“Giving you a kiss, for you deserve one. You are better than you would make us believe.”
The old man, who, during the whole time, held a pinch of snuff between his fingers, which he would not waste, now took it hastily, and said, “Just as you like; but there is one younger, and from her it will taste better. Come here, you disguised parson.”
“I will come willingly, but call me first by my name.”
“Yes, but what is your name?”
“That you need not know. You can give me one of your own choosing; you know which.”
“You are deep! Well, then, my name; come here, my daughter.”
In answer, Amrie flew to his arms. “And I, am not I to be consulted?” said the mother in pure joy, almost beside herself.
The old man took Amrie by the hand, and said, in a gay sportive tone, “Worthy Catharina, now named Landfried, will you accept—what is your real name,” he whispered, “your baptismal name?”
“Amrie.”
“Will you accept,” he continued, addressing his wife, “Amrie Josenhans, of Holdenbrunn, for your daughter, and treat her as you do your husband; never let her say a word, feed her badly, scold and oppress her—and in short, treat her as one of the family.”