THE LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER PLAYS HOSTESS.
In the public room of the Lion, at a table comfortably laid before the
balcony window, sat a young man alone, eating with that relish which is
the privilege of a stout young fellow in his twenties, after a day's
walk over the mountains. Sometimes, however, his eye wandered
thoughtfully from the viands themselves to the heavy silver plate on
which they were served. It was a remnant of the good old time, when
interest-bearing investments were not the only ones allowed. At last
the young man, who was no other than the engineer who had spent the
evening before at the doctor's, lighted a cigar and, drawing a brush
from his pocket, began smoothing his full, light beard. He had a marked
countenance. A high, full forehead projected from under his brown hair,
his cheeks were fresh, and there was an expression in his deep-set blue
eyes that inspired instant confidence.
A cool evening breeze was blowing in at the open window, quickly
dispersing the blue smoke from the cigar.
"Smoking already? then you will have nothing more to eat," said a girl,
entering from an adjoining room. She wore a fresh white apron made with
a stomacher, and was peculiarly neat and nice in her whole dress. Her
figure was slender and supple; her face oval yet full, with bright,
intelligent brown eyes; and three tiers of heavy brown braids were
wound like a crown about her head.
With a ready flow of words she continued: "You must excuse us; we had
done expecting you to dinner, it was so late."
"Everything was excellent. Come and sit down by me a little while,
sister-in-law."
"In a minute; as soon as I have cleared up. I cannot sit down with the
things all standing about so."
"You must have everything as neat and orderly as yourself."
"Thank you for the compliment. I am glad you have not spent them all at
the doctor's."
"Come back as soon as you can; I've ever so much to tell you."
After leaving the guest alone again for a while, the landlord's
daughter returned with a piece of knitting-work in her hand, and took a
seat opposite him at the table. "Well, let me hear," she said.
The engineer told her how he had been accompanying the doctor on his
daily round over the mountains, and could not sufficiently praise his
wondrous insight into the life of the people. He found them as the
doctor had described, industrious and pious, yet without bigotry.
"We have been into three or four inns to-day," he said. "Generally,
when you enter a country tavern of a summer's noon, you find some
miserable creature besotting himself on a bench behind the table,
half asleep over his stale beer or schnapps, who will stare at every
new-comer, and brag and rail in some unintelligible fashion. It is a
very common sight in other places, but I saw nothing of the sort here."
"Our mayor, the doctor," said Annele, "shows no mercy to drunkards, and
we are principled against giving to one."
The engineer entered with enthusiasm into a description of the doctor's
character. Wherever he went, the day seemed to grow brighter. His
honest sympathy brought something like contentment even into the huts
of the poor, while the confidence which his character as well as his
words inspired everywhere imparted fresh courage.
The girl listened in some embarrassment to this glowing description,
and only answered as she pressed a knitting-needle to her lips, "O yes,
the doctor is a true friend of the poor."
"He is your friend too; he said a great deal of good of you."
"Did he? That was because he was out in the open air; he does not dare
speak well of me at home. His five womenkind would not let him. I must
except the old mayoress, though; she is always kind."
"And are not the others? I should have thought--"
"I don't want to speak ill of them or any one else. I desire to be
thankful I have no need to exalt myself at the expense of others, to
help myself out of another's purse, as old Marie Lenz used to say.
Thousands of persons are passing in and out here who can let the whole
world know what we are. A hotel is not like a private house, where the
family can appear most loving to one another, and keep everything in
beautiful order for two or three days, while a visitor is present, and
then, behind his back, be ready to scratch each other's eyes out, and
let the housekeeping go at sixes and sevens; or, where a young lady can
begin to sing when she sees a gentleman going by, or can take her work
into the garden and make herself ornamental. But I don't want to speak
ill of anybody, only--" here Annele slipped as by accident into the
familiar German "thou." "Oh! I beg your pardon; I forgot I was not
talking to my brother-in-law, or I should not have said 'thou.'"
"I have no objection to it. Let us say 'thou' to one another."
"Not for the world! I cannot stay, if we are to talk in that way. I
wonder what keeps father so long?" said the landlord's daughter,
blushing.
"Where is your father gone?"
"He had to see to his business, but he may be back any minute. I wish
he would give up business. What is the use of his working so hard? He
thinks he could not live without it. A man might as well die as give up
business, he says; watching and working, thinking and planning, keep
one's faculties awake. And I believe he is right. For my part, I cannot
imagine how any one in youth and health can sit and play the piano all
the morning, or dilly-dally about the house, singing. To turn your hand
to this thing and that keeps you wide awake. To be sure, if you count
what we women earn in money it is not much; but to keep a house in good
order is worth something."
"Yes, indeed," said the engineer; "the devotion of people to their work
here is wonderful. Many of the clockmakers work fourteen hours a day.
They deserve great praise for it."
The girl cast a look of surprise at him. What have those stupid
clockmakers to do with the matter? Couldn't he, or wouldn't he,
understand what she meant?
There came a pause which the engineer broke by asking about the
landlady.
"Mother is in the garden, picking beans. Let us go and find her, for
she cannot leave her work."
"No, I'd rather stay as we are. Tell me, sister-in-law,--I may call you
so without offence, I hope,--is not the doctor's oldest daughter,
Amanda, a ladylike, amiable girl?"
"Amanda? why should she not be? she is old enough. She is
high-shouldered, too, as you would see if her city dressmaker did not
pad her so skilfully." The girl bit her lip. How silly to have said
that! He was thinking of Bertha all the time he asked about Amanda.
"Bertha, now," she added, recovering herself, "is a merry--"
"Yes, a noble girl," interrupted the young man, then suddenly stooped
to pick up a needle the landlord's daughter had dropped under the
table. He seemed vexed at having betrayed himself, and hastened to
change the subject.
"The doctor told me a great deal about Pilgrim yesterday."
"What is there to tell? The doctor can make a story out of everything."
"Who is Petrovitsch? They say you know all about him."
"No more than every one knows. He dines here every day, and pays when
he is done. He is an obstinate old curmudgeon, as rich as a jewel and
as hard. He lived ever so many years abroad, and cares for nobody. Only
one thing he takes delight in, and that is the avenue of cherry-trees
leading to the town. A row of crab-apple trees used to stand there, and
Petrovitsch--"
"Why is he called Petrovitsch?"
"His name is Peter, but he lived among the Servians so long that people
got into the way of calling him Petrovitsch."
"Tell me more about the avenue."
"He was in the habit of walking about with a knife in his hand, and
lopping off the superfluous branches by the roadside. One day, the
superintendent of the roads arrested him for mutilating the trees, so
he had a new row of cherry-trees planted at his own expense, and for
six years has had the fruit picked before it ripened, that thieves
might not injure the trees. They have grown beautifully, certainly. But
he cares nothing for his fellow-men. See, there goes his only brother's
child, Lenz of the Morgenhalde, who can boast of having received no
more from his uncle than he could put on the point of a pin."
"That is Lenz,--is it? A fine-looking fellow he is, with a delicate
face, just as I had imagined him. Does he always stoop like that when
he walks?"
"No, only now, because he is feeling so badly at his mother's death. He
is a good fellow, though a little too soft-hearted. I know two eyes
that are looking out at him from a vine-covered house, wishing they
might tempt him in; and the eyes belong to Bertha."
"Indeed? Is there any engagement between them?" asked the engineer, the
color mounting to his forehead.
"I don't suppose they are engaged, but she would be glad enough to
catch him; for he has a pretty property, while she has nothing but a
pretty straw hat and a pair of ragged stockings."
The landlord's daughter--or Annele of the Lion, as she was commonly
called--congratulated herself on having administered this bitter pill,
and quite forgot her own vexation in delight at the pain she had
caused.
"Where are you going?" she continued, as the young man took his hat,
and prepared to depart.
"I want a farther walk, and think of going up the Spannreute."
"It is beautiful, but as steep as the side of a house."
Annele hurried into the back garden as soon as he left, and watched
him. He did, in fact, go a little way up the mountain, but soon
retraced his steps, and went down the valley towards the doctor's.
"Plague on you!" she said to herself; "not another kind word shall you
get from me."