“And he shall have them,” John declared.

They then walked back together as far as the village, and John gave her his hand when he bade her “Good night.”  Barefoot wanted to tell him that he had shaken hands with her once before, but, as if frightened by the thought, she fled away from him and ran into the house; she did not even return his “Good night.”  John, puzzled and thoughtful, returned to his room at the “Heathcock.”

The next morning Barefoot found that the swelling in her face had vanished as if by magic.  And never had she caroled more gaily through the house and yard, through the stable and barn, than she did today.  And yet today was the day when it was to be decided, the day that John was to declare himself.  Farmer Rodel did not want to have his sister talked about by any one, in case it should all come to nothing after all.

Nearly the whole day John sat in the room with Rose, who was making a man’s shirt.  Toward evening Mistress Rodel’s parents came, along with other relatives.  It must be decided one way or the other today.

The roast was sputtering in the kitchen, the pine wood cracking and snapping, and Barefoot’s cheeks were glowing, heated by the fire on the hearth and the fire that was burning within her.  Crappy Zachy walked back and forth and up and down with an air of great importance, and made himself very much at home—­he even smoked Farmer Rodel’s pipe.

“Then it is settled after all,” said Barefoot to herself, mournfully.

Night had come.  Many lights were burning in the house, and Rose, in festive attire, was hurrying back and forth between the room and the kitchen, though she did not know how to give any help.  Everything was ready.

And now the young farmer’s wife said to Barefoot: 

“Go upstairs and put on your Sunday dress.”

“Why?”

“You must wait on the table today, and you’ll get a better present.”

“I would rather stay in the kitchen.”

“No, do as I tell you—­and make haste.”

Amrei went up to her room and sat down for a moment on her box in order to get her breath.  She was dead tired.  If she could only go to sleep now and never wake up again!  But duty called.  Hardly had she taken the first piece of her Sunday dress in her hand, when a feeling of joy came over her; and the evening sun, sending a red beam into the little attic, shone upon a pair of glowing cheeks.

“Put on your Sunday dress!” She had but one Sunday dress, and that was the one she had worn that day at the wedding in Endringen.  Every flutter, every rustle of the dress reminded her of the happiness she had experienced, and of the waltz she had danced on that eventful day.  But as darkness followed the setting of the sun, so did sorrow follow gladness; and she said to herself that she was thus adorning herself only to do honor to John, and to show how much she valued whatever came from his family, she at last put on the necklace.