In the afternoon, their next neighbor, who lived at a mountain meadow about an hour's distance from Hansei's, paid them a visit and brought her zither with her.
It was no small condescension, on the part of the freeholder's wife, to sing with Gundel and the neighbor. Franz joined in, and the little pitchman was also able to take part. Hansei, however, could not sing a note; but his want of ability added to his dignity--a wealthy farmer is supposed to have given up singing.
"This is the only place where you can sing, up here. You can't do it over there, where the road leads into the village," cried Gundel, after the first song. "If you sing, or speak a loud word there, the echo drowns it all."
She ran to the spot and sang a few notes, which were echoed again and again from every mountain and ravine.
"You ought to sing, too," said Walpurga to Irma; "you've no idea how well she can sing."
"I cannot sing," replied Irma; "my voice is gone."
"Then play something for us; you can play the zither beautifully," said Walpurga.
All joined in the request, and Irma was at last obliged to play. The little pitchman held his breath. He had never heard such beautiful playing before, and not one, thought he, knew what Irma could do. She soon modulated into the familiar melody, and the little pitchman was the first to start the song:
Oh, blissful is the tender tie.
It was a happy, cheerful hour.