It is not necessary to say that it was the new schoolmaster whose acquaintance we have just made. He asked for the squire, and was directed to Buchmaier's house.
Buchmaier and his numerous household were at dinner when the stranger entered. With a hearty welcome, he was invited to take a seat at the table, but politely declined.
"Oh, pshaw!" said Buchmaier, who had resumed his seat and his masticatory operations without delay: "move up a little, you. Quick, Agnes! get a plate. Sit down, Mr. Teacher. We don't do like the Horb folks: they always say, 'If you'd only come sooner.' Whoever comes into our houses at dinnertime must help us. You'll be too late for dinner where you're going; and we're just sitting down. You must take pot-luck, you see. It's a regular Black Forest dinner,--little fried dumplings and dried apples, boiled."
Agnes had brought a plate; and the teacher, to avoid giving offence, took his seat at the table.
"My Agnes here," said Buchmaier, after heaping his plate, "you'll have in Sunday-school."
"Oh, you won't have much more to learn," said the teacher, by way of saying something. The girl's eyes were fixed bashfully on her plate.
"Why, Agnes, why don't you talk? You generally carry your tongue about you. Do you know every thing?"
"Wall, I kin sheow a fist at readin' good enough, but the writin' won't gee no more, noheow, a body gits sich nation hard fingers workin' all the week."
We have attempted to reproduce Agnes' speech in the broadest Yankee brogue; but it is entirely insufficient to give the reader an adequate idea of the effect produced upon our hero's mind by the guttural consonants and parti-colored vowels of the original. All the beauty of the lips disappeared from his view when he heard what issued from them.
After the closing grace, one of the hands, who had been sitting near Buchmaier at the table, placed himself before him and said, pocketing the knife with which he had eaten, "'Guess I'll go out alone with the horses."