“Yes, this is good, wholesome water; and if you would like to water your horses, it is especially good for them—­it won’t give them cramps.”

“My horses are warm and must not drink now.  Do you come from Haldenbrunn, my girl?”

“Yes indeed.”

“And what is your name?”

“Amrei.”

“And to whom do you belong?”

[Illustration:  AMREI BRISKLY BROUGHT HER PITCHER FILLED WITH WATER]

“To nobody now—­my father was Josenhans.”

“What!  Josenhans, who served at Farmer Rodel’s?”

“Yes.”

“I knew him well.  It was too bad that he died so soon.  Wait, child—­I’ll give you something.”  He drew a large leather bag out of his pocket, groped about in it for a long time, and said at last:  “There, take this.”

“No, thank you—­I don’t accept presents—­I’ll take nothing.”

“Take it—­you can accept it from me all right.  Is Farmer Rodel your guardian?”

“Yes.”

“He might have done something better than make a goose-girl of you.  Well, God keep you.”

Away rolled the wagon, and Amrei found herself alone with a coin in her hand.

“’You can accept it from me all right.’—­Who was he that he could say that?  And why didn’t he make himself known?  Why, it’s a groschen, and there’s a bird on it.  Well, it won’t make him poor, nor me rich.”

The rest of that day Amrei did not offer her pitcher to any one else; she was afraid of having something given to her again.  When she got home in the evening, Black Marianne told her that Farmer Rodel had sent for her, and that she was to go over to him directly.

Amrei hastened to his house, and as she entered, Farmer Rodel called out to her: 

“What have you been saying to Farmer Landfried?”

“I don’t know any Farmer Landfried.”

“He was with you at the Holderwasen today, and gave you something.”

“I did not know who he was—­and here’s his money still.”

“I’ve nothing to do with that.  Now, say frankly and honestly, you tiresome child, did I persuade you to be a goose-keeper?  If you don’t give it up this very day, I’m no guardian of yours.  I won’t have such things said of me!”

“I’ll let everybody know that it was not your fault—­but give it up is something I can’t do.  I must stick to it, at any rate for the rest of the summer—­I must finish what I have begun.”

“You’re a crabbed creature,” said the farmer; and he walked out of the room.  But his wife, who was lying ill in bed, called out: 

“You’re quite right—­stay just as you are.  I prophesy that it will go well with you.  A hundred years from now they will be saying in this village of one who has done well:  ’He has the fortune of Brosi’s Severin and of Josenhans’ Amrei.’  Your dry bread will fall into the honey-pot yet.”

Farmer Rodel’s sick wife was looked upon as crazy; and, as if frightened by a specter, Amrei hurried away without a word of reply.