“Would you like to go to the farm with me and be my servant?” asked Hansei of Gruberwaldl.

“Yes, indeed, if you’ll take me.”

“See what a boy he is,” said Hansei to his wife.  “What a boy!”

Walpurga made no answer, but busied herself with the child.

Hansei shook hands with every one at parting.  His hand trembled, but he did not forget to give a couple of crown thalers to the musicians.

At last he got into the boat and exclaimed:—­

“Kind friends!  I thank you all.  Don’t forget us, and we shan’t forget you.  Farewell! may God protect you all.”

Walpurga and her mother were in tears.

“And now, in God’s name, let us start!” The chains were loosened; the boat put off.  Music, shouting, singing, and the firing of cannon resounded while the boat quietly moved away from the shore.  The sun burst forth in all his glory.

The mother sat there, with her hands clasped.  All were silent.  The only sound heard was the neighing of the foal.

Walpurga was the first to break the silence.  “O dear Lord! if people would only show each other half as much love during life as they do when one dies or moves away.”

The grandmother, who was in the middle of a prayer, shook her head.  She quickly finished her prayer and said:—­

“That’s more than one has the right to ask.  It won’t do to go about all day long with your heart in your hand.  But remember, I’ve always told you that the people are good enough at heart, even if there are a few bad ones among them.”

Hansei bestowed an admiring glance upon his wife, who had so many different thoughts about almost everything.  He supposed it was caused by her having been away from home.  But his heart was full, too, although in a different way.

“I can hardly realize,” said Hansei, taking a long breath and putting the pipe, which he had intended to light, back into his pocket, “what has become of all the years that I spent there and all that I went through during the time.  Look, Walpurga! the road you see there leads to my home.  I know every hill and every hollow.  My mother’s buried there.  Do you see the pines growing on the hill over yonder?  That hill was quite bare; every tree was cut down when the French were here; and see how fine and hardy the trees are now.  I planted most of them myself.  I was a little boy about eleven or twelve years old when the forester hired me.  He had fresh soil brought for the whole place and covered the rocky spots with moss.  In the spring I worked from six in the morning till seven in the evening, putting in the little plants.  My left hand was almost frozen, for I had to keep putting it into a tub of wet loam, with which I covered the roots.  I was scantily clothed into the bargain, and had nothing to eat all day long but a piece of bread.  In the morning it was cold enough to freeze the marrow in one’s bones, and at noon I was