"That you can never do, father. There is one thing about her that will please you especially; an untruth has never escaped her lips, and never will."
"The world doesn't set much store by that now, but it's a great thing, after all. But enough of this. You are a man that can be master. I have only said this that your mind might be prepared. Enough now. It is a glorious day, thank God!"
"Yes, glorious indeed," replied Anton; but he did not mean the weather, for to-day was to take place, at the spring fair in the city, the betrothal of the miller's son, Anton, with Thoma (Thomasia), the daughter of the farmer and former bailiff, Landolin of Reutershöfen.
CHAPTER II.
High up on the plateau lie Landolin's broad acres. The buildings stand by themselves, for the farm-houses of the borough are scattered miles apart over the hill-sides. Only the dwelling-house, with its shingled roof, faces the road; its various outbuildings lie back of it, around an open square, and the pastures and fields extend up the steep hill-side to the beech wood, whose brown buds are glistening with the morning dew.
It is still early in the morning; no sound is heard in the farm-yard, save the noisy splashing of the broad rivulet from the spring. A roof extends far over the water, for in the winter the cattle are brought there to drink. Near by are heaps of paving stones, with which a new drain is to be built through the yard.
Gradually the larks began their songs high in the air; the sparrows on the roof twittered; the cows lowed; the horses rattled their halters; the doves began cooing; the chickens on their roost and the pigs in their pens all awoke and gave signs of comfort or discomfort. The huge watch-dog, whose head lay on the threshold of his kennel, lazily opened his eyes now and then, and closed them again as though he would say, "What strange sounds; what do they all amount to, compared with a hearty bark! That's, after all, the most beautiful and sensible noise in the world, for dogs of my rank never bark without good reason."
The first person who came through the yard was the farmer's stately wife, well dressed, and still in her prime. It is a well-ordered household where the master or mistress is the first awake.
The farmer's wife was a quiet woman, such a one as is called a "genuine farmer's wife;" not much more than this could be said of her. She was industrious, and watchful of her interests, and kept others under strict control. She held her husband in all fitting honor, as a wife should, but there was never any thought of love, either in her youth or now. She was the daughter of a farmer in a neighboring borough, and had married in the same rank, for she had never dreamed of the possibility of doing otherwise. During the time that Landolin was bailiff she had worthily done the honors of the house; she had unbounded confidence in her husband, and when people came with complaints to her, her usual answer was: "Just be patient, my husband will make everything right." She was entirely frank, what she said she meant; but she spoke little, for much speaking was not befitting a farmer's wife; and as for much thinking--for that there was no need. A wife must keep the house in order, economize, and be strictly honest, as the custom is--to think is quite unnecessary.
The head-servant, Tobias, came from the stable-door. The two nodded to one another without a word, and yet each had a deep respect for the other; for, in his place, the head-servant was equally responsible for the honor of the household; therefore he ranked next after the farmer, and before the only son, who, in this family, was indeed too young to be much thought of.