Walda | Page 2

between vine-covered fences which shut in old-fashioned gardens all a tangle of flowers. Back in the gardens were set stone houses with big chimneys and shut-in porches. On benches before the largest houses milk-pans and pewter plates were leaning against the weather-beaten walls. The diamond-paned windows reflected the gold of the sunset.
Up the street the stranger and the boy walked without meeting any one. They came to a straggling stone house with many wings that opened upon trellised verandas. It differed from the other stone buildings in not being surrounded by a fence. Its hinged windows were thrown open and white curtains flapped in the gentle breeze. Here the street broadened into a public square, the centre of which was occupied by a well. Hans Peter paused before the worn steps leading to the front door.
"Sir, this is the gasthaits," he said.
The man looked up as if in search of a sign, but there was nothing to indicate that it was an inn.
"Where is the landlord?" he asked. "This seems to be a deserted village."
Hans Peter stared at him.
"Where are the people who live in Zanah?" the stranger inquired, choosing words that the simple one would understand.
"I will go for Diedrich Werther," the boy said. "It is the sunset hour, and the men and women of Zanah are busy getting all their work done before evening prayer."
Hans Peter's German accent reminded the stranger to ask whether it was true that few people in Zanah knew any tongue except the German. He had to make the question very plain, and then Hans Peter said: "It is only the fool of Zanah and the great men like the Herr Doktor that know English." He appeared to be thinking hard for a moment, and after a pause he explained: "The English makes the wickedness of the world easy to learn. It is only the great men, who can put aside temptation, and the fool, whose soul is accursed, that cannot be harmed by it."
The man gave the simple one a glance of surprise. He looked into the boy's face for a moment.
"I am afraid the people of Zanah are not good Americans," he said. "English is the tongue of the United States, and all should speak it, Hans Peter."
Hans Peter shook his head.
"Some of our young men have learned the English and they have forsaken the ways of the colony to go out into the world. They have listened to Satan, and Zanah hath seen them no more. Two of our girls ran away. The elders worry much about the people, for it is hard to keep out evil things with the railway so near. We are forbidden to make images of anything on earth, but colored pictures are sometimes brought to Zanah."
"The elders must have a hard task, indeed, if they would keep out sin, Hans Peter." The stranger laughed. "I am afraid the great world will swallow up the colony some day."
"The elders will be guided, sir. Zanah is waiting for Walda Kellar to speak with the voice of prophecy. She will be the inspired one who will guide the people of the colony."
"Who is Walda Kellar?" asked the stranger. But the simple one was silent. The question was repeated.
"The fool hath talked too much," said Hans Peter.
"Go call the landlord of the inn," commanded the stranger, turning to seat himself in a splint-bottomed chair that stood in a corner of the veranda.
Diedrich Werther, the landlord, was slow in answering the summons of his chance guest. When he made his appearance he walked with deliberation. He was a short, stout man, with a red face, and he had a wisp of sandy hair in the middle of his forehead. His trousers, supported by knitted suspenders, were of such generous size that they reached nearly to his arm-pits. He wore a blue shirt and carpet slippers. He received his guest with a lack of hospitality which showed that visitors were of small importance in his estimation. After making a bow, which included the scraping of one of his carpet slippers as he bent his head, he looked at the stranger with un-winking eyes that revealed not the slightest sign of cordiality.
"Do you permit travellers to stay at your inn?" inquired the guest, first in English, but he received no response, and he had to resort to the German picked up in his student days at Heidelberg.
"Ja, ja," said Werther, and he motioned to Hans Peter to carry the valise inside the inn.
"And can I have dinner here?" the stranger inquired.
The landlord shook his head. Dinner was at midday, but a special supper would be made ready after evening prayer. The stranger could rest in the big chair.
The church-bell rang out in solemn tones. It had not sounded twice before the street became