“No, part of the way with the son of your farmer. He took me up. He is a thoroughly brave, honest young man.”
“At his age, I also would have brought you on.”
They had now entered the farm-yard, when the old man went with Amrie into the house, and called, “Mother, where are you?”
The mother came out of her chamber. Amrie trembled, and would gladly have fallen on her neck; but she could not, she durst not, and the old man said, with a smothered laugh, “Only think, wife, here is a girl from Holdenbrunn, and she has something to say to Farmer Landfried and his wife, but she will not tell me a word of it. Now you tell her what my name is.”
“Why, that is the farmer himself,” said his wife; and, as a sign of welcome, she took his hat and hung it on the stove-handle.
“Do you see?” said the old man to Amrie.—“Now you may say all you please.”
“Sit down,” said the mother, and gave Amrie a chair. Breathing with difficulty she began:
“You may believe me, that no child could think more of you than I have, both in times past, and for the last few days. Do you remember Josenhans, at the fish-pond, where the road turns towards Endringen?”
“Certainly, certainly,” said both the old people.
“I am Josenhans’ daughter.”