It was St. aegidius Sunday, shortly before church time, when Tobias went to the farmer's wife, who was sitting in the living-room, and said:

"Mistress, I've come to say good-bye to you, and thank you for all your kindness through these many years. You know I've been dismissed." The farmer's wife nodded. "By Peter," continued Tobias, "by Peter, not by the farmer; that I see plainly enough, though he did give his consent.

But he isn't of any account any more. For your sake, Mistress, I wish the house no evil as long as you live. I've deserved to have this happen to me; it serves me quite right. Why did I lie, and say before the court that Vetturi threw a stone at the Master? Why, the shaky fellow couldn't have lifted one of those paving-stones. It serves me right; and Peter is smart. He carries things with a high hand. He knows that I can't say this to anybody but you, and you knew it before.

Wherever else I'd say it, they'd laugh at me, and despise me into the bargain. Now good-bye, and I hope you'll see many happy years yet."

A cold shudder crept over the farmer's wife. Her hands trembled and her head moved from one side of the great chair to the other. But at length she controlled herself and said:

"I beg you, for my sake, don't say this to any one else. Give me your hand on it."

Tobias hesitated, but he could not withstand her imploring look. So he grasped her cold hand.

"Where are you going when you leave here?" asked she.

"You are the first that's asked me that. What do the others care for a dismissed servant, even though he has served them so many years? I'm going to my brother, the teamster's."

"Take him my greeting. And you shall soon come back again--I'll fix that."

"No, I think not. I'll not come back again. I've laid by something, and perhaps I can get another place. I won't go to t.i.tus, but perhaps Anton will take me when he comes home. So again farewell."

"Farewell, and keep up a brave heart."

The farmer's wife looked through the window as Tobias, with his brother's help, lifted his great chest into the wagon. It looked almost like a coffin. She stepped back from the window, and called a maid to help her to her bed.

Landolin and Thoma were frightened when they were summoned to her bedside. She lay with her back to them, and without turning around she said, "Don't be frightened; I'll soon be all right again." Landolin knew in a moment that Tobias had been doing mischief here, so he said:

"I shouldn't have let the rascally fellow come up to see you alone.

Before my eyes he wouldn't have dared to pour his stupid spite into your--into your good heart."

Such an affectionate word caused his wife to turn over and grasp her husband's hand. Holding her hand in one of his, and stroking it gently with the other, Landolin continued:

"Yes, one only finds an unfaithful man out when it's too late. When a servant is discharged, his hidden meanness shows itself. Tobias has the impudence to say that he invented a lie for my sake. It's infamous how malicious the greatest simpleton can yet be. But, thank G.o.d, what he says won't make any difference with you."

His wife looked at him with glistening eyes; and casting a sidelong glance at Thoma, Landolin continued:

"I must beg Peter's pardon; I didn't know him. He's smart; smarter than--than I knew. We send Tobias away, and that is the best proof that we, thank G.o.d, have nothing to hide. But I've talked enough. Not another angry word shall escape my lips. You know I'm going to confession to-day?"

The farmer's wife lay perfectly quiet. She felt chilly, but she begged the family to go to church; for the bells were just ringing.

Landolin went, and not without great self-satisfaction. To be sure, it was not a difficult matter to deceive his confiding wife; but Thoma had received a hit at the same time. She deserved it for her obstinate hard-heartedness; for of course she must know in what direction the praise of Peter led.

Thoma stayed with her mother, who prayed quietly.

CHAPTER LVII.

Up the same road over which Landolin had pa.s.sed the night after the celebration, now came, on this clear autumn Sunday, the judge's wife. A scoffer, who knew her thoughts, might have said to her: Not the intoxication of wine alone makes a man talk to himself, and changes his view of everything; and, worse still, the recovery from an over-indulgence in exciting thought is, perhaps, even bitterer.

This might have been said, and still the lady would not have stopped in her walk. Obeying a voice from within and not from without, she felt that she ought no longer delay in an effort to establish peace and quietness in Landolin's house, and peace between them and Cushion-Kate.

She knew right well, for she had often enough experienced it, that a man sets little value on unsolicited help; yes, even frequently refuses it. But she also knew that her advice, even when repulsed, had had effect, and worked for good; and, above all things, she felt herself within the circle of the duties that spring from the union of man to man. As in war the wounded is no enemy, so in peace the sufferer is no stranger.

So the lady went up the hill. The church bells were ringing for the noon-day service; but in her ears rang the sound of a bell whose metal was not yet molten, and for which, who knows when a tower will be built!

The lady's thoughts by no means hovered in the so-called "higher regions"--quite the reverse. She thought of the nearest and most every-day subjects.

As she stood by the road, she saw a four-horse spring-wagon coming down the hill on a trot. A cow, grazing by the wayside, sprang, frightened, into the middle of the road, and ran along before the wagon, terrified, and with difficulty; at last the coachman rose in his seat, and hit her with his long whip, so that she turned aside, stood awhile, staring after the dust-enveloped monster with the four horses, and then went on grazing.

Smilingly the lady thought that this might be given as an example to the villagers. Turn aside, and you will be free from fear of what comes rolling behind you, threatening destruction.

But one must not give country-folk an ill.u.s.tration from their own immediate surroundings. Clergymen understand this; or perhaps hold by tradition that only strange, powerful figures have any effect. This is why they so like to speak of the storm-tossed ship on the sea, of the palmy oases in the desert; when neither they, nor their hearers, have ever seen either.

Engaged in these thoughts, Madam Pfann had reached the plateau, and came in sight of Landolin's house. The shingled roof glittered in the mid-day sun, and the tree on the east side was standing full of nuts.

Although Landolin, who was sitting on the bench before the house, saw the lady coming, he did not move, but kept on cracking nuts in his hand, and sh.e.l.ling out the kernels. Not until she had drawn very near did he rise and say:

"Good-day, Madam. Will you not rest here a little while?"

"Yes; I was just coming to see you."

"May I ask what news you bring me?"

"Properly speaking, none. Or perhaps--I hope----

"Well! what is it?"

"I would like to talk with you in the house; not here."

"My wife, I'm sorry to say, is sick. It's nothing serious, but she might wake up."

"Then take me to the upper room."

"If you wish, why not? But are you not afraid to be alone with a murderer?"

"You must not say that word again; and no one else must. I hope to root out even the thought of it from every mind."

"You'll have to use witchcraft," thought Landolin; but nevertheless he wondered what the lady had to say.

When the two rose, Peter came from behind the nut-tree. It was strange, one met Peter everywhere. It seemed as though he had come out of the wall, or through the steps. Without paying any attention to the fact that his sudden appearance must be surprising, Peter said, very submissively:

"Madam does us great honor in coming to see us. Great folks know what is the proper thing to do. They are the best, after all."

Landolin opened his eyes wide at hearing Peter talk thus. "Where has the boy learned it all?" The lady, too, looked at him in astonishment; but Peter went on composedly:

"Madam, my father keeps no secrets from me. May I not know what news you bring us?"

With these words Peter fixed his eyes sternly upon his father, that he might not be able to give the lady the slightest sign, even with his eye. But the judge's wife helped him out, for she replied: