"No! no!" replied Kummas most decidedly.
"I will give you a bottle of brandy for him," again said the peasant.
"I will not give him for a whole cask!" exclaimed the musician.
"Indeed! that from you says much. But what will come of the child when you go out to play at night?" asked the kind woman.
"I do not mean to play any longer," answered Kummas.
"Are you in earnest?" said Anne Maria. "If so, heaven be praised! for truly the beer-fiddling is a wretched sort of life,--a way of living that makes weak legs and red faces. I have seen all such persons die in poverty and misery; for they almost all took to brandy drinking; and you were far on the road yourself."
Once more Kummas felt ashamed at the truthful words of his neighbour, who kindly, however, added, "Don't take amiss what I say. I mean well to you. Every morning I will give you milk for the foundling, and will look after its clothes. And I have nothing to say against your playing at a respectable marriage, or on a feast-day, when I will take good care of your youngster in your absence. But what do you call him?"
"He has no doubt been baptised," answered Kummas; "however, as I know not his right name, I will just call him Christlieb Fundus."
Had the poor child been forcibly thrust upon the village in which Kummas lived for maintenance, in all likelihood the inhabitants would have resisted doing anything for it. As the case stood, it was quite the reverse. A blessing seemed to have come along with the foundling. Everybody was curious to see the new-fashioned cradle; and no one came empty-handed; so that Kummas saw himself in possession of different articles of food, clothes for the child, and other things,--all unlooked for, and most unexpected; while he himself rose in the estimation of the villagers,--an advantage which formerly he had neither known nor prized.
Some weeks had passed away, when one morning Kummas received a visit from one of his former companions, in the shape of Schubert, the flute-player.