Still, she did not yet quite believe him.  The next evening she waited for him and said: 

“Don’t tell anybody about your plan to emigrate, or you’ll be laughed at if you don’t carry it out.”

“You’re right,” answered Damie; “but it’s not for that.  I’m not afraid to bind myself before other people; so surely as I have five fingers on this hand, so surely shall I go before the cherries are ripe here, if I have to beg, yes, even to steal, in order to get off.  There’s only one thing I’m sorry about—­and that is that I must go away without playing Scheckennarre a trick that he’d remember to the end of his days.”

“That’s the true braggart’s way!  That’s the real way to ruin!” cried Barefoot; “to go off and leave a feeling of revenge behind one!  Look, over yonder lie our parents.  Come with me—­come with me to their graves and say that again there if you can.  Do you know who it is that turns out to be a no-good?—­the boy who lets himself be spoiled!  Give up that ax!  You are not worthy to have your hand where father had his hand, unless you tear that thought out of your mind, root and branch!  Give up that ax!  No man shall have that who talks of stealing and of murdering!  Give up that ax, or I don’t know what I may do!”

Then Damie, in a frightened tone, replied: 

“It was only a thought.  Believe me I never intended to do it—­I can’t do anything of that kind.  But because they always call me “skittle-boy,” I thought I ought for once to threaten and swear and strike as they do.  But you are right; look, if you like, I’ll go this very day to Scheckennarre and tell him that my heart doesn’t cherish a single hard thought against him.”

“You need not do that—­that would be too much.  But because you listen to reason, I will help you all I can.”

“It would be best if you went with me.”

“No, I can’t do that—­I don’t know why, but I can’t.  But I have not sworn not to go—­if you write to me that you are doing well at uncle’s, then I’ll come after you.  But to go out into the fog, where one knows nothing—­well, I’m not fond of making changes anyway, and after all I’m doing fairly well here.  But now let us consider how you are to get away.”

Damie’s savings were very trifling, and Barefoot’s were not enough to make up the deficiency.  Damie declared that the parish ought to give him a handsome contribution; but his sister would not hear of it, saying that this ought to be the last resource, when everything else had failed.  She did not explain what else she was going to try.  Her first idea, naturally, was to make application to Dame Landfried at Zumarshofen; but she knew what a bad appearance a begging letter would make in the eyes of the rich farmer’s wife, who perhaps would not have any ready money anyway.  Then she thought of old Farmer Rodel, who had promised to remember her in his will; could he be induced to give her now what he intended to give her later on, even if it should be less?  Then again, it occurred to her that perhaps Scheckennarre, who was now getting on especially well, might be induced to contribute something.