While Landolin was riding to the valley, Peter had saddled the other
horse for himself, had dressed himself in his Sunday clothes, and now,
wrapped in his mantle and noticed by no one, took the road to the city,
across the bridge that was almost covered by the water.
At the Crown Inn he ordered a pint of beer without dismounting. Then he
trotted up the opposite hill to the plateau where Titus lived.
Peter did not look around much, but once he stopped to observe a
strange sight; for on the rocks by the roadside were a large number of
hawks. There were evidently young ones among them, whom the old ones
were talking to, and encouraging to fly. They tried it, and in their
outcries there must have been great pride and happiness; the nest was
so narrow, the air is so wide, and prey that can be caught and killed
is flying everywhere. And when the young ones have learned to fly, they
care no more for the old ones.
"Where are you going so soon?" Peter was asked. The questioner was
Fidelis, his former servant, who was now in Titus' service.
"Glad I've met you. Is Titus at home, and----?"
He was probably about to say, "and his daughter too." But he kept that
part of it back. Fidelis said "Yes;" and without wasting another word
on him, Peter rode on.
Titus' farmhouse was not so isolated as Landolin's; there were
several cottages near by. Titus had bought the houses and fields
from----emigrants, and had added them to his farm. The gates were
wide open, and things were going on merrily inside. A large hog had
just been killed, and Titus' daughter stood beside it with her sleeves
rolled up.
"There comes Peter of Reutershoefen," said the butcher, taking a knife
from between his teeth. "What does he want so soon? His mother was only
buried yesterday."
Peter called out welcome to Titus' daughter, and jumping nimbly from
his horse, he held out his hand to her. But she said her hands were
wet; she could not give him one; and she disappeared.
Peter went into the living-room, where Titus sat at a large table,
figuring on some papers that lay before him.
"Oh, that's you!" he called out to Peter; "you're come just in time for
butcher's soup. Sit down."
Peter did not use much ceremony, but told his wish. His mother was
dead; his father had gone to see Anton to-day to straighten out matters
for Thoma again; and was going to give up the farm and live with her at
the saw-mill. "So," said Peter, in conclusion, "you know what I want. I
need a wife."
"You go ahead quickly," replied Titus; "but I have no objection. Have
you already spoken to Marianne?"
"Not exactly; but I guess it'll be all right."
"I think so too. Shall I call her?"
"Yes."
Titus sent a maid for his daughter; but she sent back, asking her
father to "come to her for a few minutes."
"What does that mean?" said Titus. He was not used to have his children
oppose any of his orders. "Excuse me," he said to Peter; and left the
room.
Peter felt cornered: how would it be if he had to ride home dejected?
Perhaps he had a suspicion of what was going on between Titus and his
daughter; for she said:
"Father, do you want me to take Peter? Yesterday his mother was buried,
and to-day he goes courting."
Titus declared that that was of no consequence, and when Marianne began
to express a dislike, an aversion, to Peter, he interrupted her
peremptorily.
"Peter is a substantial farmer. So there's nothing more to be said
about it. You must take him. Put on another dress and make haste to
come in."
He returned to Peter, and said, "The matter is arranged."
But Marianne said to the old maid-servant in her bedroom, "I take him
because I must; but he shall pay for it. He shall find out who I am."
She entered the room. Peter held out his hand to her, simply saying
that this was only for the present; that to-morrow or Sunday his father
would come and ask for her hand in the usual form.
"Yes, your father," interrupted Titus. "Does he know that you are
here?"
"It isn't necessary for my father to know; the farm has been in my
hands for a long time, and I've only let him appear to be of some
consequence before the world."
"Yes; but does your father know that I was one of those who said
guilty?"
"No, he need never know it."
While they were speaking a man came with the message that Peter must
come immediately to Anton's saw-mill, for Landolin was in great danger.
Just as the butcher's soup was served, and Peter's mouth was watering
for it, he was obliged to leave.