AMRIE knew so well how to make herself at home in the house of John’s parents, that, on the second day, it seemed as though from her childhood she had grown up there. The old man clattered after her, and observed how handily and neatly she took hold of every thing, and how she finished her work without haste and without rest.
There are people, who, if they were to do the smallest thing, to fetch a plate or jug, they disturb the thoughts of all who are sitting near; they draw, as it were, all thoughts and glances after them. Amrie, on the contrary, accomplished every thing so quietly, that she made others feel more at ease, and of course more grateful for all she did for them.
How often had the old farmer scolded, because, when salt was needed, some one had to get up from the table to fetch it! Amrie, as soon as the table-cloth was spread, placed the salt-cellar upon the table. As the old farmer praised her for it, his wife said, smiling, “One would think that you now for the first time began to live, that nothing had been salted for you before.” Then John told them that Amrie was called the Salt Duchess, and related the story of the king and his daughter.
They had now a happy life together in the house, in the farm-yard and in the fields. The farmer said he had not for years tasted food as good as that prepared by Amrie. He wished for something three and four times a day, at quite unusual hours, and she was obliged to sit by and see him eat.
The mother took Amrie with quiet and secret satisfaction into the milk-cellar and store-rooms; afterwards to a gayly painted press, full of napery and linen, and opening it said, “This is thy dowry. There is nothing wanting but the shoes. I rejoice that you have preserved all yours, for I have a peculiar superstition upon that subject.”
When Amrie inquired how certain things had been hitherto conducted in the house, she nodded, and expressed her secret satisfaction only in the tone of her voice, while her content with Amrie brought joy to her very heart. As she now gave over to her much of the housekeeping, she said, “Child, I must say one thing; if any of the present arrangements do not please you, alter them according to your own judgment, for I am not one of those who think that every thing must remain as it has been, and that no improvement is possible. You have a free hand, and I shall rejoice to see fresh aid to the farm; but if you will take my advice, it will be to do good by degrees.”
That was a happy state of things, when both mentally and bodily youthful strength went hand in hand with old preserved experience. At the same time Amrie, from the bottom of her heart, declared that she found every thing in the house so ordered that she should be too happy, if in her old age she could give up the house in its present established order.
“You look far before you,” said the mother, “but that is well—those who look forward look also back, and you will not forget me when I am no longer here.”
Messengers had been sent to the sons of the house, and to the sons-in-law and their families, to invite them to Zusmarshofen on the next Sunday, to consult upon family matters. Since the sending of these messengers, the old man followed Amrie continually, and seemed to have something on his mind which it was difficult for him to express. It is said that a buried treasure is guarded by a black monster, and that in the night of Christmas, a blue flame appears above the spot where the treasure is buried, which only a Sunday’s child can see; and he, only, when he can keep himself calm and pure, can raise the treasure.
One would scarcely believe that in old Farmer Landfried such a treasure was buried, guarded by the two monsters, pride and contempt, and that Amrie saw the blue hovering flame, and knew how to recover the buried treasure. It is difficult to say what influence had impelled the old man to that moral exertion, to appear in her eyes good and true minded; especially that he gave himself so much trouble to please a poor, portionless girl. To Amrie it was clear that he was not willing his wife should appear as the just and loving one, and he bitter and severe, and especially as Amrie before she knew him had said, “She believed he would not give himself the trouble to appear well before others.” This had opened his heart. Whenever they were alone, he talked so much that it appeared as though his thoughts had been under lock and key, and were now for the first time opened. They were, indeed, like wonderful, old fashioned coins, old keepsakes, that would not pass now, that had been stamped upon extraordinary occasions. Some of them were of pure silver, without alloy of copper. He could not bring out his treasures as easily as the mother, when she was talking with John. His speech was stiff in the joints, but he always had something to say; he even appeared to take Amrie’s part against the mother. “Look!” he would say, “My wife is as good as the day, but the day is not a week or a year. She is but a woman. With women it is always April weather; a woman is but half a man. That I will maintain, whatever comes of it.”