"But why shouldn't you get her?" asked Johannes. "Does she hate you?"

"Not exactly," said Uli. "She's nice to me; when she can do me a favor she never says no, and when she sees that I'd like to have something done she helps me as much as she can; and she never tries to put obstacles in the way, like so many women, who, when they see you absolutely ought to do one thing, absolutely want something else and hinder you as much as they can. But still she's rather proud, and she can't forget that she comes of a distinguished family, even if she is illegitimate. If anybody gets anywhere near her she goes for him as if she'd eat him, and I wouldn't advise anybody to try to flirt with her and put hands on her, as is customary in lots of places. More than one has got a good box from her."

"But that doesn't at all mean that she wouldn't have you," said Johannes. "If she won't let herself be fingered by everybody, I can't think any the less of her for it."

"Well, then there's something else," said Uli. "I daren't think of Freneli any more. Wouldn't she say to me, 'Now that you can't have the rich one, I'm to be good enough for you, am I? If you could prefer that green, yellow Elsie to me, then I don't want you now, either; I don't want a fellow who has gone around sweethearting with such a withered grass-blade as that.' She's bound to give me that answer. And still I thought of Freneli more than I did of Elsie all through the affair; only now I begin to see that I've loved Freneli more and more, and if I had the girl I'd guarantee to take over a farm and make more on it than anybody else. But now it's too late; she won't have me; she's awfully peculiar."

"Ho!" said Johannes, "never lose your courage as long as a girl's single. They're the queerest sort of ducks and generally do just the opposite of what you expect. If that's the way it is I'd have a try; the girl pleases me."

"No, master, I wouldn't ask that girl for a hundred crowns. I know well enough that it will almost break my heart if I have to go away from her and can't see her every day any more. But if I asked her and she should despise me and say no, I think I'd hang myself on the garret ladder. By the Almighty, I couldn't stand it if another man led her off to church; I believe I'd shoot him. But she won't marry, she'll stay single."

Then Johannes began to laugh very heartily and asked how he knew that such a girl, twenty-three years old, would stay single.



"Oh," said Uli, "she won't have anybody; I don't know who'd be good enough for her."

Now Johannes said they had better think about getting home before church was out; he didn't wish to run into the church-goers. Uli followed him, speaking little, and what he said was concerned only with Freneli, now one thing and then another, and he asked Johannes to promise that he wouldn't let a word that Uli had told him cross his lips. "You simpleton," said Johannes, "who should I tell?"

Meanwhile Uli's mistress had long since been quivering with impatience, and as soon as Uli and his old master entered the room she said to him, "Go up to the room we slept in and see what Freneli's doing. Tell her to pack up; we want to start out." Uli found the girl standing before a table, folding up one of her aunt's aprons. He stepped softly up behind her, put his arm about her quite gently, and said, "Your aunt's in a hurry." Freneli turned swiftly about, and looked silently up at Uli, as if surprised at this unwonted familiarity, and the latter asked, "Are you still angry at me?"

"I've never been angry at you," she replied.

"Then give me a kiss; you've never given me one," answered Uli, and bent down.

At that instant Freneli twisted away so powerfully that he was driven back half across the room; and still it seemed to him as if he had got his kiss; he thought he felt Freneli's lips quite distinctly on one spot. But the latter waggishly gave him a dressing down, intimating that she thought he was too old for such tricks, and probably her aunt hadn't sent him up to take her time with such foolishness. He must think what Stini, his old sweetheart, would say to it if she came in; she didn't went to have a wrestling match with her, like Yrsi. At the same time she laughed so that Uli felt quite crushed and got out as soon as he could.

They were later in setting out than they had expected, for as they were about to hitch up they had to sit down to a meal for which Johannes's wife had summoned her whole culinary skill and the entire resources of her house. Although Uli's mistress kept saying time after time, "Good heavens, who can eat of every dish?" still there was no end of pressing them, and she was not left in peace until she declared that she simply couldn't swallow another thing; if she was to eat another bite, she'd burst.

While Uli was hitching up she put new coins into the hands of her cousin's children, although the latter tried to refuse them, and the parents told her not to go to such expense and admonished the children not to be so bold as to take them. When they took them just the same and ran and showed the treasure to their mother, she said, "Oh, what a thing to do; it makes us ashamed." And then her cousin said it was not worth talking about, and urged them to come very soon and visit them, and get back what this visit had cost them. They would surely come, was the answer; but they shouldn't have hurried so and should have stayed another day. So amid much talk they finally reached their little wagon and continued talking as they drove away, Freneli telling her aunt all that she had noticed, which was indeed not a little; for she had seen many things of which she said, "If I was younger and could work better I'd have that too." To all this Uli said nothing, and only paid such strict attention to his Blackie, which he made trot so sharply that his mistress finally said, "Uli, is anything the matter with you? Aren't you driving Blackie too hard? He's not used to running so." Uli excused himself and received orders to stop when they had gone something more than halfway. * * *

Without paying attention to the conversation of the two women, Uli drove to the designated inn. The hostess welcomed them and led them into a special room, as the mother had desired, after telling Uli to come right in. Then she ordered wine and a couple of plates with something to eat; driving had made them hungrier than they would have believed possible.

The order was brought, but Uli was missing. The hostess had been sent out after him, and came back and said she had told him; but still he did not come. Then the mistress said, "Go, Freneli, and tell him to come at once." Freneli hesitated and thought they oughtn't to compel him; if he was hungry or thirsty he'd come all right. "If you won't go," said her aunt, "I'll have to go myself." Then Freneli went out in a temper, and with stinging words drove Uli along, who had been standing in the sulks by the bowling alley and had at first refused to come. He could stay where he was, for all of her, she said; but her aunt had ordered it. It was she that wanted him to come; she herself, Freneli, had no desire to run after him any more.

Uli came at last, giving little answer to the many reproaches of his mistress for having to be forced to come. But she filled his glass heartily, forced him to eat, and kept up a chatter of talk—how well she had liked it at Cousin Johannes' house, and how she could now see where Uli had got his training. But he must have been especially good to them, too, for the children still hung upon him and their parents loved him almost like a son. "I suppose you'll want to go back to them, when you leave us."

"No," said Uli.

"It's not customary to ask, to be sure; but will you tell me where you are going?" asked his mistress.

"I don't know yet," said Uli; "I haven't been in a hurry to take a place, although I could have had several."

"Well then, stay with us; that's the best thing for both of us; we're accustomed to each other now."

"I hope you won't take it ill of me," he said; "but I don't intend to be a servant any more."

"Have you something else?" she asked.

"No," he answered.

"Well, if you don't want to be a servant any more, suppose we make you tenant on our farm."

This speech affected Uli like a sudden blow. He dropped his mutton-laden fork on his plate, but kept his mouth open, turned his saucer eyes upon his mistress and stared at her as if she had come down from the moon. Freneli, who had been standing at the window, vexed at Uli's slow eating, turned swiftly about and opened eyes and ears to see what would happen.

"Yes, look at me all you want," said the mistress to Uli; "I mean it seriously; if you won't stay as servant would you stay as leaseholder?"

"Mistress," said Uli at last, "how should I be able to become your tenant? I'm not able; I'd have to be lots better off than I am. You're only making game of me."

"No, Uli, I mean it," said his mistress, "and your not having money doesn't matter; we could arrange it so that it wouldn't cost you anything to begin; the whole place is furnished."

"But what do you suppose, mistress," exclaimed Uli; "even if you did this, who would be my security? A single bad year on such a farm would ruin me. The place is too big for me."

"Ho, Uli, that can be managed, and we're not such hard-hearted wretches as to let a tenant that suits us be ruined on account of a single year. Just say you're willing, and we'll fix all that."

"Well, mistress," said Uli, "even so; but who would look after the housekeeping for me? There's a lot to do there."

"Ho, take a wife," said she.

"That's easily said," answered Uli; "but where should I find one that would be the right person for it and that would have me?"

"Don't you know of anybody?" asked the mistress.

At that Uli's voice stuck in his throat, and hesitating and embarrassed, he poked around on his plate with his fork. But Freneli said quickly that it seemed to her it was time to go, for Blackie must have eaten his oats long ago and Uli had probably had enough by this time; they, could continue their jokes another day.

Without listening to these words her aunt finally said, "Don't you know of anybody? For I do."

Again Uli turned saucer eyes upon her; Freneli said she was curious too. Her aunt, with undisturbed, playful ease, one hand on the table, her broad back rested comfortably against her chair, said, "Give a guess; you know her." Uli looked around at the walls; he could not find the right word; he felt as if he had a whole bagful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. Freneli tripped up impatiently behind her aunt, remarking that they ought to start out, as it was getting dark. Her aunt, however, did not listen to Freneli, but went on, "Can't you think of her? You know her well. She's a hard-working girl, but acts up a little at times, and if you don't quarrel you can have a very good life together." Thereupon she laughed very heartily, and looked first at one and then the other.

Then Uli looked up; but before he had gulped out an answer Freneli intervened, and said, "Go and hitch up; Auntie, one can carry a joke too far, too. I wish I'd never gone along. I don't know why I can't be left in peace. Yesterday other folks made me angry, and today you're worse still. That's not kind, Auntie."

Uli had stood up to go out; but his mistress said, "Sit down and listen. I'm in earnest; I've said to Joggeli many a time that there never were two people better fitted for each other than you two; it was as if you'd grown up for each other."

"But Auntie," cried Freneli, "for goodness gracious sake, do stop, or I'll run away. I won't be auctioned off like a cow. Wait till Christmas; then I'll get out of your sight, or even before, if I'm so displeasing to you. Why do you take so much useless pains to bring two people together that don't want each other? Uli cares for me just as much as I do for him, and the sooner we part company the gladder I'll be."

But now Uli's tongue was loosened and he said, "Freneli, don't be so angry with me; I can't help this. But this much let me tell you; even if you do hate me, I've loved you this long time, and wouldn't want a better wife. Any one would be happy with you; if you'll have me, I'd be only too happy."

"Oh, ho!" said Freneli, "now that you hear about the farm and that you'd get it in lease if you had a wife, all at once I'll just suit you. You're a cheerful fellow! If you only got the farm you'd marry a hussy from the gutter, or a fence-post, wouldn't you? But oh, ho ho!" she laughed scornfully, "you've struck the wrong girl; I don't have to have a husband; I don't want any, and least of all a man that would marry a lamp-wick if there was a little oil on it. If you won't start off I'll walk home alone," and with that she was about to dart out of the door.

But Uli caught her and held her with a strong arm, resist as she would, saying, "No, truly, Freneli, you wrong me. If I could have you, I'd go out into the wilderness, where I'd have to clear the whole land before I could plant it. It's true that when Elsie flirted so with me, the farm went to my head and I'd have married her just on that account. But I'd have committed a heavy sin; for even then you were in my heart, and I always liked to see you a hundred times better than her. Every time I saw her I was frightened; but when I met you my heart always jumped for joy. Just ask Johannes; I told him this morning that I didn't know where under the sun I could find a better wife than you."

"Let me go," cried Freneli, who had carried on like an angry cat during all this handsome speech and had not even refrained from pinching and scratching.

"I'll let you go," said Uli, who manfully bore the scratching and pinching; "but you mustn't suspect me of wanting you only in case I could be tenant on the farm. You must believe that I love you anyway."

"I make no promises," cried Freneli, and she pulled herself free with all her might, and fled to the other end of the table.

"Why, you act just like a wild-cat," cried her aunt. "I never saw such a girl. But now be sensible, come and sit down beside me. Will you come or not? I'll never say another kind word to you as long as I live if you won't sit down here a minute and keep still. Uli, order another bottle. Keep still now, girl, and don't interrupt me," continued her aunt, and she went on to tell how she should feel if they both went away; what evil days awaited her; shed painful tears over her own children, and said that she could still be made happy if it might turn out as she had thought it through in her sleepless nights. If two people could be happy together, they were the ones. She had often told Joggeli that she had never seen two people that understood each other so well in their work and were so helpful to each other. If they kept on in the same way they must become very prosperous. They would do whatever they could to help them, she and Joggeli. They weren't like some proprietors, who weren't happy unless a tenant was ruined on their place every other year, and who spent sleepless nights planning to raise the rent when the tenant was able to pay the whole amount on time, because they were afraid he had got it too cheap. Truly, they'd do by her as by their own children, and Freneli would have a dowry that no farmer's daughter need be ashamed of. But if that didn't suit her and Freneli carried on so, then she didn't know what to do; she'd rather never go home again. She wouldn't reproach her; but she surely hadn't deserved to have Freneli act so now; she had always done by her as she thought right. And now Freneli was behaving in this way just to grieve her—that she could see; she hadn't been the same to her for a long time. And the good woman wept right heartily.

"But, Auntie," said Freneli, "how can you talk so? You've been a mother to me; I've always looked on you as such, and if I had to go through fire for you I wouldn't hesitate a minute. But I won't be forced upon such a puppy who doesn't want me. If I have to have a husband I want one who loves me and takes me for my own sake, not one that takes me along with the other cows as part of the lease."

"How can you talk so?" asked her aunt. "Didn't you hear him say he's loved you this long time?"

"Yes," said Freneli, "that's what they all say, one with another; but if they all choked on that lie there wouldn't be many weddings. He's no better than the rest, I guess; if you hadn't talked about the farm first, then you could have seen how much he'd have been in love with me. And it's not right of you to tell me nothing about all this, or to fling me plumb at his head like a pine-cone thrown to a sow. If you'd confided in me first I could have told you what's trumps with Uli. What he says is: 'Gold, I love you;' and then he expects us to hear: 'Girl, I love you.'"

"You're a queer Jenny," said her aunt, "and you act as if you was the daughter of a lord."

"That's just it, Auntie! Just because I'm only a poor girl, it's proper for me to hold myself high and not let myself be treated like a handful of fodder. I think I have more right to it than many a high-born girl, no matter whether she's the daughter of a lord or a farmer."

"But, Freneli," protested Uli, "how can I change that, and do I have to pay for it? You know well in your heart that I love you, and I knew just as little of what your aunt had in mind as you; and so it's not right of you to vent your anger on me."

"Ah," said Freneli, "now I begin to see that the whole thing was a put-up job; otherwise you wouldn't excuse yourself before I accused you. That's worse than ever, and I won't listen to another word; I won't let myself be caught like a fish in a net."

With that Freneli again tried to get up and run out; but her aunt held her fast by her bodice, saying that she was the wildest and most suspicious creature under the sun. Since when did she set traps for her? It was true that she had wanted to visit her cousin about this affair, and for that reason she had taken them both along. But what she had in mind nobody knew, not even Joggeli, much less Uli. She had commissioned her cousin to worm Uli's secrets out of him, and it was true that Uli had praised Freneli to the skies, so that her cousin had told her that Uli would take Freneli any time—the sooner the better; but that Uli was afraid to say anything to Freneli for fear she'd hold up Elsie against him. At that she had thought that she would speak, if Uli was afraid to; for that Uli didn't suit the girl, nobody could convince her; her eyes weren't in the back of her head yet. So Uli couldn't help it at all.

"But then why did he come into the room today while I was packing up and want to give me a kiss? He never did that before."

"Oh," said Uli, "I'll just tell you. After I had talked with old master today you were in my mind more than ever, and I thought I'd give everything I had if I knew whether you loved me and would have me. I didn't know a thing about the farm. Then when I found you alone, something came over me, I didn't know what; I felt a sort of longing in my arm; I had to touch you and ask for a kiss. At first I thought I had had one; but then later I thought it couldn't have been, or else you; wouldn't have pushed me out into the room so wildly. I thought you didn't care for me, and that made me so sad at heart that I wished Christmas was here and I could go away; indeed I was going far, far away down into Italy, so that nobody would ever hear anything of me. And I feel so still, Freneli, if you won't have me. I don't want the lease, and I'll go away and away, as far as my feet will carry me, and no one shall ever know where I've gone."

He had stood up and stepped up to Freneli, and tears stood in his honest eyes; while they were rolling down her aunt's cheeks. Then Freneli looked up at him and her eyes grew moist, though mockery and defiance still quivered about her mouth; but the repressed love broke through and began to send its shining rays out of her eyes, while her maidenly reluctance cast up her lips as bulwark against her surrender to his manly insistence. And while her eyes radiated love, still there came forth from behind the pouting lips the mocking words: "But, Uli, what will Stini say, if you're after another girl so soon? Won't she sing to you:

'A dove-cot would be just as true: It's off with the old love, on with the new.'"

"But how can you play the fool with him so?" queried her aunt; "you see he's in earnest. If I was in his place I'd turn my back on you and tell you to whistle for me if you wanted me."

"He's free to do it, Auntie, and you don't know but I wish he would," said Freneli.

"No you don't," retorted her aunt; "I can hear that in your voice. And Uli, if you're not a stupid, you'll put your arms around her this minute; she won't shove you out into the room now, trust me."

But her aunt was mistaken. Once more the girl summoned all her strength, and whirled about so sharply that she almost shook off Uli again. But her strength did not hold out. She fell on Uli's breast and broke out in loud, almost convulsive weeping. The two others almost became frightened, as her sobbing seemed to have no end; they did not understand what was the matter. Uli comforted her as well as he could, and begged her not to go on so: if she'd rather not have him, he could go away, he wouldn't torment her. Her aunt was vexed at first and told her she was silly; that in her day girls hadn't put a hound to shame with their howling when they found a sweetheart. But then she became alarmed and said she wouldn't force the girl; if she was unwilling to have Uli she could do what she liked for all of her. Only for goodness sake she shouldn't go on so; the innkeepers might wonder what was happening.

Finally Freneli recovered enough to tell them just to leave her in peace; that she would try to compose herself. She had been a poor orphan all her life, and an outcast from childhood. No father had ever taken her on his lap, no mother ever kissed her; never had she had a breast to lay her head on. She had often thought it wouldn't be hard even to die, if only she could sit on somebody's lap and clasp somebody around the neck; but during all her childhood nobody had loved her, and she had had no home. She couldn't say how often she had wept alone. Her longing had always and always been to have somebody that she could love with all her heart and all her soul; to find somebody on whose breast she could hide her head at all times. She had never found a chum to satisfy her longing. And so when folks talked to her about marrying, she had thought she never would unless she could believe from the bottom of her heart that she had found the breast on which to lay her head in joy and sorrow, and which would be true to her in life and death. But she had found none that she could have such faith in. She loved Uli, had loved him long, more than she could say; but this faith in him she hadn't yet been able to have. And if she was deceived this time, if Uli's love and loyalty weren't true and genuine, then her last hope would be gone, then she'd never find the breast she sought, and would have to die unhappy. That was why she was so afraid, and she begged them on her knees to leave her in peace, so that she could consider thoroughly what was best for her to do. Oh, they didn't know how a poor orphan felt, that had never sat on her father's lap, or been kissed by her mother!

"You're a dear silly child," said her aunt, wiping her wet cheeks. "If I'd known that that's what you wanted I certainly wouldn't have grudged you an extra kiss now and then. But why didn't you say so? A body can't think of everything; when you have to plan all day long what to give your folks to eat, you don't stop to think about who's to be kissed."

Uli said he had deserved it; it only served him right, and he ought to have known that it would be so. But if she could look into his heart she'd see how much he loved her and how honestly. He wouldn't excuse himself; he had thought of marrying several times, but never had he loved any one as he did her. But he wouldn't coerce her; he would simply have to be content to accept her will in the matter.

"Why, you can just hear," said her aunt, "how much he loves you. Come, take your glass and drink health to Uli, and promise him that you'll be the wife of the leaseholder of Slough Farm."

Freneli stood up, took her glass and drank the health, but made no promise, only begging them to leave her in peace for today, and say no more about it; tomorrow, if must be, she would give her answer.

"You're a queer Jenny," said her aunt. "Well then, Uli, hitch up; our folks will wonder where we are."

Outside, the stars were twinkling against the dark-blue background; small wisps of white mist hovered over the moist meadows; single streamers rose along the valley slopes; mild breezes rocked the faded foliage; here and there on the pasture a forgotten cow tinkled her bell for her forgetful master; here and there a frolicsome lad sent his merry cry flying over hill and dale. The commotion of the day and the driving lulled the old woman into deep sleep, and Uli, with tense muscles, held in the wildly racing Blackie to a moderately fast pace; Freneli was alone in the wide world. As far off in the distant sky the stars floated in the limitless space of the unfathomable blue ocean, each by itself in its solitary course, so she felt herself again to be the poor, solitary, forsaken girl in the great turmoil of the universe. When she had left aunt and uncle, when they were dead, she would have no one left on earth; no house for a refuge in time of sickness; no one to tell her troubles to; no eye to laugh and weep with her; no person that would weep when she should die; yes, perhaps no one who would escort her coffin to that narrow, cold resting-place that they would some day have to assign her. She was alone; solitary and forsaken she was to wander through the turmoil of the world to her lonely grave; perhaps a long journey through many, many lonely years, more bowed, more discouraged and powerless from year to year—an old, withered, despised creature, to whom scarce any would give refuge, even though begged for it in the name of the Lord. New sorrow quivered in her heart, lamentations were about to well up. Why did the good Father, who was called Love, let such poor children, who had nobody in the world, live, to be cast out in childhood, seduced in their prime, despised in old age? But then she began to feel that she was sinning against God, who had given her more than many had, who had preserved her innocence to this day, and had so formed and developed her that an abundant living seemed secured to her if God preserved her health. Little by little, as the hill-tops and the tree-tops peeped out of the mist, so the love-tokens which God had visibly scattered through her life began to appear—how she had been guarded here and there, how she had enjoyed many more cheerful days than many, many poor children, and how she had found parents too, much better than other children had, who, if they had not taken her to their hearts like father and mother, had still loved her and so brought her up that she could face all people with the feeling that she was looked upon as a real human being. No, she might not complain of her good Father up yonder; she felt that His hand had been over her. And was His hand not over her still? Had He perhaps taken compassion on the poor lonely girl? Had He decreed, since she had remained faithful till then and tried to keep herself unspotted by sin, to satisfy now the longing of her heart, to give her a faithful breast to lay her head on-something of her own, so that one day somebody would weep at her death, somebody escort her on the sad road to the gruesome grave? Was it perhaps Uli, the loyal, skilful servant, whom she had loved so long in her reserved heart; whom she could reproach with nothing save his mistake with Elsie, and that he too had been seized by the delusion that money makes happiness; who had so faithfully and honestly laid bare his heart and repented of his error? Was it not a strange dispensation that they had both come to this particular place, that Uli had not gone away before, that Elsie had had to marry, that the desire had come to her aunt to give the lease of the farm to Uli? Was it not wonderful how all that fitted in together; was not the Father's kind hand evident in it? Should she scorn what was offered her? Was it something hard or repulsive that was asked of her? Now her spirit unveiled its pictures, peopled the desolate future with them. Uli was her husband; she had taken root in life, in the broad world; they were the centre about which a great household revolved, circling about their will. In a hundred different forms this picture rose before her eyes, and ever fairer and lovelier became the harmony of its colors. She no longer knew that she was driving in the wagon; her heart felt as light and happy as if she were already breathing the air of that world where there is no more care, no more sorrow—but just then the wagon bumped over a stone.

Freneli did not feel it; but her aunt awoke with a long yawn and asked, finding it hard to collect her thoughts, "Where are we, hey? I haven't been asleep, I hope."

Uli said, "If you look sharply, you can see our light yonder through the trees."

"Gracious, how I have slept! I wouldn't have believed it. If only Joggeli doesn't scold because we're so late."

"It doesn't matter," said Uli; "and Blackie can rest tomorrow; we don't need him."

"Well, well," said his mistress, "then that's all the better. But when horses get home late and have to start out early, that's maltreatment. Just imagine how we'd feel if they did the same to us—run, run all the time, and no time for eating and sleeping."

As they heard the approaching wagon, all the inhabitants of Slough Farm rushed out of the doors with candles and lanterns, some to the horse, others to the wagon; even Joggeli limped up, saying, "I thought you wouldn't get here today, thought something had happened."



CHAPTER XXV

THE PLOT BEGINS TO UNRAVEL, AND AS IT IS ABOUT TO SNARL AGAIN, A GIRL KNOCKS OUT THE TANGLE WITH A BEECH CUDGEL

[Freneli's restless eagerness to give Uli her answer banishes sleep, and she rises before all the others, only to find Uli before her at the wash-trough, and there they plight their faith. The mistress broaches the subject of the lease to Joggeli, but he will not hear to it. Freneli, however, is not disturbed, but outlines the plan of action, which succeeds admirably. Now comes the son-in-law and makes a scene, but Freneli trumps his ace by getting word to Johannes, who, already suspicious of the cotton-dealer, is glad to have a chance to spoke his wheel for him. A frightful turmoil ensues, with Johannes pounding the table and threatening the cotton-dealer, while the latter, unterrified, calmly admits marrying Elsie for her money, and himself draws up a leasing plan which rather pleases Joggeli, but would exclude Uli. While the others are arguing about this plan, the son-in-law attempts a private understanding with Freneli, to the effect that he will further Uli's cause if she will be complaisant with him. Freneli snatches up a beech-wood stick and belabors him soundly, while he yells for help, and finally escapes through an open door. Freneli tells her story; the son-in-law sticks his head in at the door to say she lies, but the beech stick, hurled by Freneli's strong hand, strikes him full in the face, and, minus three teeth, he finally quits the field of battle, completely routed, strewing the path of his retreat with noisy but vain threats.]



CHAPTER XXVI

HOW FRENELI AND ULI GET OUT AND ARE FINALLY WEDDED

From this point on affairs went much better than Uli had expected, and many a time he could not but think that he was faring better than he deserved and was forcibly reminded of what his old master had said—that a good name was veritable capital and worth more than gold and goods. The rent was reasonable; but the chief thing was the extras. Some things that he liked especially, to be sure, Johannes came and seized. That was only reasonable, he said, to balance up the corn and cherry brandy that his brother-in-law had talked them out of. The extras included not only the entire live-stock, utensils and dishes, but also the house-furnishings and the servants' beds. The appraisal was reasonable throughout, so that the receiver could not be ruined if the things ever had to be returned. There were some considerable reservations, but they could be overlooked in view of the low rent. Uli was to feed one cow for Joggeli, fatten two hogs, supply potatoes, sow one measure of flax-seed and two of hemp, and furnish a horse whenever they wanted to drive. If people are on good terms such reservations are seldom too heavy; but if misunderstandings arise, then every reservation becomes a stumbling-block.

Uli and Freneli could save most of their money and needed to buy very little; the promised dowry did not fail; they received a bed and a wardrobe as handsome as could be got in all the country round. Johannes, without waiting for their choice, sent them a handsome cradle, which Freneli would not admit for a long time, maintaining it was not meant for them.

So in some anxiety of spirit they saw the time approach when Uli was to take over the lease, given to him chiefly through confidence in his ability and loyalty. First, however, he was to be married to Freneli. Since New Year's there had been talk of it; but the girl always had excuses for delay. Now she had not had time to think it all over; now she had just been thinking it over and had decided it was better to wait another Sunday or two; again she said she wanted to enter on her duties as mistress immediately after the wedding, and not still be servant; or else the shoemaker had her Sunday shoes, and she couldn't go on wooden soles to the pastor to announce the marriage. So passed one Sunday after another. * * *

Then one Sunday, when the shoemaker had brought the shoes, the dear God sent a terrible snow-storm, such that no human being could take a dozen steps with open eyes, and a dark night, the thickest and blackest that ever was, interposed between heaven and earth. While the storm was at his height and snow and hail rattled against the windows and piled up a finger's length against the frames, while the wind whistled mournfully about the roof, darkness came in at the windows thick and gloomy, so that the lamp could scarcely prevail against it, the cats crawled shivering to the back of the stove, and the dog scratched at the kitchen door and crawled under the stove with his tail between his legs, Freneli at length said, "Now Uli, get ready and we'll go; now folks certainly won't be watching us." * * *

When they were ready and opened the kitchen door, Freneli had to make three attempts before she could get out, and Uli had to look for his hat on the other side of the kitchen. Her aunt began to wail and to implore them in God's name not to go; they would be killed! But Freneli summoned all her strength for a third attempt, and vanished in the snow-flurry; her aunt's lamentations died away unheard. It was really almost a break-neck undertaking, and Uli had to help the girl. With the wind directly in their faces, they often lost the road, had to stand still at times and look about them to see where they were and gather breath, or turn around to let the strongest gusts go by; it took them three-quarters of an hour to go the scant fifteen minutes' walk to the parsonage. There they first shook off the snow as well as they could, then knocked on the door. But they knocked long in vain; the sound was swallowed up in the howling of the wind, which raged awesomely through the chimneys. Then Freneli lost patience; in place of Uli's reverent knock she now tried her own, and it was such that the indwellers started up from their seats and the pastor's wife cried, "Mercy on us, what's that?" But the pastor calmed her by saying that it was either a baptism or a wedding, only that, as usual, Mary had not heard their first knocks. While Mary answered the door he was lighting a light, so that the people need not wait long, and as soon as Mary opened the door to say, "There's two people here, Sir," he was already stepping out.

Back of the house door stood the two, Freneli behind Uli. The pastor, somewhat short, of middle age, but already venerable in appearance and with shrewd features that could be either very sharp or very pleasant, raised the light above his head, peered out with head bowed slightly forward, and cried at last, "Why, Uli, is it you, in such weather? And I suppose Freneli's behind you," he said, letting the light fall on her. "But dear me," he cried, "in such weather? And the good mistress let you go? Come, Mary," he called, "brush off these folks for me, and take this collar and dry it." Mary came up very willingly with her lamp.

Now the pastor's wife opened the door, her light in her hand, and said, "Bring them in here, why don't you? It's warmer than your study, and Freneli and I know each other right well." There stood Freneli now in the blaze of three lights, still between Uli and the door, not knowing what expression to assume. Finally she put a good face on a bad game, as the saying goes, came forward, and saluted the pastor and his wife quite properly, saying that her aunt bade her wish them good evening, and Joggeli too. All this Freneli said with the most innocent face in the world.

"But," said the pastor, "why do you come in such a storm? You might have lost your lives!"

"We couldn't manage it any other way," said Uli, who began to feel the man's duty of taking his wife's obstinacy on his own shoulders—a duty which one must eventually fulfil of necessity, either to avoid appearing lien-pecked or to hide the weakness of his wife. "We couldn't wait any longer," he continued, "as we wanted to ask the pastor to announce the affair here and there, so that it could be published next Sunday."

They were rather late for that, the pastor said; he didn't know whether the mail would reach both places before Sunday.

"I am sorry for that," said Uli; "I hadn't thought of it."

Freneli acted as, if she had nothing to do with it, and talked quite interestedly with the pastor's wife about the flax, which had seemed so fine and still yielded so little when they combed it. When the formalities were over the pastor said to Uli, "And so you're to be tenant on Slough Farm? I'm glad of it. You're not like so many servants, that don't even look human, to say nothing of Christian; you act like a man and like a Christian too."

"Yes," said Uli, "why should I forget God? I need Him more than He does me, and if I forget Him can I hope that He will think of me when He bestows His gifts and His mercies?"

"Yes, Uli, that's fine," said the pastor, "and I think He has not forgotten you either. You have a good farm and I think you're getting a good wife."

Here the maid came in with the plates to set the table. Freneli noticed it and stood up to go, although the hostess told them not to hurry, or, better still, to have supper with them. But Freneli said they must go or her aunt would think something had happened, thanked the pastor and asked him to promise that he would come to see them, although they were only leaseholders. They could always give them a cup of coffee, if they would be satisfied with that. Her heart always rejoiced to see him, even from a distance. Wishing them happiness and blessing in the holy state of matrimony, the pastor himself lighted them out with candle held high, and bade them to wish good evening to aunt and uncle for him. * * *

Nearer, and nearer came the fateful wedding-day. As on the day before some holy Sunday, when solemn feelings almost irresistibly make their way into the heart, almost as on the eve of her confirmation, so Freneli felt on the eve of her wedding. Thoughtfully and seriously she did her housework; perhaps she had never spoken so little as on that day. At times she felt like weeping, and still she had a friendly smile for all she met. Then again she would sink into deep reflection, in which she forgot place and time and everything; she knew nothing of herself, nothing of this brooding. Then when some one spoke to her, she would start up as out of deep sleep; it seemed to her as if she had only just recovered her eyes and ears, as if she were falling back upon the earth from another world.

As they were sitting at supper, such an unexpected crash was heard on the hill near the house that all started up. It was the men and some of the day-laborers, who wished to proclaim to the world the glory of their new masters. There lies hidden in this shooting and banging at weddings a deep significance; the only pity is that so many a human life is endangered by it. No hateful horn-blowing was heard; no horrible serenades, such as envy or enmity offer to bridal couples, disturbed the peaceful evening. * * *

Uli had a bad night. As they wanted to start at three in the morning the hours for sleep were few, but it seemed as if they would not pass. He could not sleep; many things busied his thoughts and tossed him restlessly back and forth, and every thirty seconds he reached for his watch. The whole importance of what he was now to become rolled itself upon his soul with its entire weight. Then again lovely pictures danced before his closed eyes. The spirit-hour was not long past when he left his bed, in order to give the horse his fodder and to brush and curry him thoroughly. When he had finished this work he went to the well and began a similar task on himself. Then playful hands enfolded him and Freneli brought him her loving morning salute. A glad hope had drawn her to the well, and they lingered to caress each other in the cold morning air as if mild evening zephyrs were blowing. All anxiety and oppression forsook him now, and he hastened the preparations for their departure. Soon he could go into the house for the hot coffee which Freneli had made and for the white bread and cheese her aunt had provided. Little peace did the girl have at the table, for the fear of having forgotten something would not let her rest; again and again she looked over the bundle of her belongings, and even then her aunt's fur-lined shoes were nearly left behind. At last she stood there all in readiness, sweet and beautiful. The two maids, whom curiosity had drawn from their beds, encircled her with their lights, and were so absorbed in admiration that they forgot that oil makes spots and that fire kindles; a little more and Freneli, soaked in oil, would have gone up in flame. Alas, in the fleshy bosoms of the poor maids heaved the yearning: Oh, if they once had such pretty clothes, they would be as pretty as Freneli; and then they too could ride off to be married to such a handsome man!

Long before three o'clock they drove out into the cold, frosty morning. Amid question and answer the flickering stars paled and sought their sky-blue beds, and the good mother sun began to weave golden curtains about them out of sparkling rays of light, so that their chaste retirement, their innocent sleep, might not be sullied by the eyes of curious sinners. Jack Frost shook his curls more mightily; driven by the sun from the little stars to the dark bosom of the earth, away from his heavenly sweethearts, he tried to caress earthly ones, wanted to embrace Freneli and put his cold arms about the warm girl; his white breath was already playing in the tips of her cap. The girl shivered and begged Uli to take refuge just a moment in a warm room; she was shaking through and through, and they would reach their destination soon enough.

It was one of the good old taverns whose proprietors do not change every year, but where one generation succeeds the other. The innkeepers, who were just sitting at their coffee as the bridal couple entered, recognized Uli at once. Now a very friendly salutation, and the couple must sit down and celebrate with them, whether or no. They were told not to make a fuss about it, everything was ready, and nothing was more grateful on such a cold morning than a cup of hot coffee. Freneli acted somewhat bash-fully, for it seemed bold of her to sit down with them as if that was her home. But the hostess urged her until she sat down, surveyed her, and began to praise her to Uli, remarking what a pretty wife he had; there hadn't been a prettier one there this long time. She was glad he was doing so well; they had all been sorry when he went away; one always liked to see a friend get along well. Not that there weren't folks that couldn't bear to see it, but there weren't many such.

Uli asked whether she thought the pastor was up; he would go to him first. He surely would be, they thought, especially on a Friday, when folks usually came. Not that he was one of the earliest risers usually, for he liked to lie abed; but he was getting old and so that could be excused. But he had had a vicar during the winter, and he had never been in sight before eight; everybody had been vexed that they had to have such a lazy vicar. Here Uli asked whether it was customary to take the bride along. No, they said; folks seldom waited in the parsonage. Afterward a good many went back together to get the certificate. But the bashful ones, or those that thought the pastor would have cause to say something to them, would come right back to the inn, and only the lads would go for the certificate. After Freneli had declined to go along and had bidden Uli to let his master know and send word to have his master and mistress come, he set out.

In his handsome dress and in the dark room the old pastor did not at first recognize him, but then was heartily rejoiced. "I heard," he said, "that you were doing well, were to get a fine lease and a good wife, and had saved a tidy sum. It gives me great joy to bless a marriage that I can hope will remain in the Lord. That you have saved something is not the chief thing; but you wouldn't have it, and people wouldn't have had so much confidence in you, if you were not honest and God-fearing, and that's what pleases me most of all. The things of the world and the things of the spirit are much closer to each other than most people believe. They think that in order to get along well in the world, you've got to hang up your Christianity on a nail. But it's just the reverse; that's what causes the everlasting complaint in the world; that's why most men make their beds so that they have to lie on nettles. Ask yourself if you would be as happy now if you had stayed a vagabond, despised by all. What do you think—what sort of a wedding would you have had? Just imagine what kind of a wife you would have got, and the prospects you would have had, and what people would have said when they saw you going to be married, and then see how it is today; reckon up the enormous difference. Or what do you think about it? Is blind fortune, accident, so-called luck, back of it all? Folks are always saying: 'I don't have any luck; you just can't do anything nowadays.' What do you think, Uli? Is it only luck? Would you have had this luck if you had stayed a vagabond? But the misfortune is just that people want to be happy through luck and not by God-fearing lives on which God's blessing rests. And so it's quite fitting that those who are only waiting for luck should be deceived by it, until they come to the knowledge that nothing depends on luck, but everything on the blessing of God."

"Yes, Your Reverence," said Uli, "I can't tell you how much happier I am now than when I was one of the rabble that run around the streets. But something depends on luck, too; for if I hadn't come to such a good master no good would have come of me."

"Uli, Uli," said the pastor, "was that luck or God's decree?"

"It's all the same, I think," answered Uli.

"Yes," said the pastor, "it is the same; but it's not a matter of indifference which you call it, as men think, and that's just where the difference lies. The man that talks of luck doesn't think of God, nor thank Him, nor seek His grace; he seeks luck of and in the world. He who speaks of God's providence thinks of Him, thanks Him, seeks to please Him, sees God's hand in everything; he knows neither bad nor good luck, but to him everything is God's good guidance, which is to lead him to blessedness. The different words are the expression of a different state of mind, a different view of life; that is why there is so much difference in the words, and it is important which one we use. And however good our intentions, still, when we talk of luck, it makes us frivolous or discontented; but if we speak of God's providence, then these words themselves awaken thoughts in us and direct our eyes to God."

"Well, yes, Your Reverence," said Uli, "you're about right in that, and I'll bear it in mind."

"I hope you will come back here with your bride after the service?"

"Very willingly, if you wish it," said Uli; "but I'm afraid we shall keep you from your work."

"No one does that," said the pastor; "for it is not only my office, but also my pleasure, to speak on serious occasions a serious word to hearts in which I can hope for good soil that will bear fruit. What the pastor says on such occasions is not so soon forgotten."

Meanwhile Freneli had taken off the fur-lined shoes and put on the proper cap, and with her own hands the hostess had fastened on the wreath. It was made in the Langental fashion, she said. "But whatever fashion it is, it's becoming to you," she continued.

The bells began to peal and Freneli's heart to beat loudly; her eyes grew fairly dim with dizziness. The hostess brought her aromatic salts, rubbed her temples with something, and said, "You mustn't take it so hard, girlie, we all have to go through with it. But go now in God's name; the pastor doesn't wait long on a Friday; he's a great one for hurrying."

Uli took his Freneli by the hand and walked with her toward the church; solemnly the solemn peals echoed in their hearts; for the sexton rang the bells with all his skill, so that the clappers struck on both edges, and not as if they were lame, now on one edge, now on the other. As they came to the churchyard, the grave-digger was just busy at a grave, and it was quiet about him; no sheep, no goat came and desecrated man's last resting-place; for in this village the churchyard was no pasture for unclerical animals.

Suddenly an irresistible melancholy came over Freneli. The venerable mound, the digging of the new grave, woke gloomly thoughts. "That's no good omen," she whispered; "they are digging a grave for one of us."

Before the church stood a baptismal party, one godmother holding a child on her arm. "That means a child-bed for one of us," whispered Uli, to comfort Freneli.

"Yes, that I'm to die in one," she answered; "that I must leave my happiness for the cold grave."

"Just remember," said Uli, "that the dear God does everything and that we mustn't be superstitious, but believing. That our graves will be dug some day is certain; but that digging a grave means death to those who come along I never heard. Just think how many people see a grave being dug; if all of them had to follow soon, think what a lot of deaths there'd be."

"Oh, forgive me," said Freneli; "but the more important a journey is the more alarmed the poor soul gets and wants to know what will be the outcome, and so takes every encounter as an omen, bad or good; do you remember when you did the like?"

Then Uli pressed her hand and said, "You're right; but let us put our trust in God and not worry. What He shall do to us, or give or take, is well done."

They entered the church softly and hesitatingly; went separately to left and right; saw a child taken into the covenant of the Lord; thought how beautiful it was to be permitted to commend such a tender and feeble being, body and soul, to the especial care of its Saviour, and how great a load it must take from the parents' breasts, when they received in the baptism the assurance that the Lord would be with them and let them feed the child with His spirit, as the mother fed it with her milk. They joined very reverently in the prayers, and thought how seriously they would take it when they should have to promise as godparents to see to it that a child should be brought to the Lord. The customary collect was lost upon them in the importance of the serious moment that came nearer and nearer. When the pastor stepped forward from behind the baptismal fount, when Uli had taken Freneli by the hand, and they had stepped forward to the bench, both sank to their knees, far anticipating the ceremony, held their hands in fervent clasp, and with all their soul and all their heart and all their strength they prayed and promised what the words bid them—yes, and much more that gushed forth from their true hearts. And when they arose, they felt exceedingly firm and cheerful; both felt that they had won a great treasure for their whole life, which must make them happy, which none could take from them by force or guile, and with which they must remain united to all eternity.

When outside, Uli begged his bride to go with him to the pastor, to get the certificate. Abashed, Freneli tried to decline, under the pretext that she did not know him, that it was unnecessary, and so on. But she went none the less, and no longer timorous, like a thief in the night, but as well becomes a happy woman at the side of an honest man. Freneli knew how to take herself in hand.

With kindness they were received by the pastor, a venerable, tall, lean gentleman. There were not many who, like him, knew how to mingle seriousness and graciousness, so that hearts opened before him as if touched with a magic wand.

When he had looked at Freneli, he asked, "What do you think, Uli? Was it due to luck or God's guidance that you got this little wife?"

"Your Reverence," said Uli, "you are right; I think her a gift of God."

"And you, little wife, of what mind are you?"

"I too have no other thought but that the dear God brought us together," said Freneli.

"I think so too," said the pastor; "God willed it; never forget that. But why did He bring you two together? That one should make the other happy, not only here, but also yonder—don't forget that either. Marriage is God's sanctuary on earth, in which men are to consecrate and purify themselves for Heaven. You are good people; be pious and upright; but you both have faults. In you, Uli, I know one which steadily gains power over you; it is avarice. You, Freneli, must have some too, but I do not know them. These faults will appear little by little, and when a fault becomes visible in you, Uli, your wife will be the first to see it, and you can tell that by her face; and, on the other hand, you can see what comes out in Freneli, and she can read it in your expression. One almost becomes the other's mirror. In this mirror, Uli, you should recognize your faults, and try to put them from you out of love for your wife, because she suffers most from them; and you, wife, should assist him in all gentleness, but should recognize your own faults too and try to conquer them for Uli's sake, and he will help you too. If this labor becomes too heavy for love, then God gives us child after child, and each is an angel come to sanctify us; each brings us new lessons of how to appear rightly before God, and new desires, to the end that the child be prepared for a sacrifice that shall be holy and well-pleasing to God. And the more you live together in this spirit, the happier you shall be in Heaven and on earth; for, believe me, true worldly happiness and heavenly happiness are to be found on exactly the same road. Believe me: the dear God has brought you together to help each other gain Heaven, to be prop and staff to each other on the narrow, toilsome way that leads to eternal life, to level and lighten that way for each other through love, meekness, and long-suffering—for it is rough and thorny. Now when gloomy days come, when faults break out in one or the other, or both, then think not of bad luck, as if that made you unhappy, but of the dear God, who has long seen all these faults and who has brought you together just so that one should cure the other and help him to mend his ways; that is the purpose and the task of your marriage. And as love sent the Saviour and led Him to the cross, so love must be active in you too; that is the power which exceeds all others, which cures and betters. With cursing and scolding, with threats and blows one can put down the other, but not better him so that he can be well-pleasing to God. Usually, the worse one grows, the worse the other becomes too, and so they help each other down to hell. So never forget: God has brought you together, and He will demand each of the other. Man, He will say, where is your wife's soul? Woman, He will say, where is your husband's soul? Act so that you can answer with one voice: Lord, here are we both, here at Thy right hand. Forgive me, little wife, that I have spoken so seriously to you this morning. But it is better that you be so talked to now, than later, after Uli is dead, and men think him ruined by your fault; and for Uli too it is better now than later, when he should have brought you to the grave. But this I think neither of you would have done, for you both look to me as if God and men might take pleasure in you."

When Freneli heard him speak of dying, the tears rushed to her eyes, and with agitated voice she said, "O, Your Reverence, there is no thought of offense. I give you a hundred thousand thanks for your beautiful lesson; I'll think of it as long as I live. And it would make me very glad if you would some time come into our district and visit us, to see how your words bear fruit in us, and that we haven't forgotten them."

The pastor said he would surely do so as soon as he came into their district, and that might very easily happen. He considered them, although they did not live in his parish, as quite half his sheep, and they might depend upon it that if they prospered and were happy, nobody would rejoice more than he. And if he could serve them in any way, let it be what it would, and if it were in his power, they must surely come to him; it would be a pleasure to him.

Thereupon they took their leave and all felt very happy and cheerful at heart. A comforting, warming feeling had been aroused such as all people ought to feel for each other at every meeting; then it would be beautiful on God's fair earth. "Isn't that the friendliest gentleman?" said Freneli as they went away; "he takes things seriously and still he is so kind; I could listen to him all day long and never get tired of it."

When they reached the inn the guests had not arrived, only the message that Johannes would come soon, but that his wife could not very well get away. Then Freneli cried, "You must go for her; drive up there, it's not so very far; if you drive fast, you can be back in half an hour."

"I don't like to overwork Blackie; he has enough trotting to do today," answered Uli. "The host will probably lend a horse for that little distance."

So it was done, and quite fortunately. Johannes had not yet started, and his wife was very dubious about sitting in the tavern on a work-day, unless there were a christening; what would folks say? He should have come to them with his wife, instead of running up a bill there in the tavern; they would have had enough for them to eat and drink. He knew that well, said Uli; but that would have been presuming, and the distance was too great beside, for they were going back today; he had his hands full now. But he begged that they would come; otherwise he would have to think they were ashamed of them.

"What are you thinking of, Uli?" exclaimed the mistress; "why, you know how much we think of you. I ought to stay away now, just because you could think such a thing." At the same time she was getting ready, however, but would not permit her daughter to go along, whom Uli would have liked to invite too. "I should think so!" said she; "and the cat and the dog to boot; that would be fine! It's presuming enough for me to come. Just wait, you'll be able to use your money in other ways—housekeeping has a pretty big maw."

With eagerness Freneli had watched for them from the corner of the inn. All that passed could not take their eyes from her, and when they were past they would ask, "Whose bride is that? I haven't seen a prettier girl in along time." Through the whole village went the news of the pretty bride, and whoever could take the time or had any pretext, went by the inn.

At last Uli came driving up and with great friendliness Freneli welcomed them. "Well, here you've got to be wife, haven't you?" cried the old mistress; "God bless you!" and stretched out her plump hand to Freneli. "I just thought you'd make a couple; no two could have suited each other better."

"Yes, but there wasn't anything at the time; only on the way home they began to torment me, and I believe that was your fault, too," said Freneli, turning to Johannes and offering him her hand. "But you just wait; I'll make war on you, for discussing me so behind my back. Nice customers you are! And if you do that to me any more, I'll pay you back; just wait. We'll talk about you behind your backs, too."

Johannes answered, and Freneli met him again with well-chosen playful words. When she had gone out for a moment, the old mistress said, "Uli, you've got an amazingly well-mannered wife; she can talk well enough to suit a manor-house, and the best of it is that she understands her work just as well; you don't always find the two together. Look out for her; you'll never get her match again!" Then Uli too began to sing her praises with tears in his eyes, until Freneli came back.

As the conversation suddenly halted at her entrance, she looked roguishly at them all in turn, and said, "There you've been talking about me again behind my back and my left ear tingled; you just wait! Uli, is it nice to begin accusing me that way, when I turn my back for just a minute?"

"He didn't accuse you," said the old mistress, "just the opposite; but I told him to look out for you, for he'd never get your match again. Oh, if men only knew how the second wife often turns out, they'd be more careful of the first! Not that I can complain. My husband I love and value; I couldn't get a better one, and he allows me all I want; but I see how it goes elsewhere."

"I was listening hard," answered Johannes; "but you ended up all right. You're right! In some places the women have a hard time, in others the men; it always depends on where there's understanding and then the belief that there's a God in Heaven. Where there's no belief, evil is king."

Hereupon they were invited into the back room. There the soup was already served, a quart of wine was on the table, and beside it a little pot of sweet, tea. She thought she'd make tea right off, said the hostess; then anybody could take it that wanted to; some liked it, some didn't. With unfeigned friendliness Freneli played the hostess, filled the glasses, passed them around, and urged her guests to empty them; all felt comfortable and at home. Uli sat down near the master and asked him this and that—how to arrange his stables; what he thought it paid best to plant; when he sowed this and that; what this or that soil was best for. Johannes answered like a father, then asked in his turn, and Uli gave his experience.

At first the women listened; but then Freneli's heart overflowed with questions and she sought advice about the hundred and one things in which a farmer's wife ought to be past-master; told how she had done things heretofore, but wondered whether they could not be done better and more profitably. Joyfully the old mistress revealed her secrets, but often said, "I think you do it better; I must try that too." The comfortable homeliness of the party lured in host and hostess, sensible people, and both helped to advise and discuss what was best, and showed their pleasure in much that they heard. And the more they heard the more desire to learn did Uli and Freneli display and the more humble did they become; they harkened to the experiences of the older people and impressed them upon their memories, not burdened with useless things.

The afternoon passed by without their knowing it. All at once the sun cast a golden beam into the room, and all that was in it floated transfigured in its light. They started up in alarm at the unexpected light, which almost seemed to come from a sudden conflagration. But the hostess bade them to be at ease; that was only the sunlight; the sun always shone in there in the spring before it set.

"Mercy, is it so late?" cried Freneli; "we must go, Uli."

"I didn't want to hurry you," said the hostess; "the moon will come up before it's dark."

"How fast this afternoon went by?" said Johannes' wife. "I don't know as I ever remember time going so fast."

"I feel the same way," said the hostess. "This wedding was something different from that of so many young couples who are so bored they don't know what to do except drink and play cards, and make you so tired that you're glad when you see their backs. Why, sometimes I feel, when I see a lad who can't do anything but curse on his wedding-day, and who sticks out his borrowed pipe as if he wanted to pull down the moon, that I'd like to give him a punch in the head, so that he'd have it where other folks have it, and learn to talk like other folks."

The old mistress gave Freneli her hand and said, "You've grown very dear to me, as God lives, and I won't let you go away until you promise me to come back to us real soon."

"Very gladly," said Freneli, "if it's possible. I've been feeling, too, as if I was talking to a mother; and if we only lived nearer, I'd come only too often. But we have a big place and shan't be able to leave it much, Uli and I. But you come to see us—you must promise me that; you have grown-up children and you know your house will be all right even if you are away."

"Yes, I'll come to see you, I promise. I've often said to Johannes that I wondered what Slough Farm was like. And listen, if you should want a godmother some time, don't take the trouble to go a long ways for one. I know one that won't refuse."

"That would be good news," said Freneli, and plucked at a ribbon; "I won't forget it, and will think of it if the time ever comes; you can never know what may happen."

"Oh, yes, just about," laughed the other, "and then we'll see whether you care for us or not."

Meanwhile Uli had paid the account, ordered the horse hitched up, and now filled all the glasses and pressed them to drink a farewell glass. Now the host came in with an extra bottle and said he wanted to do something too and not have his drinks all paid for. He was glad that they had been with him and he would be willing to put up a bottle of his best every Friday if such couples would come to be married; he had had his joy of them. When he heard that the bill had been paid, Johannes insisted that the host bring another bottle at his expense; and the stars were shining in the sky when, after a most affectionate farewell, such as unrelated people seldom bid one another, the spirited Blackie swiftly pulled a happy couple away—toward Paradise.

Yes, dear Reader, Freneli and Uli are in Paradise—that is, they live in unclouded love, blessed by God with four boys and two girls; they live in growing prosperity, for the blessing of God is their luck; their name has good repute in the land, and far and wide they stand in high esteem; for their aspiration is high, so high as to try to write their names in Heaven. But not in a day, but after many a severe conflict did they reach the level road and become certain of the goal.

* * * *



THE BRAeSIG EPISODES FROM UT MINE STROMTID[4]

TRANSLATED BY M.W. MACDOWALL

EDITED AND ABRIDGED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.

[UT MIND STROMTID: A story of my youth, depicts the joys and sorrows of a North German country community during the lean years of the second quarter of the nineteenth century. Human passions rent the hearts of men then as now. Nobility of soul distinguished some, and was lacking in many. Education was not universal, but common sense perhaps rather frequent. The best road to a happy life, however, was then as always, a kindly heart, a strict sense of justice, and a dash of unconscious humor. This lucky combination endeared Uncle Braesig to everyone, and enabled him to make his blustering way cheerfully, yet serenely conscious of all joys and sorrows, amid the vicissitudes of life. He understood the human heart, whether it beat in the breast of a child or a tired old man, of a villain or of a loving wife. Nobody, however, was dearer to him than Mina and Lina Nuessler, his god-children. And naughty little girls these angelic twins were too, without respect for grandfather's peruke or grandmother's Sunday cap. They placed them on their own curly locks, and danced the "Kringelkranz-Rosendanz," and in so doing broke Mina's favorite toy-jar. In their eagerness to have it mended they ran from the house.]

* * * * *

Just as the children entered the yard a little man came in at the gate. And this little man had a red face, and a very imposing red nose which he always held cocked up in the air. He wore a square cap of no particular color with a tassel in front, and a long-tailed, loose, gray linen-coat. He always kept his feet turned out in an exaggerated first position which made his short legs look as if they were fastened to his body in the wrong way. He had striped trousers and long boots with yellow tops. He was not stout, and yet he was by no means thin, in fact his figure was beginning to lose its youthful proportions.

The children walked on, and when they had got near enough for the farm-bailiff—for such was the calling of the little man—to see what they were wearing, he stood still, and raised his bushy yellow eye-brows till they were quite hidden under his pointed cap, treating them as if they were the most beautiful part of his face, and must therefore be put away in a safe place out of all danger: "Bless me!" cried he. "What's the matter? What on earth have you been about? Why you've got the whole of your old grandparent's Sunday-finery on your heads!" The two little girls allowed themselves to be deprived of their borrowed plumes without remonstrance, and showing the broken jar, said that the wheel-wright was to mend it. "What!" exclaimed Mr. farm-bailiff Braesig—that was the way he liked to be addressed—"is it possible that there is such insummate folly in the world? Lina, you are the eldest and ought to have been wiser; and, Mina, don't cry any more, you are my little god-child, and so I'll give you a new jar at the summer-fair. And now get away with you into the house." He drove the little girls before him, and followed carrying the peruke in one hand and the cap in the other.

When he found the sitting-room empty, he said to himself: "Of course, every one's out at the hay. Well, I ought to be looking after my hay too, but the little round-heads have made such a mess of these two bits of grandeur, that they'd be sure to get into a scrape if the old people were to see what they've been after; I must stay and repair the mischief that has been done."



With that he pulled out the pocket-comb that he always carried about with him to comb his back-hair over to the front of his head, and so cover the bald place that was beginning to show. He then set to work at the peruke, and soon got that into good order again. But how about the cap? "What in the name of wonder have you done to this, Lina? It's morally impossible to get it back to the proper fassong. Ah—let me think. What's the old lady like on Sunday afternoons? She has a good bunch of silk curls on each side of her face, then the front of the cap rises about three inches higher than the curls; so the thing must be drawn more to the front. She hasn't anything particular in the middle, for her bald head shows through, but it always goes into a great bunch at the back where it sticks out in a mass of frills. The child has crushed that part frightfully, it must be ironed out." He put his clenched fist into the cap and pulled out the frills, but just as he thought he was getting them into good order, the string that was run through a caser at the back of the frilled mass gave way, and the whole erection flattened out. "Faugh!" he cried, sending his eye-brows right up in the air. "It wasn't half strong enough to keep it firm. Only a bit of thread! And the ends won't knot together again! God bless my soul! whatever induced me to meddle with a cap? But, wait a bit, I'll manage it yet." He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a quantity of string of different sizes, for like every farm-bailiff who was worth anything he always carried a good supply of such things about with him. He searched amongst his store for some thing that would suit the case in hand. "Whip-cord is too thick; but this will do capitally," and then he began to draw a piece of good strong pack-thread through the caser. It was a work of time, and when he had got about half of it done, there was a knock at the door; he threw his work on the nearest chair, and called out: "Come in."

The door opened, and Hawermann entered with his little girl in his arms. Braesig started up. "What in the—" he began solemnly, then interrupting himself, he went on eagerly: "Charles Hawermann, where have you come from?" "From a place, Braesig, where I have nothing more to look for," said his friend. "Is my sister at home?" "Every one's out at the hay; but what do you mean?" "That it's all up with me. All the goods that I possessed were sold by auction the day before yesterday, and yesterday morning"—here he turned away to the window—"I buried my wife." "What? what?" cried the kind-hearted old farm-bailiff, "good God! your wife. Your dear little wife?" and the tears ran down his red face. "Dear old friend, tell me how it all happened." "Ah, how it all happened?" repeated Hawermann, and seating himself, he told the whole story of his misfortunes as shortly as possible.

Meanwhile, Lina and Mina approached the strange child slowly and shyly, stopping every now and then, and saying nothing, and then they went a little nearer still. At last Lina summoned courage to touch the sleeve of the stranger's frock, and Mina showed her the bits of her jar: "Look, my jar is broken." But the little girl looked round the room uneasily, till at last she fixed her great eyes on her father.

"Yes," said Hawermann, concluding his short story, "things have gone badly with me, Braesig; I still owe you thirty pounds, don't ask for it now, only give me time, and if God spares my life, I'll pay you back every farthing honestly." "Charles Hawermann, Charles Hawermann," said Braesig, wiping his eyes, and blowing his imposing nose, "you're—you're an ass! Yes," he continued, shoving his handkerchief into his pocket with an emphatic poke, and holding his nose even more in the air than usual, "you're every bit as great an ass as you used to be!" And then, as if thinking that his friend's thoughts should be led into a new channel, he caught Lina and Mina by the waist-band and put them on Hawermann's knee, saying "There, little round-heads, that's your uncle." Just as if Lina and Mina were playthings and Hawermann were a little child who could be comforted in his grief by a new toy. He, himself, took Hawermann's little Louisa in his arms and danced about the room with her, his tears rolling down his cheeks the while. After a short time he put the child down upon a chair, upon the very chair on which he had thrown his unfinished work, and right on the top of it too.

In the meanwhile the household had come back from the hay-field, and a woman's clear voice could be heard outside calling to the maids to make haste: "Quick, get your hoop and pails, it'll soon be sunset, and this year the fold's[5] rather far off. We must just milk the cows in the evening. Where's your wooden-platter, girl? Go and get it at once. Now be as quick as you can, I must just go and have look at the children." A tall stately woman of five-and-twenty came into the room. She seemed full of life and energy, her cheeks were rosy with health, work, and the summer air, her hair and eyes were bright, and her forehead, where her chip-hat had sheltered it from the sun, was white as snow. Any one could see the likeness between her and Hawermann at first sight; still there was a difference, she was well-off, and her whole manner showed that she would work as hard from temperament as he did from honor and necessity.

To see her brother and to spring to him were one and the same action: "Charles, brother Charles, my second father," she cried throwing her arms round his neck; but on looking closer at him, she pushed him away from her, saying: "What's the matter? You've had some misfortune! What is it?"

Before he had time to answer his sister's questions, her husband, Joseph Nuessler, came in, and going up to Hawermann shook hands with him, and said, taking as long to get out his words as dry weather does to come: "Good day, brother-in-law; won't you sit down?" "Let him tell us what's wrong," interrupted his wife impatiently. "Yes," said Joseph, "sit down and tell us what has happened. Good-day, Braesig; be seated, Braesig." Then Joseph Nuessler, or as he was generally called, young Joseph, sat down in his own peculiar corner beside the stove. He was a tall, thin man, who never could hold himself erect, and whose limbs bent in all sorts of odd places whenever he wanted to use them in the ordinary manner. He was nearly forty years old, his face was pale, and almost as long as his way of drawling out his words, his soft blond hair, which had no brightness about it, hung down equally long over his forehead and his coat collar. He had never attempted to divide or curl it. When he was a child his mother had combed it straight down over his brow, and so he had continued to do it, and whenever it had looked a little rough and unkempt, his mother used to say: "Never mind, Josy, the roughest colt often makes the finest horse." Whether it was that his eyes had always been accustomed to peer through the long hair that overhung them, or whether it was merely his nature cannot be known with any certainty, but there was something shy in his expression, as if he never could look anything full in the face, or come to a decision on any subject, and even when his hand went out to the right, his mouth turned to the left. That, however, came from smoking, which was the only occupation he carried out with the slightest perseverance, and as he always kept his pipe in the left corner of his mouth, he, in course of time, had pressed it out a little, and had drawn it down to the left, so that the right side of his mouth looked as if he were continually saying "prunes and prism," while the left side looked as if he were in the habit of devouring children.

There he was now seated in his own particular corner by the stove, and smoking out of his own particular corner of his mouth, and while his lively wife wept in sympathy with her brother's sorrow, and kissed and fondled him and his little daughter alternately, he kept quite still, glancing every now and then from his wife and Hawermann at Braesig, and muttering through a cloud of tobacco smoke: "It all depends upon what it is. It all depends upon circumstances. What's to be done now in a case like this?"

Braesig had quite a different disposition from young Joseph, for instead of sitting still like him, he walked rapidly up and down the room, then seated himself upon the table, and in his excitement and restlessness swung his short legs about like weaver's shuttles. When Mrs. Nuessler kissed and stroked her brother, he did the same; and when Mrs. Nuessler took the little child and rocked it in her arms, he took it from her and walked two or three times up and down the room with it, and then placed it on the chair again, and always right on the top of the grandmother's best cap.

"Bless me!" cried Mrs. Nuessler at last, "I quite forgot. Braesig, you ought to have thought of it. You must all want something to eat and drink!" She went to the blue cupboard, and brought out a splendid loaf of white household bread and some fresh butter, then she went out of the room and soon returned with sausages, ham and cheese, a couple of bottles of the strong beer that was brewed on purpose for old Mr. Nuessler, and a jug of milk for the children. When everything was neatly arranged on a white table cloth, she placed a seat for her brother, and lifting her little niece, chair and all, put her beside her father. Then she set to work and cut slices of bread, and poured out the beer, and saw that there was enough for everybody.

"I'll be ready to give you something presently," she said, stroking her little girls' flaxen heads fondly, "but I must see to your little cousin first. Here's a chair for you, Braesig—Come, Joseph." "All right," said Joseph, blowing a last long cloud of smoke out of the left corner of his mouth, and then dragging his chair forward, half sitting on it all the time. "Charles," said Braesig, "I can recommend these sausages. Your sister, Mrs. Nuessler, makes them most capitally, and I've often told my housekeeper that she ought to ask for the receipt, for you see the old woman mixes up all sorts of queer things that oughtn't to go together at all; in short, the flavor is very extraordinary and not in the least what it ought to be, although each of the ingredients separately is excellent, and made of a pig properly fattened on peas." "Mother, give Braesig some more beer," said Joseph. "No more, thank you, Mrs. Nuessler. May I ask for a little kuemmel instead? Charles, since the time that I was learning farming at old Knirkstaedt with you, and that rascal Pomuchelskopp, I've always been accustomed to drink a tiny little glass of kuemmel at breakfast and supper, and it agrees with me very well, I am thankful to say. But, Charles, whatever induced you to have any business transactions with such a rascal as Pomuchelskopp? I told you long ago that he was not to be trusted, he's a regular old Venetian, he's a cunning dog, in short, he's a—Jesuit." "Ah, Braesig," said Hawermann, "we won't talk about it. He might have treated me differently; but still it was my own fault, I oughtn't to have agreed to his terms. I'm thinking of something else now. I wish I could get something to do!" "Of course, you must get a situation as soon as possible. The Count, my master, is looking out for a steward for his principal estate, but don't be angry with me for saying so Charles, I don't think that it would do for you. You see, you'd have to go to the Count every morning with laquered boots, and a cloth coat, and you'd have to speak High-German, for he considers our provincial way of talking very rude and uncultivated. And then you'd have all the women bothering you, for they have a great say in all the arrangements. You might perhaps manage with the boots, and the coat, and the High-German—though you're rather out of practice—but you'd never get on with the women. The Countess is always poking about to see that all's going on rightly in the cattle-sheds and pig-sties,—in short—it's, it's as bad as Sodom and Gomorrah." "Bless me!" cried Mrs. Nuessler, "I remember now. The farm-bailiff at Puempelhagen left at the midsummer-term, and that would just be the place for you, Charles." "Mrs. Nuessler is right, as usual," said Braesig. "As for the Councillor[6] at Puempelhagen"—he always gave the squire of Puempelhagen his professional title, and laid such an emphasis on the word councillor that one might have thought that he and Mr. von Rambow had served their time in the army together, or at least had eaten their soup out of the same bowl with the same spoon—"as for the Councillor at Puempelhagen, he is very kind to all his people, gives a good salary, and is quite a gentleman of the old school. He knows all about you too. It's just the very thing for you, Charles, and I'll go with you tomorrow. What do you say, young Joseph?" "Ah!" said Mr. Nuessler meditatively, "it all depends upon circumstances." "Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Nuessler with a look of anxiety on her pretty face. "I'm forgetting everything today. If grandfather and grandmother ever find out that we've been having a supper-party here without their knowledge, they'll never forgive me as long as I live. Sit a little closer children. You might have reminded me, Joseph." "What shall I do now?" asked Joseph, but she had already left the room.

A few minutes later she came back, accompanied by the two old people. There was an expression of anxious watchfulness and aimless attention in both faces, such as deaf people often have, and which is apt to degenerate into a look of inanity and distrust. It is a very true saying that when a husband and wife have lived many years together, and have shared each other's thoughts and interests, they at last grow to be like one another in appearance, and even when the features are different the expression becomes the same. Old Mr. and Mrs. Nuessler looked thoroughly soured, and as if they had never had the least bit of happiness or enjoyment all their lives long, such things being too expensive for them; their clothes were threadbare and dirty, as if they must always be saving, saving, and even found water a luxury that cost too much money. There was nothing comfortable about their old age, not a single gleam of kindliness shone in their lack-lustre eyes, for they had never had but one joy, and that was their son Joseph, and his getting on in the world. They were now worn out, and everything was tiresome to them, even their one joy, their son Joseph, was tiresome, but they were still anxious and troubled about his getting on in the world, that was the only thing they cared for now. The old man had become a little childish, but his wife had still all her wits about her, and could spy and pry into every hole and corner, to see that everything was going on as she wished.

Hawermann rose and shook hands with the old people, while his sister stood close by looking at them anxiously, to see what they thought of the visitor. She had already explained to them in a few words, why her brother had come, and that may have been the reason that the old faces looked even sourer than usual, but still it might be because she had provided a better supper than she generally did. They seated themselves at table. The old woman caught sight of Hawermann's little girl: "Is that his child?" she asked. Her daughter-in-law nodded. "Is she going to remain here?" she asked. Her daughter-in-law nodded again. "O—h!" said the old woman, drawing out the word till it was long enough to cover all the harm she thought the cost of the child's keep would bring upon her Joseph. "Yes, these are hard times," she continued, as though she thought speaking of the times would best settle the question, "very hard times, and every man has enough to do to get on in the world himself." Meanwhile the old man had done nothing but stare at the bottle of beer and at Braesig's glass: "Is that my beer?" he asked. "Yes," shouted Braesig in his ear, "and most excellent beer it is that Mrs. Nuessler brews, it's a capital rajeunissimang for a weak stomach!" "What extravagance! What extravagance!" grumbled the old man. His wife ate her supper, but never took her eyes off the oak chest opposite. Young Mrs. Nuessler, who must have studied the peculiarities of her mother-in-law with great care, looked to see what was the matter, and found to her horror and dismay that the cap was gone from its stand. Good gracious! what had become of it? She had plaited it up that very morning, and hung it on the stand. "Where's my cap?" the old woman at last inquired. "Never mind, mother," said her daughter-in-law bending toward her, "I'll get it directly." "Is it done up yet?" The young woman nodded, and thought, surely grandmother will be satisfied now, but the old woman glanced into every corner of the room to see what she could find out. Braesig's countenance changed when he heard the cap spoken of, and he looked about him hastily to see where the "beastly thing" could have got to, but in another moment old Mrs. Nuessler pointed at little Louisa Hawermann, and said with a venomous smile, like a stale roll dipped in fly-poison: "It must be plaited all over again." "What's the matter?" cried her daughter-in-law, and starting up as she spoke, she saw the ends of the cap ribbons hanging down below the hem of the child's frock; she lifted her niece off the chair, and was going to have picked up the cap, but the old woman was too quick for her. She seized her crumpled head-gear, and when she saw the flattened puffs, and Braesig's bit of pack-thread hanging half in and half out of the caser, her wrath boiled over, and holding up her cap so that every one might see it, exclaimed: "Good for nothing chit!" and was going to have struck the little girl over the head with her cap.

But Braesig caught her by the arm and said: "The child had nothing to do with it," and then growled out in a half whisper: "The old cat!" At the same moment loud crying was to be heard behind the grandmother's chair, and Mina sobbed: "I'll never, never do it again," and Lina sobbed: "And I'll never do it again." "Bless me!" cried young Mrs. Nuessler, "it was the little girls who did all the mischief. Mother, it was our own children that did it." But the old woman had been too long accustomed to turn everything to her own advantage, not to know how to make a judicious use of her deafness; she never heard what she did not want to hear; and she did not want to hear now. "Come," she shouted, and signed to her husband. "Mother, mother," cried her daughter-in-law, "give me your cap, and I'll set it to rights." "Who's at the fold?" asked the old woman as she left the room with old Joseph. Young Joseph lighted his pipe again. "Good gracious!" said Mrs. Nuessler, "she's quite right there, I ought to be at the fold. Ah well, grandmother won't be civil to me again for a month." "Crusty," said Braesig, "was an old dog, and Crusty had to give in at last." "Don't cry any more, my pets," said the mother, wiping her little girls' eyes. "You didn't know what harm you were doing, you are such stupid little things. Now be good children, and go and play with your cousin, I must go to my work. Joseph, just keep an eye on the children, please," and then Mrs. Nuessler put on her chip-hat, and set off to the fold where the cows were milked.