But instead of keeping the report secret, the first thing the members of the Council did was to talk of it in their homes, and it was not long before the whole village knew about it, excepting only Black Marianne.  Every one, afraid of betraying the secret to her, looked at her with strange glances; no one addressed her, and even her greetings were scarcely returned.  It was only Marianne’s peculiar disposition that prevented her from noticing this.  And indeed, if any one did speak to her and was drawn on to say anything about John’s death, it was done in the conjectural and soothing way to which she had been accustomed for years; and Marianne did not believe it now any more than she had formerly, because nobody ever said anything definite about the report of his decease.

It would have been better if Amrei had known nothing about it, but there was a strange, seductive charm in getting as close as possible to a subject that was forbidden.  Accordingly every one spoke to Amrei of the mournful event, warned her not to tell Black Marianne anything about it, and asked if the mother had no presentiments or dreams of her son’s death—­if his spirit did not haunt the house.  After she heard of it Amrei was always trembling and quaking in secret; for she alone was always near Black Marianne, and it was terrible to know something which she was obliged to conceal from her.  Even the people in whose house Black Marianne had rented a small room could no longer bear to have her near them, and they showed their sympathy by giving her notice to quit.

But how strangely things are associated in this life!  As a result of this very thing Amrei experienced joy as well as grief—­for it opened up her parents’ home to her again.  Black Marianne went to live there, and Amrei, who at first trembled as she went back and forth in the house, carrying water or making a fire, always thinking that now her father and mother must come, afterward began gradually to feel quite at home in it.  She sat spinning day and night, until she had earned enough money to buy back her parents’ cuckoo-clock from Coaly Mathew.  Now she had at least one household article of her own!  But the cuckoo had fared badly among strangers; it had lost half of its voice, and the other half seemed to stick in its throat—­it could only cry “cook”—­and as often as it did that, Amrei would involuntarily add the missing “oo.”

* * * * *

Black Marianne could not bear to hear the clock cuckoo and fixed the pendulum so that it would not work, saying that she always had the time in her head.  And it was indeed wonderful how true this was—­at any minute she could tell what time it was, although it was of very little consequence to her.  In fact, this waiting, expectant woman possessed a remarkable degree of alertness, for as she was always listening to hear her son coming, she was naturally wide-awake all the time.  And, although she never visited