“Why?”
“Because he has a ribbon in his button-hole.”
Instead of answering the child, Krappenzacher hastened towards a group to say what a stupid speech the child had made. And around among the graves echoed loud laughter at such silliness.
But the wife of Farmer Rodel said, “I find it not so very foolish. If Severin wears it as an honorable distinction, it is yet strange that he should wear it in the churchyard; here where all are equal, whether in life they have been dressed in silk or fustian. It had already displeased me that he wore it in the church. We must lay aside something before we go into the church; how much more in the churchyard!”
The question of little Amrie must at length have reached the ear of Severin, for he was seen hastily to button his overcoat, and nod towards the child. He asked who she was, and scarcely had he heard the answer, than he hastened towards the children at the fresh graves, and said to Amrie, “Come, child, open thy hand. Here, I give thee a ducat; buy thyself whatever you want.”
The child stared at him, and did not answer. But when Severin had turned away, she said half aloud, “I take no presents,” and threw the ducat after him. Many of the people who saw this came up to Amrie and scolded her, and were on the point of ill treating her, had not Madame Rodel, who had already protected her with words, now saved her from their rough hands. She, also, desired that Amrie should at least hasten after Severin and thank him; but Amrie was silent, and remained obstinate, so that her protectress left her. After much search, the ducat was found. The Mayor took it immediately into his possession, to give it over to the guardian of the child.
These incidents brought the little Amrie a strange reputation in the village. They said she had been only a few days with Brown Mariann, and had already acquired her manners and her character. It was unheard of, they repeated, that a child of such poverty should have so much pride; and while they reproached her whole bearing on account of this pride, it was the more apparent that this principle of independence in the young childish soul was there to protect her. Brown Mariann did all she could to strengthen this disposition. She said, “No greater good fortune can happen to the poor than that they should be called proud. It is the only safeguard; for every one would trample upon them, and then expect that they should thank them for doing it.”
In the winter, Amrie was often at the fireside with Krappenzacher, listening eagerly to his violin. Yes, Krappenzacher once gave her great praise. He said, “Child, you are not stupid;” for after listening a long time Amrie had said, “It is wonderful how a fiddle can hold its breath so long. I cannot do it.” And at home in the quiet winter nights when Brown Mariann related exciting or horrible tales, or magical histories, Amrie, drawing a long breath when they were ended, would say, “Oh, Mariann, I must now take breath, for as long as you are speaking I cannot breathe; I must hold my breath.”
Was not that a sign of deep devotion to what was present, and yet a remarkable free observation of the same, and of her own relation to it?
No one took much notice of Amrie, and she was left to dream of whatever came into her mind. The school-teacher once said, in the sitting of the Parish Council, “That he had never met with such a child; that she was proud, but gentle and submissive; dreamy, and yet wide-awake; and in fact she had already, with all her childish self-forgetfulness, a feeling of self-reliance; a certain self-defence in opposition to the world, its favor and its wickedness.” Dami, on the contrary, at every little occasion, came weeping and complaining to his sister. He always had great pity for himself; and when, in the rough play of his companions, he was thrown down, he would say, “Yes, because I am an orphan, they hurt me. Oh, if only my father or my mother knew it!”