Thus it happened that the two children made the way over the pass more frequently than all the other villagers together; and inasmuch as their mother had always been treated as half a stranger in Gschaid, the children, by this circumstance, grew up to be strangers’ children to the village folks; they hardly were Gschaid children, but belonged half to Millsdorf.

The boy, Conrad, had already something of the earnest ways of his father, and the girl, Susanna, named so after her mother, or Sanna for brevity, had great faith in his knowledge, understanding, and strength, and unquestioningly followed where he led, just as her mother absolutely trusted her husband whom she credited with all possible insight and ability.

On beautiful mornings, one could see the children walk southward through the valley, and traverse the meadows toward the point where the forest of the “neck” looks down on them.  They would enter the forest, gain the height on the road, and before noon come to the open meadows on the side toward Millsdorf.  Conrad then showed Sanna the pastures that belonged to grandfather, then they walked through his fields in which he explained to her the various kinds of grain, then they saw the long cloths wave in the wind and blow into antic shapes as they hung to dry on poles under the eaves; then they heard the noises of the fullery and of the tannery which the dyer had built by the brook, then they rounded a corner of the fields, and very soon entered the garden of the dyer’s establishment by the back gate, where they were received by grandmother.  She always had a presentiment when the children were coming, looked out of the windows, and recognized them from afar, whenever Sanna’s red kerchief shone brightly in the sun.

She led the children through the laundry and the press into the living-room and had them sit down, not letting them take off their neckcloths or coats lest they should catch cold, and then kept them for dinner.  After the meal they were allowed to go into the open and play, and to walk about in the house of their grandparents, or do whatever else they cared to, provided it was not improper or forbidden.  The dyer, who always ate with them, questioned them about school and impressed upon them what they ought to learn.  In the afternoon, they were urged by their grandmother to depart even before it was time, so that they should in no case reach home too late.  Although the dyer had given his daughter no dowry and had vowed not to give away anything of his fortune before his death, his wife did not hold herself so strictly bound.  She not only frequently made the children presents of pieces of money, sometimes of considerable value, but also invariably tied two bundles for them to carry in which there were things she believed were necessary or would give the children pleasure.  And even if the same things were to be found in the shoemaker’s house and as good as one might wish, yet grandmother made presents of them in her joy of giving, and the children carried them home as something especially fine.  Thus it happened that the children on the day before Christmas unwittingly carried home the presents—­well sealed and packed in paste-board boxes—­which were intended for them as their Christmas presents the very same night.