One day towards noon the rain held up for about an hour, and Lenz teased Annele to go up to his house with him. "Everything is waiting for you there," he urged; "all the kettles and cupboards, and other things, too, that you will take pleasure in."

Annele resisted long, but at last consented to go if her mother would.

Contrary to her expectation the mother was soon ready. Every person they met on their way through the village saluted. Hardly, however, had they gone a hundred steps before Annele began to complain: "O Lenz!

what a horrid path! I sink in at every step. You must have it put in better order. And do you know you ought to have a road made up the mountain, so that carriages can drive to the door. Sister Babette's husband had a private road broken through the fields to his house."

"I could hardly do that," answered Lenz; "it would cost a great deal of money, besides my having to buy the field. See, my meadow does not begin till that hazel hedge, and our business requires no carriage-road. You know I would do anything in my power to please you, Annele,--don't you?--but that is impossible."

Annele plodded on, without returning any answer. "Why need you have made such a talk about it?" whispered the mother in his ear. "If you had only said, 'Very well, dear Annele, we will think of it,' or something of that sort, you could have done as you pleased afterwards.

She is a child, and children must be treated to pretty words. You can do what you will with her if you only set the right way to work. Don't weigh every word she says and make a great matter of it; let a subject rest over for a day or so, till you see the right moment is come for settling it. She will think it out for herself, or else forget it. She is only a child."

"Annele is not a child," contradicted Lenz, looking in displeased surprise at her mother; "I can talk over everything with her. There is nothing she does not understand."

The mother shrugged her shoulders. "As you please," she said, sulkily.

About half-way up the meadow Annele broke out again: "Good Heavens, what a journey! I had no idea it was so far. It will be a perfect eternity before we get up there."

"I cannot make the way any shorter," answered Lenz, sharply. Annele turned and looked at him searchingly. "I am sure," he added, in some confusion, "you will rejoice one day that the walk is so long, for it shows what a good large meadow we own. I could pasture three cows here, if it were worth while."

Annele gave a forced laugh. The house was reached at last, and she drew a long breath, complaining of being so hot and tired.

"In G.o.d's name, welcome home!" said Lenz, grasping her hand on the threshold. She stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, then suddenly exclaimed, "You are a dear good fellow. You manage to bring good out of everything."

Lenz was content, and Franzl's joy knew no bounds. First the mother shook hands with her and then Annele, while both praised the neatness of pa.s.sage-way, kitchen, and sitting-room.

"I shall find it hard to get used to these low rooms," said Annele, stretching up her hand till it nearly touched the ceiling.

"I cannot make the rooms higher. Besides, they are more easily warmed than high ones."

"To be sure. You must remember, Lenz, what a big house I have always lived in. The ceiling seems to be pressing on my head at first; but I sha'n't mind it. Don't be afraid that will disturb me."

Lenz turned round the tool-receiver that hung like a chandelier from the ceiling, and began to explain to Annele the various implements with which it was covered,--the names of the different drills, and the special purpose each was used for. "But you will soon get acquainted with all these things that make up so much of my life. They are my silent work-fellows. Now I will show you our house."

The mother stayed with Franzl in the kitchen, while Lenz took Annele all over the house, showing her the seven beds already stuffed, besides two great bags of feathers from which others could be filled, and opening boxes and chests wherein were stored rich heaps of linen. "What do you say to that, Annele? Aren't you surprised? Did you ever see anything so splendid?"

"It is all very good and in nice order. But, dear me! I won't tell you of all my sister Theresa has, for of course, where there are often sixteen guests in a house, heaps of linen are necessary; they are part of the business. But if you could only see the chests that Babette's mother-in-law has! These are nothing to them."

Lenz turned as pale as death, and could hardly stammer out: "Annele, don't talk in that way, don't be making fun now."

"I am not making fun. I am in sober earnest. Really I am not in the least surprised, for I have seen finer and better linen, and more of it. Do be reasonable, and not expect me to stand on my head at a thing which is all very well, but no way remarkable. I have seen more of the world than you have."

"Very likely," said Lenz, with white lips.

Annele pa.s.sed her hand over his face, and said jestingly, "What does it matter, dear Lenz, whether your stores astonish me or not? Your mother has done bravely, very bravely, for one in her position; no one can deny that. I do not marry you for your property, dear Lenz, but for yourself. You yourself are what I love."

The apology was both bitter and sweet. Lenz tasted only the bitter. It turned to gall in his mouth.

They returned to the sitting-room, where Franzl had laid out an abundant repast for them.

Annele protested she had no appet.i.te, but upon Lenz remonstrating that it would never do not to eat something when she entered a house for the first time, she consented to take a piece of a crust of bread and ate it languidly.

Lenz had frequently to check Franzl in her lavish praises of himself.

"You must have done some good in the world to deserve such a husband,"

she said to Annele.

"He must have done some good too," said the mother. She cast a look at her daughter as she spoke, and was checked by an angry frown. He must have done some good, too, to deserve her, Annele thought her mother was going to say.

"Come, Annele, sit here by me," begged Lenz; "you have often said you should like to see how I set up a piece of music, so I have been keeping this till you should be by me. When I have put it all in order, it will play of itself. It is a beautiful piece of Spohr's. I can sing it to you, but not so well as this will play it." He sang the air from Faust, "Love, it is the tender blossom." Annele took a seat beside him, and he began to hammer the pins into the barrel where he had already marked their places from the printed notes. Every pin stood fast at the first blow. Annele was full of admiration, and Lenz worked on in high spirits. He was obliged to ask her not to speak, because the metronome which he had set going required his closest attention.

The mother very well knew that sitting still and idly looking on was hard work for Annele. She therefore rose presently, and said, with a gracious smile, "We all know your great skill; but we must go home now, for it is past noon, and we have visitors. It is quite enough that you have begun the piece while we were here."

Annele rose also, and Lenz stopped his work.

Franzl kept her eyes fixed on Annele and the landlady, and when either of them put her hand in her pocket, she started and hid hers behind her back, as much as to say she wanted nothing, they would have to urge her to accept any present. Now it is surely coming,--a gold chain, or a jewelled ring, or a hundred shining dollars; such people give handsomely.

But no present, great or small, did they give this time, hardly their hand at parting. Franzl went back into the kitchen, seized one of her biggest and oldest pots, and lifted it to throw after the mean, ungrateful women. But she had compa.s.sion on the pot. Was such a thing ever heard of? Not even to bring one an ap.r.o.n! Poor, poor Lenz! You have fallen into evil hands. Thank Heaven I had nothing to do with it!

It is true I had not, they said so themselves. I want no pay from them, thank Heaven! Every penny would burn into my soul.

Lenz accompanied his bride and her mother to the end of his meadow, and then returned home. It was agreed, that, if the next day was fine, the young people should drive across the country to Sister Babette's. Lenz had many preparations to make, and directions to give his apprentice and journeyman.

It was strange to him to be once more alone. At the end of a couple of hours he wanted to go down to Annele again. There was a weight upon him he could not explain. She could and would relieve him of it. He resisted the temptation, however, and remained at home. Before going to bed he closed the boxes and linen-presses that had been opened in the morning, half expecting, as he did so, to hear some voice, though whose he could not have told. There lay the yarn his mother had wet with her lips and spun with her own hand. A spirit seemed following behind him, and uttering lamentations from every box and press.

Franzl in her chamber was sitting upright in bed, muttering imprecations against the landlady and Annele, and then praying G.o.d to give her back the words she should not have spoken, for every ill that befell Annele now fell on Lenz too.

CHAPTER XX.

THE FIRST DRIVE.

The next morning was the longed-for day. The sun shone joyfully upon the earth, and Lenz's heart grew light again. He sent his apprentice early to Annele to tell her she must be ready for him in an hour. At the end of that time he was dressed in his Sunday clothes, and on his way to the Lion. Annele was not ready. She yielded to his prayers and entreaties so far as to give him her hand through the chamber door, but would not let him see her. She handed him out some red ribbons and c.o.c.kades, which he was to give to the boy to tie in the whip and about in the harness. After keeping him waiting a long, long time, she appeared, beautifully dressed.

"Is the wagon harnessed?" was her first question.

"No."

"Why did you not see to it? Tell Gregory to put on his postilion's uniform, and take his horn."

"O no! what is the use of that?"

"We have a perfect right to show ourselves before the whole world, without anybody's leave or license. I mean people shall look out when we drive by."

At last they took their places. As they pa.s.sed the doctor's house, Annele called out: "Blow your horn now, Gregory; blow loud! The doctor's daughters shall look out, and see how we drive together. Look!

there is not a soul to be seen. They have shut the window in the corner room. There they are, I know, dying of spite; they will have to tell about us, for I can hear the old mayoress asking, What is that horn-blowing? I should like to be behind the door, and hear it all."

"Annele, you put on strange airs to-day."