That had made such an
impression on me that I always stood there shuddering for fear of a
repetition of the accident, which fortunately did not occur. When I
finally grew tired of waiting I stepped through a lattice gate, always
hanging aslant and always creaky, into a garden plot running along
close by the skittle-alley and parallel with it. It was a genuine
peasant's garden, with touch-me-nots and mignonette in bloom, and in
one place the mallows grew so tall that they formed a lane. Then when
the sun went down behind the forest the Golm, which lay to the west,
was bathed in red light, and the metal ball on its tall pillar looked
down, like a sphere of gold, upon the village and the skittle-garden.
Myriads of mosquitoes hung in the air, and the bumble bees flew back
and forth between the box-edged beds.
Our visitors usually left at the beginning of August, and when
September came the last of the hotel guests departed from the city.
If anybody chose to remain longer it was inconvenient for the
landlords, in which connection the following scene occurred. A man, a
Berliner of course, on returning to his hotel, after accompanying some
departing friends to their steamer, sat down leisurely by his host and
hostess, rubbed his hands together, and said: "Well, Hoppensack, at
last the Berliners are all gone, or at least nearly all of them; now
we shall have a good time, now it will be cozy." He expected, of
course, that the host and hostess would agree with him most heartily.
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