"And now, Walpurga, I've only one thing to ask of you. If you don't mind doing so, give me a florin or two. I'd like to go home once more, to the place where I was born and was in service, and where my brother lives; and I would like to have a few pence about me, to give to the poor people who are still there."
"Yes, mother; you shall have all you want. We've plenty, thank God."
"I'd like to know," said the mother, "why I dreamt of my home last night."
"That's plain enough," said Hansei. "A few days ago, when the wood-carver from your village was here, they were saying that the owner of the freehold farm there would like to sell his place. But who's got money enough to buy that?"
"You see," said the old woman to Walpurga, "what a heretic and believer in dreams your husband has become. He learned all that from the innkeeper. And now give me the child and hurry out of here. Come, you little chamois-kid, jump about and dance."
She sang to the child, and it stretched forth its arms toward her, just like a bird glad to return to its nest.
Hansei and Walpurga left the room. The child lay beside the grandmother, and the two were quite happy together.
"And now I'll milk the cow," said Hansei.
"You?"
"Yes. Who else? Mother can't do everything."