"That's just like one of your givings: here—give me your hat, and do you drive in the cows."
Franz would have liked her to do both, but he knew that was too much to expect; so he gave her the hat and the basket of fish, and prepared to collect the herd.
When Lenora reached the cottage, she found rather a pleasant-looking man talking to her mother.
"Here comes Lenora, I can tell, though I can't see," said he. "Lenora, I am telling your mother she is better off than I am, for she is only almost blind, but I am quite; and yet I contrive to find my way by myself from Meran to Innsbruck every summer, to tune the pianos."
"Ah, there must be a special providence over you, Karl," said Lenora compassionately, "or you would come to some hurt."
"I know there must be," said he devoutly. "However, now and then, some good Christian soul meets me and leads me by the hand along some difficult pass; but they are sent by God."
"You should marry, Karl," said the old woman, "and then your wife would lead you."
"Who would marry a poor blind fellow like me?" said Karl, rather sadly. "No, no; I must be content with chance kindnesses."
"Well, you are sure to be welcome, wherever you go," said Lenora cheerfully. "And you shall have a dainty supper to-night, for Franz has caught some delicate fish."
"Your mother tells me she's going to St. Kummernitz's shrine, for the benefit of her eyes," said Karl. "I never heard St. Kummernitz was particularly famous for that."