CLARA.

I didn’t see him very often at best—­almost never except at the table. 
He had more appetite than I!

MOTHER (quickly).

That was natural!  He had to work so hard!

CLARA.

To be sure!  And how strange men are!  They are more ashamed of their tears than they are of their sins!  A clenched fist—­why not exhibit that?  But red eyes!—­And father too!  The afternoon they opened your vein and no blood came, he sobbed at his work-bench until it moved my very soul!  But when I went up to him and stroked his cheeks, what did he say?  “See if you can’t get this accursed splinter out of my eye!  I have so much to do and can’t accomplish anything!”

MOTHER (smiling).

Yes! yes!—­I never see Leonard any more, by the way.  How does that happen?

CLARA.

Let him stay away!

MOTHER.

I hope you are not seeing him anywhere else, except here at the house!

CLARA.

Is it because I stay out too long when I go to the well in the evening that you have reason to suspect that?

MOTHER.

No, not that.  But it was just for that reason that I gave him permission to come here to the house, so that he wouldn’t lie in wait for you out there in the dark.  My mother would never allow that, either!

CLARA.

I don’t see him at all!

MOTHER.

Have you had a quarrel?  Otherwise I think I might like him—­he is so steady!  If he only amounted to something!  In my time he would not have had to wait long.  Then gentlemen were eager for a good penman, as lame people are for their crutch, for they were rare.  Even we humble people could use one.  Today he would compose for a son a New Year’s greeting to his father and receive for the gilded initials alone enough to buy a child’s doll with.  Tomorrow the father would give him a sly wink and have him read the greeting aloud, secretly and behind closed doors, so as not to be surprised and have his ignorance discovered.  That meant double pay.  Then penmen were jolly people and made the price of beer high.  It is different now.  Now we old folks, not knowing anything about reading and writing, must allow ourselves to be made fun of by nine-year-old children.  The world is steadily growing wiser; perhaps the time is yet to come when people who can’t walk a tight-rope will have to feel ashamed of it!

CLARA.

The bell is ringing!

MOTHER.

Well, child, I will pray for you.  And as far as Leonard is concerned, love him as he loves God—­no more and no less.  That is what my old mother said to me when she died and gave me her blessing.  I have kept it long enough; now you have it!

CLARA (hands her a nosegay).

There!

MOTHER.

That certainly comes from Carl.

CLARA (nods; then aside.)

Would it were so!  Anything that is to give her real pleasure has to come from him!