WEILER (in a hurry, making ready to go).

Well, if Weiler did not have his hands full!  Outside with the wood-cutters—­then with the fir-seed and with the salt—­there—­I don’t know where my head’s standing with all the work.  And the old man—­

[A pantomime expressive of ULRICH’S severity.]

SOPHY.

Well, I don’t want to be to blame if you neglect anything.

[Exit.]

WEILER (very calmly).

All right!

[Laying his finger against his nose.]

But I wonder whether he will still always be the first to patch up differences?  I mean Stein.  Now that he is the forester’s master?  Well; I don’t want to prophesy, but—­the master is always right because he is the master.  Humph!  I wish something serious would come to pass.  At any rate, I am getting tired of merry faces again.

[Enter ANDREW and WILLIAM, carrying chairs.]

SOPHY.  Seven, eight, nine, ten, chairs.

[Counts once more, softly.]

Correct!

WEILER.

That was a queer expression that Godfrey had on his face yesterday, Mr.
Andrew.  I bet you had another quarrel with him.

SOPHY.

With that vindictive brutal fellow?

[She sets the table.]

ANDREW.

Who can live in peace with him?

SOPHY.

Well, what’s done can’t be undone.  But you’d better look out for him.

WEILER.

So say I. For there is not a muscle in that fellow’s body which is not wicked.

ANDREW.

I am not afraid of him.

SOPHY.

Come, William; run into the garden.  Get me some crown-imperials, snap-dragons, larkspurs—­something big, so that it will look like something in the glass.  The Steins will soon be here with Mr. Moeller, the bookkeeper.

WEILER.

The old bachelor—­

SOPHY.

Just look, Andrew, whether cousin Wilkens isn’t coming yet.

[ANDREW and WILLIAM exeunt.]

WEILER.

Wilkens is coming too?

SOPHY (with emphasis).

Mr. Wilkens?  He will not stay away when his niece’s daughter announces her engagement.

WEILER.

No, indeed.  He has money, has Mr. Wilkens.  The richest farmer for miles around.  I also was Mr. Weiler once, before my creditors closed up my coffee store.  Then they jammed the “Mr.” in the door and there it is still.  Now people say simply “Weiler”—­“Weiler might”—­“As long as Weiler is here,” etc.  Sometimes, when I am in the humor, I get angry over it.  A strange pleasure, to get angry, but it is a pleasure.  Hey!  There comes the bride-to-be.

[MARY appears; during the following dialogue the women set the table.]

WEILER.

My!  Like a squirrel!

SOPHY.

Weiler means to pay you a compliment, Mary.  He has a peculiar manner.