"Kind friends! I thank you all. Don't forget us, and we shan't forget
you. Farewell! may God protect you all."
Walpurga and her mother were in tears.
"And now, in God's name, let us start!" The chains were loosened; the
boat put off. Music, shouting, singing, and the firing of cannon
resounded while the boat quietly moved away from the shore. The sun
burst forth in all his glory.
The mother sat there, with her hands clasped. All were silent. The only
sound heard was the neighing of the foal.
Walpurga was the first to break the silence. "O dear Lord! if people
would only show each other half as much love during life as they do when
one dies or moves away."
The grandmother, who was in the middle of a prayer, shook her head. She
quickly finished her prayer and said:--
"That's more than one has the right to ask. It won't do to go about all
day long with your heart in your hand. But remember, I've always told
you that the people are good enough at heart, even if there are a few
bad ones among them."
Hansei bestowed an admiring glance upon his wife, who had so many
different thoughts about almost everything. He supposed it was caused by
her having been away from home. But his heart was full, too, although in
a different way.
"I can hardly realize," said Hansei, taking a long breath and putting
the pipe, which he had intended to light, back into his pocket, "what
has become of all the years that I spent there and all that I went
through during the time. Look, Walpurga! the road you see there leads to
my home. I know every hill and every hollow. My mother's buried there.
Do you see the pines growing on the hill over yonder? That hill was
quite bare; every tree was cut down when the French were here; and see
how fine and hardy the trees are now. I planted most of them myself. I
was a little boy about eleven or twelve years old when the forester
hired me. He had fresh soil brought for the whole place and covered the
rocky spots with moss. In the spring I worked from six in the morning
till seven in the evening, putting in the little plants. My left hand
was almost frozen, for I had to keep putting it into a tub of wet loam,
with which I covered the roots. I was scantily clothed into the bargain,
and had nothing to eat all day long but a piece of bread. In the morning
it was cold enough to freeze the marrow in one's bones, and at noon I
was almost roasted by the hot sun beating on the rocks. It was a hard
life. Yes, I had a hard time of it when I was young. Thank God, it
hasn't harmed me any. But I shan't forget it; and let's be right
industrious and give all we can to the poor. I never would have believed
that I'd live to call a single tree or a handful of earth my own; and
now that God has given me so much, let's try and deserve it all."
Hansei's eyes blinked, as if there was something in them, and he pulled
his hat down over his forehead. Now, while he was pulling himself up by
the roots as it were, he could not help thinking of how thoroughly he
had become engrafted into the neighborhood by the work of his hands and
by habit. He had felled many a tree, but he knew full well how hard it
was to remove the stumps.
The foal grew restive. Gruberwaldl, who had come with them in order to
hold it, was not strong enough, and one of the boatmen was obliged to go
to his assistance.
"Stay with the foal," said Hansei. "I'll take the oar."
"And I too," cried Walpurga. "Who knows when I'll have another chance?
Ah! how often I've rowed on the lake with you and my blessed father."
Hansei and Walpurga sat side by side plying their oars in perfect time.
It did them both good to have some employment which would enable them to
work off the excitement.
"I shall miss the water," said Walpurga; "without the lake, life'll seem
so dull and dry. I felt that, while I was in the city."
Hansei did not answer.
"At the summer palace there's a pond with swans swimming about in it,"
said she, but still received no answer. She looked around, and a
feeling of anger arose within her. When she said anything at the palace,
it was always listened to.
In a sorrowful tone she added, "It would have been better if we'd moved
in the spring; it would have been much easier to get used to things."
"Maybe it would," replied Hansei, at last, "but I've got to hew wood in
the winter. Walpurga, let's make life pleasant to each other, and not
sad. I shall have enough on my shoulders, and can't have you and your
palace thoughts besides."
Walpurga quickly answered, "I'll throw this ring, which the Queen gave
me, into the lake, to prove that I've stopped thinking of the palace."
"There's no need of that. The ring's worth a nice sum, and besides that
it's an honorable keepsake. You must do just as I do."
"Yes; only remain strong and true."
The grandmother suddenly stood up before them. Her features were
illumined with a strange expression, and she said:--
"Children! Hold fast to the good fortune that you have. You've gone
through fire and water together; for it was fire when you were
surrounded by joy and love and every one greeted you with kindness--and
you passed through the water, when the wickedness of others stung you to
the soul. At that time the water was up to your neck, and yet you
weren't drowned. Now you've got over it all. And when my last hour
comes, don't weep for me; for through you I've enjoyed all the happiness
a mother's heart can have in this world."
She knelt down, scooped up some water with her hand, and sprinkled it
over Hansei's and also over Walpurga's face.
They rowed on in silence. The grandmother laid her head on a roll of
bedding and closed her eyes. Her face wore a strange expression. After a
while she opened her eyes again, and casting a glance full of happiness
on her children, she said:
"Sing and be merry. Sing the song that father and I so often sang
together; that one verse, the good one."