The Mountain-king t.i.tus had this advantage, he despised the world, and let it be so understood; the man who does this the world runs after. He acted as if (and perhaps it was true) he desired nothing from any one; he had the indifference of the pretentious peasant; he might hear his name spoken behind him seven times without so much as turning his head to find out who spoke, or what was said of him. He rarely talked with any one, but when he did, the person addressed was happy; "The Mountain-king has just spoken to me, and so long, and so politely!"--he who could say this was elated with the honor. Landolin, on the other hand, despised the world no less than the Mountain-king; but he longed for applause and homage, and when it was not voluntarily offered him, he endeavored to compel it. He was boastful, and displayed his condescension, or even his anxiety for the good opinion of this and that one, and by that very means trifled away the desired standing.

Landolin and the Mountain-king treated each other like friends, while at the same time they hated each other profoundly.

Presently they stood in the presence of a third person, to whom each of them was bound to do honor. Pfann, the Circuit Judge, a man with a fine countenance, wearing gold spectacles, was walking with his wife on his arm, through the crowded fair, bowing here and there. He now came up to the two men, and told them that on the next day they would be summoned to serve on the jury.

"I'm sorry it cannot be arranged otherwise," he added, "but the next term of court falls during harvest."

"It's always so," cried Landolin; "in return for paying high taxes, we have the privilege of sitting for weeks at a time, nailed to a bench."

He thought that he had spoken not only with dignity, but with general approval, and he looked around for signs of a.s.sent; but n.o.body nodded.

t.i.tus, on the other hand, was silent, and his silence was more weighty than Landolin's words.

"We may congratulate you," said the judge's wife to Landolin; "I hear your daughter is to be betrothed to the miller's son, Anton, of Rothenkirchen. He is an excellent young man, intelligent, well-educated, and brave."

Landolin did not appear to be altogether satisfied with this praise, and could not help saying, vaingloriously, even at the expense of his future son-in-law:

"Yes, the young folks are so desperately fond of each other, that I have given my consent. Thank G.o.d, I am able to take a son-in-law of lower rank; and, indeed, he might have been an officer. But I must say farewell; I have waited too long, they are expecting me at the 'Sword.'" He stepped quickly away.

When the Circuit Judge had found his way through the crowd to a quiet corner, he said:

"There you have a sample of your honest-hearted peasantry. Utter stupidity or cunning roughness is their alternative. The roughness. .h.i.ts at random, without reflecting how the smitten feels the blow. Landolin is not ashamed to belittle the brave boy his daughter is to marry, merely to make himself appear bigger by his side."

"I still hold," answered his wife, "that the hearts of these people are true, and are often better than their words and deeds. Landolin did not really wish to speak disparagingly of Anton; he only wanted to set down his old rival, t.i.tus; for t.i.tus, too, would have been glad to have Anton for a son-in-law."

The judge was astonished at this new information from his wife; but at her charitable judgment, which nothing could shake, he had long since left off being astonished.

They wandered on; and as they proceeded, the greetings given the wife were, if possible, more earnest than those given the judge himself. She nodded to some with special friendliness, and to a few she gave a pleasant pa.s.sing word.

CHAPTER VIII.

On one side of the river was the noise and bustle of the crowded fair; on the other, in the shade of the elms and willows, hidden from all the world, sat Anton and Thoma, caressing each other.

"Now be sensible, and say something," said Thoma at length.

"No, no, I cannot talk, and I don't need to, for everything I would say you know already," replied Anton. He told, however, of his awakening before day, of his morning walk, and how he had greeted Thoma from the far distance.

She laughed gladly, and tears came to her eyes. She was certainly sincerely fond of Anton, but the deep, gushing love which now burst from him she had scarcely dreamed of.

"Yonder is the fair," said he, "anything can be got there. I should like to buy something for you, but it would be useless; the world, the whole world, is yours."

"Not quite the whole," she laughed, "but you are right, don't buy anything for me. All I want is your good heart; that I have, and such a one all the gold in the world couldn't buy. Do you know what pleases me best in all you say?"

"Tell me what it is."

"I believe every word you speak. I don't believe you could possibly tell an untruth."

Again they were silent until, as a happy smile broke over Anton's face, Thoma said:

"Why do you smile? Your soul laughs out. Tell me why!"

"Yes, yes, love; doesn't it seem as if our river were more joyous than usual to-day? I've grown up on its banks, you know. When I was in the war, I often fancied at night I heard it rushing. It made me homesick.

I was thinking just now, darling, that the little fishes must be happy down there in the water."

"It will be hard, Anton, for me to grow accustomed to it. I have a real horror of water. When I was a very little child, one of our servants was drowned, and they told me that the river must have its sacrifice every year, and after three days it would give up the dead; so I hated it. But nonsense, what foolish talk! See, there comes t.i.tus's wagon, with his son and daughter. The son wanted me and the daughter wanted you."

She arose and waved her hand to them, and then called out, taking care they should not hear her:

"Buy yourselves dolls at the fair."

Anton remained seated, and a cloud pa.s.sed over his face, for it pained him that Thoma should greet them so scornfully.

A messenger came from the inn to say that Landolin had arrived. The hostess met them at the door, and said:

"Your friends are all up stairs in the corner room. Good luck to you!"

CHAPTER IX.

The hostess of the "Sword"--it so happens that every one speaks of the hostess and not of the host, and her husband seems to be quite satisfied with it--this wise woman, according to a plan of her own, had changed and enlarged the old inn until it was twice as large as before.

For, as soon as a spot had been fixed upon for a railway station, she had a new building added on the side toward the river, with a large summer hall and verandas, where the people of rank in the village could hold their summer gatherings in the open air. The corner room of the house, on the town side, she arranged especially for betrothal festivities. There was a great mirror, in which people could survey themselves at full length--to be sure not always an advantage. There were colored prints of young lovers, of marriages, of christenings, and of golden weddings.

At the table sat the miller and Landolin's wife, and waited long for the farmer. The miller was annoyed, and Landolin's wife did not know what to say, for she could not deny that her husband probably kept the miller waiting intentionally, in order to show him who was the more important.

The miller had an earnest, good-natured face, and a thoughtfulness in every word and gesture. He had a high regard for the farmer's wife, and expressed it to her. She looked down, abashed, for she was not used to being praised, and became silent. The miller, too, ceased talking, and whistled gently to himself.

At length Landolin's step was heard, and following him came Thoma and Anton. Landolin shook hands with the miller.

"I have been waiting a long time," the miller said.

Landolin did not consider it necessary to excuse himself; he thought people must be satisfied with all he did, and the way in which he did it.

The miller poured out some of the wine which stood on the table, and, after touching gla.s.ses, Landolin said:

"We have really nothing more to arrange. You know what division Peter must make when he takes the estate. The money I have promised I will pay down the day before the wedding. The five acres of forest which I have bought, which border on your land, and are properly no part of my farm, I now give to Thoma to be hers in her own right. You have no one but your son, so there is nothing more to be said. Of course, you will not marry again?"

The miller smiled sadly, and said at length:

"Then give your hands to one another in G.o.d's name, and may happiness and blessing be yours for all time."

The lovers clasped each other's hands firmly, and so did the fathers and mother.