The Goose Girl | Page 2

soul, and relied valiantly upon her stick of willow. Once or twice he
had been inclined to hasten his steps, to join her, to talk, to hear the
grateful sound of his own voice, which he had not heard since he
passed the frontier customs; yet each time he had subdued the desire
and continued to lessen none of the distance between them.
The little goose-girl was indeed tired, and the little wooden shoes grew
heavier and heavier, and the little bare feet ached dully; but her heart
was light and her mind sweet with happiness. Day after day she had
tended the geese in the valley and trudged back at evening alone, all
told a matter of twelve miles; and now she was bringing them into the
city to sell in the market on the morrow. After that she would have little
to do save an hour or two at night in a tavern called the Black Eagle,
where she waited on patrons.
On the two went, the old man in tatters, the goose-girl in wooden shoes.
The man listened; she was singing brightly, and the voice was sweet
and strong and true.
"She is happy; that is some recompense. She is richer than I am." And
the peasant fell into a reverie.
Presently there was a clatter of horses, a jingle of bit and spur and saber.
The old man stepped to the side of the road and sat down on the stone
parapet. It would be wiser now to wait till the dust settled. Half a dozen

mounted officers trotted past. The peasant on the parapet instantly
recognized one of the men. He saluted with a humbleness which lacked
sincerity. It was the grand duke himself. There was General Ducwitz,
too, and some of his staff, and a smooth-faced, handsome young man in
civilian riding-clothes, who, though he rode like a cavalryman, was
obviously of foreign birth, an Englishman or an American. They were
laughing and chatting amiably, for the grand duke of Ehrenstein
bothered himself about formalities only at formal times. The outsider
watched them regretfully as they went by, and there was some envy in
his heart, too.
When the cavalcade reached the goose-girl, the peace of the scene
vanished forthwith. Confusion took up the scepter. The silly geese,
instead of remaining on the left of the road, in safety, straightway
determined that their haven of refuge was on the opposite side.
Gonk-gonk! Quack-quack! They scrambled, they blundered, they flew.
Some tried to go over the horses, some endeavored to go under. One
landed, full-winged, against the grand duke's chest and swept his
vizored cap off his head and rolled it into the dust. The duke signed to
his companions to draw up; to proceed in this undignified manner was
impossible. All laughed heartily, however; all excepting the goose-girl.
To her it was far from being a laughing matter. It would take half an
hour to calm her stupid charges. And she was so tired.
"Stupids!" she cried despairingly.
"From pigs and chickens, good Lord deliver us!" shouted the civilian,
sliding from his horse and recovering the duke's cap.
Now, the duke was a kind-hearted, thoughtful man, notwithstanding his
large and complex affairs of state; as he ceased laughing, he searched a
pocket, and tossed a couple of coins to the forlorn goose-girl.
"I am sorry, little one," he said gravely. "I hope none of your geese is
hurt."
"Oh, Highness!" cried the girl, breathless from her recent endeavors
and overcome with the grandeur of the two ducal effigies in her hand.

She had seen the grand duke times without number, but she had never
yet been so near to him. And now he had actually spoken to her. It was
a miracle. She would tell them all that night in the dark old Krumerweg.
And for the moment his prospect overshadowed all thought of her
geese.
The civilian dusted the royal cap with his sleeve, returned it, and
mounted. He then looked casually at the girl.
"By George!" he exclaimed, in English.
"What is it?" asked the duke, gathering up the reins.
"The girl's face; it is beautiful."
The duke, after a glance, readily agreed. "You Americans are always
observant."
"Whenever there's a pretty face about," supplemented Ducwitz.
"I certainly shouldn't trouble to look at a homely one," the American
retorted.
"Pretty figure, too," said one of the aides, a colonel. But his eye held
none of the abstract admiration which characterized the American's.
The goose-girl had seen this look in other men's eyes; she knew. A faint
color grew under her tan, and waned, but her eyes wavered not the
breadth of a hair. It was the colonel who finally was forced to turn his
gaze elsewhere, chagrined. His face was not unfamiliar to her.