banner, and in setting it free dragged off some of the small branches and leaves round which the string was entangled. The schoolmaster sang: "Hark, the crash of the storm." Fred Triddelfitz, who had meanwhile taken possession of the dinner-bell that was kept in the passage, rang a violent alarum. Bräsig waved his banner, and all the men and women, young men and maidens, boys and girls shouted at the top of their voices: "Hurrah! Hurrah!" And David Däsel blew on his horn: "The Prussians have taken Paris, &c." so solemnly that it was enough to touch the heart of even a dog. At the last toot of the horn, at the end of the first line, the old watch-dog, which Gustavus Kegel had let loose for fun, rushed at David Däsel's legs, and at the same moment the two brown horses began to dance and snort so much, that it was lucky that Degel the coachman was prepared for something of the kind happening, and at once drove on to the front-door. Alick got out of the carriage, and then helped his young wife out. The house was as grandly decorated within as without, and Mary Möller bustled about amongst the garlands of leaves and flowers in her new red jackonet gown, with a flushed face and red arms. As soon as she had grown a little cooler amongst the flowers, she rushed back to the kitchen to see how the cook was getting on with the dinner, just as if she were an iron heater and must be put in the oven again every time she got cool. As Mrs. von Rambow crossed the threshold, Mary came forward to meet her with her red arms extended as if she were a daughter of Moloch, and placed a wreath of blush-roses on her mistress' head. Then stepping back a few paces, and kneading her arms as if she wanted to make them flash fire, she repeated the following address, which she and Bräsig had been three months in composing: