The day awoke, but it did not seem like day; the rain had ceased, but
thick clouds enwrapped mountain and valley in deep shade.
When Landolin was again alone with Thoma, he said:
"I'll not stay on the farm; I'll live with you at the mill. You will
take good care of me, and the Dutchman is just the right comrade for me
now. I'll not be useless or burdensome to you. Peter can take the farm
and pay you your portion. I think he has an eye on one of Titus'
daughters. I don't care. I've nothing against it. But I want to stay
with you the few years I have left; and when I die, bury me beside your
mother."
Thoma nodded silently; then she said: "I would like to let the judge's
wife know how matters are between us now. She has been very good to
us."
"That is very true; and we'll invite her to the wedding; and she must
lead the bride in the mother's place. Your mother in heaven will
rejoice in your happiness; she said so before, but she thought you
would bring Anton home with you then."
The bells rang, and Thoma said it was time to go to church, where mass
was to be said for her mother's soul. Landolin and his two children
went to church. Peter's silence couldn't strike any one, for no one
spoke a word.
When they came out of church, the clouds had disappeared, with the
exception of some small flaky ones that crept over the mountains.
"Thank God, the sun has come again," each one thought; and their
sorrowful faces brightened.
In the yard Peter separated from his father and sister, and gave
orders, in brief words, for every one to go into the field, to bind and
stack the oats that were cut, and put them up to dry; then he went into
the stable. Landolin soon came out and ordered a horse to be saddled;
for he wanted to ride to the saw-mill to see Anton and his father.
"Yes, father; but you can't take the bay mare: its colt is only a few
days old."
"Then let me have the black horse."
"Yes, father; but I really need him in the field, and----"
"And what?"
Peter shot a startled glance, perhaps also an evil one, at his father,
when he spoke these words so sharply, but he repeated them still more
sharply: "And what? Speak out. You could speak well enough a while
ago."
Peter was evidently struggling with his anger, when he replied, in a
calm tone:
"I don't know why, but the black horse isn't good for riding now. You
can't ride him."
"I can't? I can ride the wildest horse!" cried Landolin, lifting his
clenched hand; and going to the stall, he unfastened the horse.
Landolin had said these words with no double meaning, but because his
pride was hurt by the hint that there was a horse which he was not able
to ride. But Peter understood the words to have a different meaning; he
thought his father had meant to say that he should be able to get the
better of him again.
The black horse was saddled; Landolin unchained his dog and mounted.
Thoma had come out into the yard, and her father gave her his hand,
saying, "If we were not in mourning you should fasten a sprig of
rosemary on my coat with a red ribbon." The cows were just then let out
to drink, and Landolin cried, "Thoma, you shall have the prize cow. May
God keep you! Peter, give me your hand. I'll often come up from the
saw-mill to see you."
He urged his horse forward, so that it reared and struck sparks from
the paving-stones at the very spot where Vetturi had fallen.
Landolin mastered it with a strong hand. His son and daughter watched
him from the gateway as he let the horse prance down the road; their
father appeared again in all his old stateliness; and where the road
bends into the forest toward the valley he turned around and lifted his
hat in greeting.
As Thoma turned again toward the house an open carriage drove up from
the other side, and in it sat the judge's wife with her brother the
counselor. They stopped and got out. They had come to comfort the
mourners, and the judge's wife heard, to her great joy, on what mission
Landolin had gone.