Regine took him by the shoulder and pushed him out of the door, as she ended her tirade.

Will took all she said quietly enough, and went at once to make his peace with his cousin.  He felt really frightened over his ill-timed slumber, but he had been tired, and the music wearied him greatly.

So he was very contrite as he entered the room in which his cousin was standing at the window.

“Dearest Toni, do not be angry with me,” he began, apologetically.  “It was so hot, and your beautiful music had something so soothing in it that—­”

Toni turned to him.  It was certainly the first time that the Janizary March had ever been called a soothing composition; but the crushed, penitent look of her lover, who stood like a sinner awaiting condemnation, restored her to good humor, and she held out her hand to him, as she said heartily: 

“No, I am not in the least angry with you, Will.  I never cared about the stupid music, myself.  We’ll find something more sensible than that to do when we get to Burgsdorf.”

“Yes, that we will,” answered Will, cordially, as he pressed the outstretched hand warmly.  He would never have thought of kissing it.  “You are so good, Toni.”

When Frau von Eschenhagen came upon the lovers a few minutes later, she found them absorbed in the milk and cream question.  The mode of conducting a dairy in South Germany differed from that common in the North.  It was a subject of which Will never tired, and his mother felt grateful in her heart for a daughter-in-law who had no uncomfortable sensitiveness.

A little later, Will found an opportunity to win complete forgiveness.  Toni was anxious to get the evening post as soon as it arrived.  She complained, also, that something which had been ordered for supper had not been sent from Waldhofen, and that a message which had been entrusted to a groom, had not, she feared, been properly delivered.  So Willibald offered to go at once, and set all these vexatious trifles to rights, and his offer was graciously accepted.

Waldhofen was a place of great importance to the mountaineers, though in itself it was but a small town.  It was about thirty minutes’ walk from Fuerstenstein, and was an important centre for all the little villages and hamlets scattered through the forest.

There was seldom a soul to be seen on the streets during the afternoon hours, and it seemed a deserted, desolate place to Herr von Eschenhagen, as he crossed the dreary market-place on his way from the post-office.

He had attended to the other errands first, and delivered the message, which concerned the sending of a chest to Fuerstenstein.  As the streets were of no interest to him, he turned now into a side road, where there were neat little houses, with fresh, green little lawns in front.  The road was uneven and muddy after yesterday’s heavy rain, but Willibald was a countryman himself, and paid no heed to bad roads, so he walked on now without a murmur.