“One must rest where one can, when one has the roof of heaven for a shelter,” answered the old woman, in a trembling voice.
“Are you, then, so desolate?” asked Tephany compassionately; “is there no relation left who can offer you a refuge at his fireside?”
“Every one is long since dead,” replied the stranger; “and I have no other family than all kind hearts.”
The maiden took the piece of rye-bread rubbed with dripping which Barbaik had given her in a bit of linen with her beetle.
“Take this, poor aunt,” said she, offering it to the beggar. “To-day, at least, you shall dine like a Christian on our good God’s bread; only remember in your prayers my parents, who are dead.”
The old woman took the bread, then looked at Tephany.
“Those who help others deserve help themselves,” said she. “Your eyes are red, because Barbaik has forbidden you to speak to the lad from Plover; but he is a worthy youth, whose intentions are good, and I will give you the means of seeing him once every day.”
“You!” cried the girl, astonished that the beggar was so well informed.
“Take this long copper-pin,” replied the crone; “and every time you stick it in your dress, Mother Bourhis will be forced to leave the farm, and go to count her cabbages. All the time this pin remains where you stick it, you will be at liberty; and your aunt will not return until the pin is put back into this étui.”
With these words the beggar rose, nodded a farewell, and disappeared.