"I'll wait till we go there for good," answered Walpurga. "Wherever you take me to, I'll be satisfied, for we'll be together, and you can't imagine how happy mother is."

Although the grandmother had, before this, rarely thought of dying, she often complained that she wouldn't live long enough to move to the farm with them, and thus, as mother of the farmer's wife, return to where she had once been a servant.

All day long, she would tell Walpurga of the beautiful apple-trees in the great garden there, and of the brook whose water was such that the articles washed in it would become as white as snow, and that, too, without using a particle of soap. She also extolled the virtue of the people who were living there, and cautioned Walpurga to use good judgment in dispensing the gifts which it would now be her duty to bestow on others. She knew the old pensioner, and was indeed distantly related to him. They must treat him kindly, and thus bring blessings on the house.

Time sped by, and the hour of departure gradually drew near.

Walpurga had already packed the clothing and household utensils, but was obliged to unpack them again, as they were needed.

As the time for their departure drew near, the villagers became even more kindly and affable toward them, and Walpurga complained to her mother:

"I feel just as I did when I was about to leave the palace. I was always anxious to get away, and when the time came, I felt worried about leaving."

"Yes, child," said the mother, consoling her, "it will be just the same when you leave the world. How often one would like to go, but when the time comes, one isn't anxious to leave. Oh, my child! I feel as if the whole world were speaking to me and as if I understood it all.

Everything, men and women especially, seems at its best when you have to part from it. That's the way it is when one parts with life. For it isn't till then that we begin to understand how beautiful the world is, after all, and how many good hearts we leave behind us."

Walpurga and her mother were now able to talk with each other to their heart's content, for they no longer got an hour of Hansei's company. He spent much of his time with Grubersepp, whom he accompanied into the fields, and from whom he received much advice and instruction.

One evening a messenger came, asking Hansei to come to Grubersepp's at once. He hurried off and did not return until late. Walpurga and her mother, curious to know what was going on, sat up for him. It was near midnight when he returned, and Walpurga asked: "What's the matter?"

"Grubersepp has got a colt."

Walpurga and her mother almost split their sides with laughter.

"What is there to laugh at?" asked Hansei, almost angry. "And besides, the signs are that it'll be a white one."

They burst out laughing again, and Hansei looked amazed. He told them, in great earnest, that Grubersepp had sent for him, so that he might learn all about it, and he was just about to acquaint them with the latest bit of information he had acquired: namely, that foals are never born white. But he thought better of it; for it occurred to him that it wouldn't do to tell the women all he knew, for they laughed so stupidly at everything. Besides, a rich farmer ought to be on his dignity with the women; he wouldn't forget that Grubersepp was so.

Hansei received various offers for his cottage, and was always provoked when it was spoken of as a tumbledown old shanty. He always looked as if he meant to say: "Don't take it ill of me, good old house; the people only abuse you so that they may get you cheap." Hansei stood his ground. He wouldn't sell his home for a penny less than it was worth; and, besides that, he owned the fishing right, which was also worth something. Grubersepp at last took the house off his hands, with the design of putting a servant of his, who intended to marry in the fall, in possession of the place.

All the villagers were kind and friendly to them--nay, doubly so, since they were about to leave--and Hansei said:

"It hurts me to think that I must leave a single enemy behind me. I'd like to make it up with the innkeeper."

Walpurga agreed with him, and said that she would go along; that she had really been the cause of the trouble, and that if the innkeeper wanted to scold any one, he might as well scold her, too.

Hansei did not want his wife to go along, but she insisted upon it.

It was on the last evening in August, that they went up into the village. Their hearts beat violently while they drew near to the inn.

There was no light in the room. They groped about the porch, but not a soul was to be seen. Dachsel and Wachsel, however, were making a heathenish racket. Hansei called out:

"Is there no one at home?"

"No. There's no one at home," answered a voice from the dark room.

"Well, then, tell the host, when he returns, that Hansei and his wife were here, and that they came to ask him to forgive them if they've done him any wrong, and to say that they forgive him, too, and wish him luck."

"All right; I'll tell him," said the voice. The door was again slammed to, and Dachsel and Wachsel began barking again.

Hansei and Walpurga returned homeward.

"Do you know who that was?" asked Hansei.

"Why, yes; 'twas the innkeeper himself."

"Well, we've done all we could."

They found it sad to part from all the villagers. They listened to the lovely tones of the bell which they had heard every hour since childhood. Although their hearts were full, they did not say a word about the sadness of parting. Hansei at last broke silence:

"Our new home isn't out of the world, we can often come here."

When they reached the cottage they found that nearly all of the villagers had a.s.sembled, in order to bid them farewell, but every one added: "I'll see you again in the morning."

Grubersepp also came again. He had been proud enough before; but now he was doubly so, for he had made a man of his neighbor, or had, at all events, helped to do so. He did not give way to tender sentiment. He condensed all his knowledge of life into a couple of sentences, which he delivered himself of most bluntly.

"I only want to tell you," said he, "you'll now have lots of servants.

Take my word for it, the best of them are good for nothing; but something may be made of them, for all. He who would have his servants mow well, must himself take the scythe in hand. And since you got your riches so quickly, don't forget the proverb: 'Light come, light go.'

Keep steady, or it'll go ill with you."

He gave him much more good advice, and Hansei accompanied him all the way back to his house. With a silent pressure of the hand, they took leave of each other.

The house seemed empty, for quite a number of chests and boxes had been sent in advance by a boat that was already crossing the lake. On the following morning, two teams would be in waiting on the other side.

"So this is the last time that we go to bed in this house," said the mother. They were all fatigued with work and excitement, and yet none of them cared to go to bed. At last, however, they could not help doing so, although they all slept but little.

The next morning, they were up and about at an early hour.

Having attired themselves in their best clothes, they bundled up the beds and carried them into the boat. The mother kindled the last fire on the hearth. The cows were led out and put into the boat, the chickens were also taken along in a coop, and the dog was constantly running to and fro.

The hour of parting had come.

The mother uttered a prayer and then called all of them into the kitchen. She scooped up some water from the pail and poured it into the fire, with these words: "May all that's evil be thus poured out and extinguished, and let those who light a fire after us, find nothing but health in their home."

Hansei, Walpurga and Gundel were, each of them, obliged to pour a ladleful of water into the fire, and the grandmother guided the child's hand, while it did the same thing.

After they had all silently performed this ceremony, the grandmother prayed aloud:

"Take from us, O Lord our G.o.d! all heartache and homesickness and all trouble, and grant us health and a happy home where we next kindle our fire."

She was the first to cross the threshold. She had the child in her arms and covered its eyes with her hands, while she called out to the others:

"Don't look back when you go out."

"Just wait a moment," said Hansei to Walpurga, when he found himself alone with her. "Before we cross this threshold for the last time, I've something to tell you. I must tell it. I mean to be a righteous man and to keep nothing concealed from you. I must tell you this, Walpurga.

While you were away and Black Esther lived up yonder, I once came very near being wicked and unfaithful--thank G.o.d, I wasn't. But it torments me to think that I ever wanted to be bad; and now, Walpurga, forgive me, and G.o.d will forgive me too. Now I've told you and have nothing more to tell. If I were to appear before G.o.d this moment, I'd know of nothing more."

Walpurga embraced him and, sobbing, said: "You're my dear, good husband," and they crossed the threshold for the last time.