"I have sown our field, Anderl. It was ploughed already."
"Dear wife—" and he kissed her. "How hast thou sown it?"
"That which was buckwheat, with barley and rye; and that which was barley and rye, with buckwheat."
"Right. Where's Theresa?"
"Looking after the horse. The children are keeping the cows, goats, and sheep. Here comes Theresa."
Theresa flew up to her father, and embraced him; then overwhelmed him with a thousand questions.
"One at a time will last the longer," said he; and drawing her to his knee, with his wife close beside him, he rehearsed to them in detail what has here been recounted more briefly; interjecting warm praise of Chastelar, Hormayr, and Martin Teimer.
"See here," continued he, pulling forth a paper, "what a beautiful letter our dear Emperor has written us:—
"'My dear and faithful Tyrolese!'—"
—"No! does our Franzel really say so?" interrupted Anna, eagerly leaning over his shoulder, to satisfy herself. "How beautifully expressed! A petty commandant, look you, would hardly be so affable!"—