Library of the Worlds Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, Volume 3 | Page 9

her hand, and sprinkled it over Hansei's and also over Walpurga's face.
They rowed on in silence. The grandmother 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 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.
* * * * *
As they drew near the house, they could hear the neighing of the white foal.
"That's a good beginning," cried Hansei.
The grandmother placed the child on the ground, and got her hymn-book out of the chest. Pressing the book against her breast with both hands, she went into the house, being the first to enter. Hansei, who was standing near the stable, took a piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote the letters C.M.B., and the date, on the stable door. Then he too went into the house,--his wife, Irma, and the child following him.
Before going into the sitting-room the grandmother knocked thrice at the door. When she had entered she placed the open hymn-book upon the open window-sill, so that the sun might read in it. There were no tables or chairs in the room.
Hansei shook hands with his wife and said, "God be with you, freeholder's wife."
From that moment Walpurga was known as the "freeholder's wife," and was never called by any other name.
And now they showed Irma her room. The view extended over meadow and brook and the neighboring forest. She examined the room. There was naught but a green Dutch oven and bare walls, and she had brought nothing with her. In her paternal mansion, and at the castle, there were chairs and tables, horses and carriages; but here--None of these follow the dead.
Irma knelt by the window and gazed out over meadow and forest, where the sun was now shining.
How was it yesterday--was it only yesterday when you saw the sun go down?
Her thoughts were confused and indistinct. She pressed her hand to her forehead; the white handkerchief was still there. A bird looked up to her from the meadow, and when her glance rested upon it it flew away into the woods.
"The bird has its nest," said she to herself, "and I--"
Suddenly she drew herself up. Hansei had walked out to the grass plot in front of Irma's window, removed the slip of the cherry-tree from his hat, and planted it in the ground.
The grandmother stood by and said, "I trust that you'll be alive and hearty long enough to climb this tree and gather cherries from it, and that your children and grandchildren may do the same."
There was much to do and to set to rights in the house, and on such occasions it usually happens that those who are dearest to one another are as much in each other's way as closets and tables which have not yet been placed where they belong. The best proof of the amiability of these folks was that they assisted each other cheerfully, and indeed with jest and song.
Walpurga moved her best furniture into Irma's room. Hansei did not interpose a word. "Aren't you too lonely here?" asked Walpurga, after she had arranged everything as well as possible in so short a time.
"Not at all. There is no place in all the world lonely enough for me. You've so much to do now; don't worry about me. I must now arrange things within myself. I see how good you and yours are; fate has directed me kindly."
"Oh, don't talk in that way. If you hadn't given me the money, how could we have bought the farm? This is really your own."
"Don't speak of that," said Irma, with a sudden start. "Never mention that money to me again."
Walpurga promised, and merely added that Irma needn't be alarmed at the old man who lived in the room above hers, and who at times would talk to himself and make a loud noise. He was old and blind. The children teased and worried him, but he wasn't bad and would harm no one. Walpurga offered at all events to leave Gundel with Irma for the first night; but Irma preferred to be alone.
"You'll stay with us, won't you?" said Walpurga hesitatingly. "You won't have such bad thoughts again?"
"No, never. But don't talk now: my voice pains me, and so does yours too. Good-night! leave me