"I don't know."
"Mayn't you go in either?"
"No."
"Thank goodness! Then I am not the only one who's kept in the dark. In
there he sits, and every stranger is allowed to go in to him, only not
I. If I want him, I have to ring.--Say yourself whether that's nice of
him? Surely I am no longer such a child that he should--well, I won't
say anything,--one oughtn't to speak ill of one's husband--but you are
his own brother--do put in a good word for me, so that he tells me what
is in there. For I am dying to know."
"Do you suppose he has told me?"
"Well, then we must comfort each other. Come along."--And in one jump
she flies up the three steps leading to the entrance.
During breakfast she suddenly puts on a serious air and speaks grandly
of her weighty household cares. Of course, she says, she had to be
independent at home already, for her poor little mother died many years
past, and she had to superintend her father's household long before she
was confirmed; but it was only a small one, for her father had to
manage with one apprentice and almost worked himself to death--poor
father!
Her eyes are full of tears. She is ashamed and turns away. Then she
jumps up and asks: "Have you had enough?" And when he says "Yes," she
continues: "Come along into the garden. There's an arbor which is
splendid for a chat."
"That one at the end of the long path?--that is my favorite place too."
Side by side they stroll through the mazy garden walks, all bathed in
glowing sunlight, and both feel relieved when they reach the cool shade
of the leafy recess.
She throws herself down carelessly on the grassy bank and puts her
plump, sun-burnt arms under her head. Through the dense foliage stray
gleams of sunlight break, painting her dress with golden patches,
playing on her neck and face, and passing over her head till they make
her curly brown hair all aglow.
Johannes sits down opposite her and gazes at her with undisguised
admiration. He is convinced that never before in his life has he seen
so much loveliness as there in the half-reclining figure of his
charming young sister-in-law, and he thinks of his brother's saying:
"Was it possible for me not to love her?"
"I don't know why I feel so inclined to talk about myself to-day," she
says with her sympathetic smile, while she shifts her head to a more
comfortable position. "Do you care to listen?" He nods his head.
"I am glad of that, Johannes! Well, you may imagine that at home bread
was not over plentiful--not to speak of the butter which by rights
belongs to it--and if I had not had my little garden, the produce of
which we could sell in the town, we should not have managed at all.
'Why does everyone take all their grain to the Rockhammer mill, without
thinking that the poor wind-miller wants to live too?' That is what we
often thought, and we positively hated your place. Then all of a sudden
comes Martin--says he wants to be neighborly--and is kind and good to
father and kind and good to me--and brings toffee and sugar-candy for
the boys, so that we are all mad on him. And in the end he informs
father that he absolutely must have me for his wife. 'But she hasn't a
penny,' says my father, and fancy--he took me without a farthing!
You may imagine how glad I was, for father had often said to me:
'Now-a-days men only marry for money; you are a poor girl, Trude, so
make up your mind to be an old maid. And now I was engaged before my
17th birthday.--And then, you know, I had liked Martin very much for a
long time already--for even if he is rather shy and quiet I could see
by his eyes what a kind heart he has! Only he can't let himself go, as
he would perhaps like to. I know how good he is, and even if he growls
ever so much and scolds me, I shall be fond of him all my life!" She is
silent for a moment and passes her hand across her face as if to wipe
away the sunbeam which is gilding her lashes and making her eyes
glisten. "And fancy how good he is to my family," she then resumes
eagerly, as if she could not find enough love to heap on Martin's head.
"He absolutely wanted to give them a yearly allowance--I don't know how
much--but I would not allow that--for I did not wish to induce my
father in his old days to take alms, even though it was from his
son-in-law. But one thing I asked for--for permission to continue
the gardening as I had done at home and to use the proceeds as
pocket-money. What I do with it is my own business." She smiles across
at him slyly and then continues: "They really do want it though, at
home, for you see, there are three boys who all want to be fed and
clothed, and they have to keep a servant too now, since I left home."
"Have you no sisters?" he asks.
She shakes her head; then she says, suddenly bursting out laughing.
"It's really too bad. Not even one for a wife for you."
He joins in her laughter and observes: "I don't seem to want a wife so
much now."
"As what?"
"As a sister."
"Well, she is here," says she, jumping up and stepping up to him; then,
as if ashamed of her impetuosity, she drops down again on to the grass,
blushing.
"Yes, will you be that?" he says with beaming eyes.
She pulls a little face and observes carelessly. "That's nothing much
to be! Sister-in-law is in itself already as much as half a sister."
Then, smilingly looking him up and down, she remarks: "I think one
might put up with you as a brother."
"Five foot ten--been Uhlan of the Guard--does that suffice?"
"And you might even turn out a good playfellow."
"Do you require one?"
"Yes, very badly! It is so quiet and solemn here. There's not a soul to
romp about with as I used to with my brothers at home. Sometimes I felt
half inclined to collar one of the mill-hands, but dignity and respect
forbade such a thing."
"Well, I am here now," he laughs.