When Walpurga awoke the next morning, she found the sack of gold in bed beside her, but Hansei had disappeared.
"Where is he? What's become of him?"
She dressed herself in a hurry, hunted for him, and went all over the house calling for him; but he was not there. She hurried over to Grubersepp's, but they had seen nothing of him. She returned home, but Hansei had not yet arrived.
What could it be? If Hansei had done some harm to himself--If having so much money had turned his head--Oh, that terrible money! It had been lying in the earth, and there was now nothing wrong about it, for what has once been in the ground is purified.
She went out to the lake. It was still storming; its waves were high, and the sky was covered with dark gray clouds.
Maybe Hansei's destroyed himself--maybe he's floating in there.
She stood by the water's edge and cried "Hansei" with all her might.
There was no answer. She returned to the house, and, as coherently as she could, told her mother of her grief. Her mother consoled her.
"Do be quiet. Hansei took his axe with him--the one that always hangs up there. I suppose he had something to do in the forest. He never shirks work. When he comes home don't tell him how foolish you've been. The palace still clings to you. You worry too much about everything. Take my word for it, the world's quiet and peaceful enough as long as we're quiet and orderly. Hush! I hear him coming. He's whistling."
Hansei approached whistling, and bearing his axe on his shoulder.
Walpurga could not go forward to meet him. She felt so weak in her limbs that she was obliged to sit down.
"Good-morning, Mistress Freeholder!" cried Hansei from afar. "Good-morning, Freeholder!" replied Walpurga. "Where have you been?"
"Out in the woods. I cut down a pine-tree, a splendid one that must have felt my strokes. It did me good. But, first of all, give me something to eat, for I'm hungry."
"He can still eat; thank God for that," thought Walpurga to herself, while she hurried to fetch the porridge. She sat down beside him, delighting in every spoonful which he took. She had much to tell and to ask about, but she didn't wish to disturb him while he was eating, and when the dish was half empty she held it up for him, so that he could fill his spoon.
"Now tell me," said she, when the dish was emptied, "why did you go out so early and steal away so?"
"Well, I'll tell you. When I awoke, I thought it was all a dream, and when, after that, I found the money, so much of it, I thought I'd go crazy. Hansei, the poor fellow who used to save for months at a time, and felt so happy when he could buy himself a shirt and a pair of shoes, had all at once become rich, and it seemed as if some one were turning me round and round and driving me crazy. Then I felt like waking you up, that we might consider what I'd better do with myself. But you sleep so soundly that I thought--Pshaw! is your wife to help you? Just you wait, Hansei; I'll show you--and so I got out and took my axe and went up the mountain. Day was just breaking. Although I was quite alone, I felt, all the time, as if there was a great crowd of people after me. Still I went on till I reached the pine. It was marked out to be felled long ago. I threw off my jacket and set to work, and when the chips began to fly, I felt better. Afterward, Wastl came up and helped me, but he kept saying, all the time: 'Hansei, you never worked as you do to-day'; and he spoke the truth. We felled the tree and it came down with a crash. That did me, good, and I felt better and better. We chopped off the branches and did three times as much as we generally do in the same time, and so, little by little, all the foolish notions and giddiness left my head. Now I'm here again and happy, and I'm with you, Walpurga, my old sweetheart. I've been a woodcutter again, in downright earnest, and now I'm to become a farmer--that is, if all goes right."
And it all came to pass.
The mother had a wonderful way of disappearing when she knew that Hansei and Walpurga had anything to settle between themselves. One could almost have fancied that the cottage was provided with secret doors and subterranean passages, so suddenly would she vanish. She would reappear just as suddenly, and no one would know where she had been or how she had returned.
According to her wont, she had disappeared. Walpurga and Hansei searched through the house for her, but found her nowhere. When they returned to the room, she was there.
"Mother, we've good news for you," said Walpurga.
"I see what's best of all, already," she replied, "and that is that your hearts are truly united. I don't care to know any more."
"No, mother, you must know this. Did you ever imagine that you might be mistress of the freehold at which you once were a servant?"
"No, never."
"But now it is so."
Walpurga and Hansei, relieving each other by turns, told her that they had enough money to pay the cash down for the farm, and that the purchase was as good as concluded, because Hansei had obtained the refusal of it for eight days.
Mother Beate could not utter a word in reply. She folded her hands, and her features assumed an expression of sadness.
"Mother, aren't you pleased at it?" asked Walpurga.
"Not pleased? You'll soon see. But I'm old, my child, and can't jump about, the way you do. Look at the mountains over there. As long as they've been standing there, no one has ever felt happier than I do. I don't know what the Lord means by giving me so much happiness on earth. He knows what He is doing and I accept it calmly and patiently. When you came home to us again, I thought my cup of happiness was full, but now I see there's more coming. Well, let what will come, I'm going home again."
The mother was obliged to stop, but Hansei said:
"Yes, mother; you shall see something that you've never seen before in all your life." He went into the room, returned with the sack of gold, and opened it.
"Just look at that!" said he. "How it shines and sparkles. You can hold it all in two hands, and yet there's enough there to buy a farm, with house and fields and forests, and cattle and tools and everything."
"That's a great deal of money," said the mother. She laid her hand on the gold, while her lips moved silently.
"Put your hand into it," urged Hansei. "Oh, how good it feels to stir about in the gold that way."
The grandmother did not comply with his wish, but kept murmuring to herself.
The child in the next room cried, and Hansei called out:
"The freeholder's daughter's awake. Good morning, freeholder's daughter!" said he, while the two women went out to the child. Then he took up the bag of gold, shook it, and said:
"Just listen; you never heard such music before."
The grandmother lifted the child out of the bed and said: "Hansei, just do as I tell you, and put the gold in the warm crib of the innocent child. That'll bless it, and no matter whose hands the gold may have been in, that consecrates it and brings a blessing with it."
"Yes, mother; we can do that." Turning to Walpurga, he added: "Mother always has such pretty notions. You know it'll do the gold good in the warm nest. Yes," said he to the little child, "they've put lots of gold in your cradle. We'll take one piece and have a hole drilled through it, and you shall get it when you become confirmed. Only keep good."
"But now I must go over to Grubersepp's," said he, at last.
Walpurga was obliged to tell that she had already been looking for him there, that morning. She now realized how prone she was to give way to exaggerated fears, and determined to break herself of the habit.
The grandmother, Walpurga and the child were happy together at home, and the mother related that just three months before Walpurga was born, she had been at the farm for the last time, and that was to attend her brother's wedding.
"They can bury me up there," added she. "It's a pity I can't rest beside your father, for the lake never gave him up again. Oh if he'd only lived to see this!"
Our highest joys and our deepest sorrows are closely allied.
Grubersepp came back with Hansei, and was the first to congratulate Walpurga and the grandmother. He advised them, however, to say nothing of the matter until the purchase was legally consummated.
On Sunday, Hansei, Walpurga, and the mother, went to church together. The child remained at home with Gundel. They walked along the shore of the lake in silence, thinking of how often they had gone that way in joy and in sorrow, and how they would feel when walking along another path and to another church.
The churchgoers whom they met on the way greeted them coldly, and the grandmother said:
"Don't let us take evil thoughts against others into church with us. We must leave them outside."
"But when one comes out again, they're there all the same, just like the dogs that wait at the church door," replied Walpurga sharply. The mother looked at her and she shook her head, while she said: "Take my word for it, the people are not nearly so bad as they make believe to be. They think it makes them look grander and more important, if they show that they can be angry and spiteful; but let that be as it may, if we can't make others good, we can make ourselves better."
"Give me the umbrella, mother--I can carry it better than you," said Hansei. This was his manner of expressing his assent.
The innkeeper drove by. Hansei saluted him, but the only answer he heard was the cracking of the whip.
"That's the way," said Hansei. "If he's angry, it's no reason why I should be."
The mother nodded her approval.
Although the service had both edified and satisfied them, it did not prevent Hansei from having a mighty appetite at dinner that day, and he said:
"I think the freeholder can eat more than ever, but I'll see to it that he works right bravely, too."
Hansei was quite merry, but he did not climb the cherry-tree again.
The doctor and his wife paid them a visit that afternoon. Walpurga showed the pretty gifts she had received, and Frau Hedwig was all admiration.
"I shall lay this beautiful dress aside for my child's wedding. You can't begin thinking of the outfit too soon."
The doctor had brought a good supply of bottle food. He placed the bottles on the table and said:
"Hansei, they tell me that you're doing dry penance, and as I'm a heretic, I'll pour out the wine for you."
He proceeded to do so most generously.
Walpurga brought one of the silver-sealed bottles of wine that Doctor Gunther had given her.
Doctor Kumpan knew how to open the bottles. He praised the wine, but bestowed still greater praise on Gunther.
"I think," said Walpurga, "that we ought to tell our honored guests what we have in view. They're honorable people and won't carry it further."
"You're right," said Hansei, and told them about the farm. The doctor and his wife congratulated them, and were only sorry that such good people were about to leave the neighborhood. Encouraged by the wine, Hansei asked:
"Doctor, might I--be so free--? You see, you're really the cause of our good fortune. Would you do us the honor to accept a present from us?"
"Let's hear what it is. How many thousand florins will you spend on me?"
Hansei was quite frightened; he had not meant to go that far.
"You're a merry gentleman; you're full of fun," said he, collecting his wits. "What I meant to say was--I've got three cords of wood out in the forest. I only finished cutting it last week, and I'd like to take it to your house."
"I'll do you the favor of accepting it. I see you're a real farmer already. You have an itching palm and money clings to it. Take care to remain so."
That Sunday had other honors in store for them, for when the afternoon service was over, the pastor called. He told them that he intended to leave for the capital on the following day, and reminded Walpurga of her promise to give him a letter to Countess Wildenort. Laughing heartily. Doctor Kumpan exclaimed:
"Ah! so her highness Countess Wildenort is your friend, and the pastor--"
"Doctor, I'd like to speak a word with you," said Walpurga, interrupting him. "Come, as quickly as you can."
She had learned one lesson at court: viz., that a firm yet polite manner enables one to check or avert many an ill-natured remark. There was a certain grandeur in her manner when she told the doctor that, in her house, she would allow no one to speak ill of Countess Irma, just as she would allow no one to say anything against the doctor. That would be just as false as what was said about the countess, who, while she was merry enough to be his comrade, was just as good as he was. Walpurga added that she hoped he would not grieve her by speaking ill of the countess.
The doctor looked at Walpurga in astonishment. When he came back into the room, he said to Hansei:
"You've got a great wife; one whose friendship is an honor to any one."
Walpurga went to her room and wrote:
"My Dearly Beloved Countess:
"I take this opportunity to write to you. Our pastor is going to the city, and has promised to be kind enough to take the letter with him and deliver it to you. I don't know what else he wishes to do, but rest assured that whatever he wants is all right. He's very kind to me, and particularly so since I've come home again. And now I'd like to write you how things are going with me. I couldn't ask God to make them better. To have one's husband, mother, child, and one's daily work besides! We've already made our hay, but not make-believe, as it used to be with us on the lawn at the summer palace. Don't you remember?
"Dear me! I say withus, and who knows whether any one at the palace still thinks of me?
"Yes, I am sure you do, my good countess; and my child, I mean the prince, and the queen and Mademoiselle Kramer and her father too.
"Pray give my love to them all, the doctor and Baron Schoning and Countess Brinkenstein. She's good, too, and Madame Gunther, also, if you should meet her. Oh, what a woman she is! I'm sorry enough that I only made her acquaintance the day before I left. You ought to go to see her every day. Your blessed mother must have been just such a woman as she is; and do me the favor and write me how my prince is getting on. He's fond of you, too, and if you get married, let me know, and, if there's an opportunity. Mademoiselle Kramer might send me the beautiful distaff. It would be a great pity if it had to lie up there in the garret.
"My husband was very sorry that he didn't get to see you, and I was sorry, too. I must always try to forget how you looked that morning, and when I try to picture my beautiful countess and good friend to myself, I have to pass over that.
"My mother sends her respects; she remembers your mother and says that when one looked into her face it was like looking at the sun.
"My child was quite stubborn at first. You saw, by the prince, how stubborn children can be when they don't like a person; but my child and I are very good friends, and the best thing in the world, after all, is to have a child, something to do, and a little property besides. Ah! to walk about with one's child is to have a fountain of life with you; one from which you can drink pure happiness at any moment.
"It often seems like a dream, when I think that I've been away; and it's well that it's past. I feel that I couldn't go through it again, and all that I wish for now is to live happy.
"I kiss this sheet, for your hands will touch it.
"From your true friend,
"Walpurga Andermatten.
"Postscript.--I've got some new songs here, but they're not pretty. I've no time to sing during the day, and if I didn't sing my child to sleep of an evening, I'd never have a chance to sing at all.
"Excuse me for writing so badly, but my hands have become hard already, and the paper and ink are very bad. Yes, that's what all bad writers say. Once more, farewell! I'm writing in haste and the pastor's waiting in the other room, and the doctor and his wife are here too. They're mighty good people, and if there are many wicked and envious folks in the world, they harm themselves more than they do others. My dear Countess, you can't imagine how much good you've done us. You'll be rewarded for it--you, your children, and your grandchildren. It's as good as certain that we won't stay here; but there's the same sky everywhere. And when you see your father, give him my mother's respects. She hasn't forgotten his kindness to her, and you are his daughter, and have your good heart from him and your mother. All that I wish is that you still had such a mother as mine. But mother's right: she says that there's no use wishing for what you can't have. I feel as if I had to write you a great deal more, but I can't think of anything else, and they're calling for me from the other room. Farewell! my best wishes, thousandfold, for your health and happiness. From my very heart, I wish you all that's good. Oh, if I could only go to you with this letter. But I'm glad to be home and mean to remain as long as I live. Farewell, all you good people out in the world."
Walpurga handed the letter to the pastor, who left soon afterward. He was not fond of being with the doctor, who was a sad heretic. Toward evening the doctor and his wife left, and Walpurga was not a little proud of the fact that all the villagers knew of the distinguished visitors who had called at the cottage. None of their neighbors could boast of like honor.
The week went by quietly. Hansei was absent for several days, during which time he concluded the purchase.
The little pitchman had asked permission to be present when the money for the farm was paid, and had requested this as an especial favor. His face brightened when he saw the heaps of gold, and when Grubersepp asked: "Do you like it?" he answered, as if waking from a dream:
"Yes, it's true; I couldn't have believed it. I've often heard, in old stories, of such heaps of gold. The whole lot of stuff doesn't weigh more than a couple of pounds, and you can get the whole farm for it. Yes, yes. I'll remember that to the end of my days."
Grubersepp laughed heartily. The little, gray-haired man must have thought himself quite young to talk thus of the end of his days as a thing of the remote future.
On Friday, the pastor returned. He had not seen Countess Irma, as she had accompanied the court to a watering-place. He had left the letter at the palace, and was told that it would be forwarded to her.
The weathercock turned again and indicated fair weather. The sky was almost cloudless. With men's minds it was just the same. It was rumored in the village that Hansei had bought the farm on the other side of the lake, and that he had paid for it in ready money. How could any one harbor ill-feeling against a man who was able to do that? No; it was shameful, on the part of the innkeeper, to drive a man like Hansei, and such a woman as Walpurga, from the village. They were a credit to every one, to say nothing of the advantage it is to have such rich and good people in the place--people, moreover, who have themselves been poor and know how the poor feel.
Hansei and Walpurga now received kindly greetings wherever they went, and all spoke of their intended departure as if it grieved them to think of it.
The ringleader on the Sunday that the band had come to the house, the very one, indeed, who wanted to play a trick on Hansei, now came and offered to engage with him as a farm-hand. Hansei replied that, for the present, he would keep the servants who were at the farm, and that, in the beginning, he would require people who knew all about the neighborhood and the farm itself. He said that he might be able to employ him later. Hansei was obliged to travel back and forth quite frequently. There were many legal matters to be arranged, and, besides, there was an old resident on the property who had a life-claim against the estate, for maintenance and support, and whom money would not induce to quit the house.
"And do you know," said Hansei, one day, "who helped me ever so much? We had quite forgotten that Stasi lives up there near the frontier, about three leagues from the farm. Her husband is the under-forester at that district. He showed me the forest, and he's quite right when he says that paths can be made, so that beams and planks may be brought down. Won't you go with me some time, and take a look at our new home?"
"I'll wait till we go there for good," answered Walpurga. "Wherever you take me to, I'll be satisfied, for we'll be together, and you can't imagine how happy mother is."
Although the grandmother had, before this, rarely thought of dying, she often complained that she wouldn't live long enough to move to the farm with them, and thus, as mother of the farmer's wife, return to where she had once been a servant.
All day long, she would tell Walpurga of the beautiful apple-trees in the great garden there, and of the brook whose water was such that the articles washed in it would become as white as snow, and that, too, without using a particle of soap. She also extolled the virtue of the people who were living there, and cautioned Walpurga to use good judgment in dispensing the gifts which it would now be her duty to bestow on others. She knew the old pensioner, and was indeed distantly related to him. They must treat him kindly, and thus bring blessings on the house.
Time sped by, and the hour of departure gradually drew near.
Walpurga had already packed the clothing and household utensils, but was obliged to unpack them again, as they were needed.
As the time for their departure drew near, the villagers became even more kindly and affable toward them, and Walpurga complained to her mother:
"I feel just as I did when I was about to leave the palace. I was always anxious to get away, and when the time came, I felt worried about leaving."
"Yes, child," said the mother, consoling her, "it will be just the same when you leave the world. How often one would like to go, but when the time comes, one isn't anxious to leave. Oh, my child! I feel as if the whole world were speaking to me and as if I understood it all. Everything, men and women especially, seems at its best when you have to part from it. That's the way it is when one parts with life. For it isn't till then that we begin to understand how beautiful the world is, after all, and how many good hearts we leave behind us."
Walpurga and her mother were now able to talk with each other to their heart's content, for they no longer got an hour of Hansei's company. He spent much of his time with Grubersepp, whom he accompanied into the fields, and from whom he received much advice and instruction.
One evening a messenger came, asking Hansei to come to Grubersepp's at once. He hurried off and did not return until late. Walpurga and her mother, curious to know what was going on, sat up for him. It was near midnight when he returned, and Walpurga asked: "What's the matter?"
"Grubersepp has got a colt."
Walpurga and her mother almost split their sides with laughter.
"What is there to laugh at?" asked Hansei, almost angry. "And besides, the signs are that it'll be a white one."
They burst out laughing again, and Hansei looked amazed. He told them, in great earnest, that Grubersepp had sent for him, so that he might learn all about it, and he was just about to acquaint them with the latest bit of information he had acquired: namely, that foals are never born white. But he thought better of it; for it occurred to him that it wouldn't do to tell the women all he knew, for they laughed so stupidly at everything. Besides, a rich farmer ought to be on his dignity with the women; he wouldn't forget that Grubersepp was so.
Hansei received various offers for his cottage, and was always provoked when it was spoken of as a tumbledown old shanty. He always looked as if he meant to say: "Don't take it ill of me, good old house; the people only abuse you so that they may get you cheap." Hansei stood his ground. He wouldn't sell his home for a penny less than it was worth; and, besides that, he owned the fishing right, which was also worth something. Grubersepp at last took the house off his hands, with the design of putting a servant of his, who intended to marry in the fall, in possession of the place.
All the villagers were kind and friendly to them--nay, doubly so, since they were about to leave--and Hansei said:
"It hurts me to think that I must leave a single enemy behind me. I'd like to make it up with the innkeeper."
Walpurga agreed with him, and said that she would go along; that she had really been the cause of the trouble, and that if the innkeeper wanted to scold any one, he might as well scold her, too.
Hansei did not want his wife to go along, but she insisted upon it.
It was on the last evening in August, that they went up into the village. Their hearts beat violently while they drew near to the inn. There was no light in the room. They groped about the porch, but not a soul was to be seen. Dachsel and Wachsel, however, were making a heathenish racket. Hansei called out:
"Is there no one at home?"
"No. There's no one at home," answered a voice from the dark room.
"Well, then, tell the host, when he returns, that Hansei and his wife were here, and that they came to ask him to forgive them if they've done him any wrong, and to say that they forgive him, too, and wish him luck."
"All right; I'll tell him," said the voice. The door was again slammed to, and Dachsel and Wachsel began barking again.
Hansei and Walpurga returned homeward.
"Do you know who that was?" asked Hansei.
"Why, yes; 'twas the innkeeper himself."
"Well, we've done all we could."
They found it sad to part from all the villagers. They listened to the lovely tones of the bell which they had heard every hour since childhood. Although their hearts were full, they did not say a word about the sadness of parting. Hansei at last broke silence:
"Our new home isn't out of the world, we can often come here."
When they reached the cottage they found that nearly all of the villagers had assembled, in order to bid them farewell, but every one added: "I'll see you again in the morning."
Grubersepp also came again. He had been proud enough before; but now he was doubly so, for he had made a man of his neighbor, or had, at all events, helped to do so. He did not give way to tender sentiment. He condensed all his knowledge of life into a couple of sentences, which he delivered himself of most bluntly.
"I only want to tell you," said he, "you'll now have lots of servants. Take my word for it, the best of them are good for nothing; but something may be made of them, for all. He who would have his servants mow well, must himself take the scythe in hand. And since you got your riches so quickly, don't forget the proverb: 'Light come, light go.' Keep steady, or it'll go ill with you."
He gave him much more good advice, and Hansei accompanied him all the way back to his house. With a silent pressure of the hand, they took leave of each other.
The house seemed empty, for quite a number of chests and boxes had been sent in advance by a boat that was already crossing the lake. On the following morning, two teams would be in waiting on the other side.
"So this is the last time that we go to bed in this house," said the mother. They were all fatigued with work and excitement, and yet none of them cared to go to bed. At last, however, they could not help doing so, although they all slept but little.
The next morning, they were up and about at an early hour.
Having attired themselves in their best clothes, they bundled up the beds and carried them into the boat. The mother kindled the last fire on the hearth. The cows were led out and put into the boat, the chickens were also taken along in a coop, and the dog was constantly running to and fro.
The hour of parting had come.
The mother uttered a prayer and then called all of them into the kitchen. She scooped up some water from the pail and poured it into the fire, with these words: "May all that's evil be thus poured out and extinguished, and let those who light a fire after us, find nothing but health in their home."
Hansei, Walpurga and Gundel were, each of them, obliged to pour a ladleful of water into the fire, and the grandmother guided the child's hand, while it did the same thing.
After they had all silently performed this ceremony, the grandmother prayed aloud:
"Take from us, O Lord our God! all heartache and homesickness and all trouble, and grant us health and a happy home where we next kindle our fire."
She was the first to cross the threshold. She had the child in her arms and covered its eyes with her hands, while she called out to the others:
"Don't look back when you go out."
"Just wait a moment," said Hansei to Walpurga, when he found himself alone with her. "Before we cross this threshold for the last time, I've something to tell you. I must tell it. I mean to be a righteous man and to keep nothing concealed from you. I must tell you this, Walpurga. While you were away and Black Esther lived up yonder, I once came very near being wicked and unfaithful--thank God, I wasn't. But it torments me to think that I ever wanted to be bad; and now, Walpurga, forgive me, and God will forgive me too. Now I've told you and have nothing more to tell. If I were to appear before God this moment, I'd know of nothing more."
Walpurga embraced him and, sobbing, said: "You're my dear, good husband," and they crossed the threshold for the last time.
When they reached the garden, Hansei paused, looked up at the cherry-tree, and said:
"And so you remain here. Won't you come with us? We've always been good friends and spent many an hour together. But wait! I'll take you with me, for all," cried he, joyfully, "and I'll plant you in my new home."
He carefully dug out a shoot that was sprouting up from one of the roots of the tree. He stuck it in his hatband and went down to join his wife at the boat.
From the landing-place on the bank, were heard the merry sounds of fiddles, clarionets and trumpets.
Hansei hastened to the landing-place. The whole village had congregated there and, with it, the full band of music. Tailor Schneck's son, he who had been one of the cuirassiers at the christening of the crown prince, had arranged, and was now conducting, the parting ceremonies. Schneck, who was scraping his bass viol, was the first to see Hansei, and he called out, in the midst of the music:
"Long live farmer Hansei and the one he loves best! Hip, hip, hurrah!"
The early dawn resounded with their cheers. There was a flourish of trumpets, and the salutes fired from several small mortars were echoed back from the mountains. The large boat in which their household furniture, the two cows and their fowls were placed, was adorned with wreaths of fir and oak. Walpurga was standing in the middle of the boat, and with both hands held the child aloft, so that it might see the great crowd of friends and the lake sparkling in the rosy dawn.
"My master's best respects," said one of Grubersepp's servants, leading a snow-white colt by the halter, "he sends you this to remember him by."
Grubersepp was not present. He disliked noise and crowds. He was of a solitary and self-contained temperament. Nevertheless, he sent a present which was not only of intrinsic value, but was also a most flattering souvenir; for a colt is usually given by a rich farmer to a younger brother when about to depart. In the eyes of all the world, that is to say, the whole village, Hansei appeared as the younger brother of Grubersepp.
Little Burgei shouted for joy when she saw them leading the snow-white foal into the boat.
Gruberwaldl, who was but six years old, stood by the whinnying colt stroking it, and speaking kindly to it.
"Would you like to go to the farm with me and be my servant?" asked Hansei of Gruberwaldl.
"Yes indeed, if you'll take me."
"See, what a boy he is," said Hansei to his wife. "What a boy!"
Walpurga made no answer, but busied herself with the child.
Hansei shook hands with every one at parting. His hand trembled, but he did not forget to give a couple of crown thalers to the musicians.
At last he got into the boat and exclaimed:
"Kind friends! I thank you all. Don't forget us, and we shan't forget you. Farewell! may God protect you all."
Walpurga and her mother were in tears.
"And now, in God's name, let us start." The chains were loosened; the boat put off. Music, shouting, singing, and the firing of cannon resounded while the boat quietly moved away from the shore. The sun burst forth in all his glory.
The mother sat there, with her hands clasped. All were silent. The only sound heard was the neighing of the foal.
Walpurga was the first to break the silence. "O dear Lord! if people would only show each other half as much love during life as they do when one dies or moves away."
The mother, who was in the middle of a prayer, shook her head. She quickly finished her prayer and said: "That's more than one has a right to ask. It won't do to go about all day long with your heart in your hand. But remember, I've always told you that the people are good enough at heart, even if there are a few bad ones among them."
Hansei bestowed an admiring glance upon his wife, who had so many different thoughts about almost everything. He supposed it was caused by her having been away from home. But his heart was full too, although in a different way.
"I can hardly realize," said Hansei, taking a long breath and putting the pipe which he had intended to light back into his pocket, "what has become of all the years that I spent there and all that I went through during the time. Look, Walpurga! the road you see there leads to my home. I know every hill and every hollow. My mother's buried there. Do you see the pines growing on the hill over yonder? That hill was quite bare; every tree was cut down when the French were here; and see how fine and hardy the trees are now. I planted most of them myself. I was a little boy about eleven or twelve years old when the forester hired me. He had fresh soil brought for the whole place and covered the rocky spots with moss. In the spring, I worked from six in the morning till seven in the evening, putting in the little plants. My left hand was almost frozen, for I had to keep putting it into a tub of wet loam with which I covered the roots. I was scantily clothed into the bargain, and had nothing to eat, all day long, but a piece of bread. In the morning it was cold enough to freeze the marrow in one's bones, and at noon I was almost roasted by the hot sun beating on the rocks. It was a hard life. Yes, I had a hard time of it when I was young. Thank God, it hasn't harmed me any. But I shan't forget it; and let's be right industrious and give all we can to the poor. I never would have believed that I'd live to call a single tree or a handful of earth my own; and now that God has given me so much, let's try and deserve it all."
Hansei's eyes blinked, as if there was something in them, and he pulled his hat down over his forehead. Now, while he was pulling himself up by the roots, as it were, he could not help thinking of how thoroughly he had become engrafted into the neighborhood by the work of his hands and by habit. He had felled many a tree, but he knew full well how hard it was to remove the stumps.
The foal grew restive. Gruberwaldl, who had come with them in order to hold it, was not strong enough, and one of the boatmen was obliged to go to his assistance.
"Stay with the foal," said Hansei. "I'll take the oar."
"And I, too," cried Walpurga. "Who knows when I'll have another chance? Ah! how often I've rowed on the lake with you and my blessed father."
Hansei and Walpurga sat side by side plying their oars in perfect time. It did them both good to have some employment which would enable them to work off the excitement.
"I shall miss the water," said Walpurga; "without the lake, life'll seem so dull and dry. I felt that, while I was in the city."
Hansei did not answer.
"At the summer palace, there's a pond with swans swimming about in it," said she, but still received no answer. She looked around, and a feeling of anger arose within her. When she said anything at the palace, it was always listened to.
In a sorrowful tone, she added: "It would have been better if we'd moved in the spring; it would have been much easier to get used to things."
"Maybe it would," replied Hansei, at last, "but I've got to hew wood in the winter. Walpurga, let's make life pleasant to each other, and not sad. I shall have enough on my shoulders, and can't have you and your palace thoughts besides."
Walpurga quickly answered: "I'll throw this ring, which the queen gave me, into the lake, to prove that I've stopped thinking of the palace."
"There's no need of that. The ring's worth a nice sum and, besides that, it's an honorable keepsake. You must do just as I do."
"Yes; only remain strong and true."
The mother suddenly stood up before them. Her features were illumined with a strange expression and she said:
"Children! Hold fast to the good fortune that you have. You've gone through fire and water together; for it was fire when you were surrounded by joy and love and every one greeted you with kindness--and you passed through the water, when the wickedness of others stung you to the soul. At that time, the water was up to your neck, and yet you weren't drowned. Now you've got over it all. And when my last hour comes, don't weep for me; for through you I've enjoyed all the happiness a mother's heart can have in this world."
She knelt down, scooped up some water with her hand and sprinkled it over Hansei's, and also over Walpurga's face.
They rowed on, in silence. The mother laid her head on a roll of bedding and closed her eyes. Her face wore a strange expression. After a while she opened her eyes again, and casting a glance full of happiness on her children, she said:
"Sing and be merry. Sing the song that father and I so often sang together; that one verse, the good one."
Hansei and Walpurga plied the oars while they sang:
"Ah, blissful is the tender tieThat binds me, love, to thee;And swiftly speed the hours by,When thou art near to me."
"Ah, blissful is the tender tie
That binds me, love, to thee;
And swiftly speed the hours by,
When thou art near to me."
They repeated the verse again, although, at times, the joyous shouting of the child and the neighing of the foal bade fair to interrupt it.
The singing and shouting was suddenly interrupted by a young sailor, who cried out:
"There's some one floating there! it's a human being--there! the head's over water! don't you see it? there's the long, coal-black hair floating on the water. Some woman's drowned herself, or has fallen overboard."
Every one in the boat looked toward the point indicated. The object rose and fell on the waves. It appeared to be a human face that would, now and then, rise to the surface and sink again. All were dumb with terror, and Hansei rubbed his eyes, asking himself: "Was it imagination or was it reality?" He thought he had recognized the face of Black Esther rising on the waves and sinking again. It floated on, further and further, and, at last, sank out of sight.
"It's nothing," said Walpurga, "it's nothing. Don't let us make ourselves unhappy."
"You're a stupid fellow," said the old boatman, scolding his comrade. "It was nothing but a dead crow or some other bird floating on the water. Who'd say such a thing?" added he in a whisper. "If we get but little drink-money, it'll be your fault. They were so happy that they'd have given us a thaler at least, but now you can see Hansei rummaging in his purse. He's looking for small change, and it's all your fault."
Without knowing why, Hansei had indeed pulled out his purse, and was fumbling in it. He was so bewildered with what he had seen--it was true, after all--but it could not be right--just now--to-day, when all was forgiven and past; and, after all, he hadn't sinned.
In order to regain his composure, he counted out several pieces of money. That restored his spirits. He was able to count; his senses had returned. He had resigned the oar and, with his piece of chalk, had actually been making some calculations on the bench. But he soon rubbed them out again.
"There's the other shore," said he, looking up and lifting his hat, "we'll soon be there. I can see the wagon and horses and Uncle Peter there already. I can see our blue chest."
"Heavens!" cried Walpurga, and the oar remained motionless in her hands. "Heavens! Who is it? Who is that figure? I can take my oath that, while we were singing, I thought to myself: If only my good Countess Irma could see us sitting in the boat together. It would have made her happy to see that, and just then it seemed to me as if--"
"I'm glad," said Hansei, interrupting her, "that we're getting to shore. If this lasts much longer, we'll all lose our wits."
On the distant shore, some one was seen running to and fro. The figure was wrapped in a flowing dress, and suddenly started when the wind wafted the sound of music across toward her. She sank to the earth and seemed to be crouching on the bank. Now that the sound had died away, she arose and fled, disappearing among the bushes.
"Didn't you see anything?" asked Walpurga again.
"Yes, indeed. If I was superstitious, and it wasn't in the day-time, I'd have thought it was the Lady of the Lake."
The boat reached the bank. Walpurga was the first to leap ashore. Leaving her people, she ran toward the bushes as fast as she could, and there, behind the willows, the figure fell on her neck and fainted.