Of the thousand-fold meanings that lived in Amrie’s soul, Brown Mariann received only, at times, the intimation. Once, when she came from the forest with her load of wood, and imprisoned in her sack May-bugs and worms for Amrie’s geese, the latter said to her,—
“Aunt, do you know why the wind blows?”
“No! do you know?”
“Yes; I have remarked every thing that grows must move about. The bird flies, the beetle creeps; the hare, the stag, the horse, and all animals, must run. The fish swim, and frogs also. But there stand the trees, the corn, and the grass; they cannot go forth, and yet they must grow. Then comes the wind and says, ‘Only remain standing, and I will do for you what others can do for themselves. See, how I turn, and shake, and bend you. Be glad that I come; I do thee good, even if I make thee weary.’”
Brown Mariann said nothing, except her usual speech:
“I maintain it; in thee is concealed the soul of an old hermit.”
Once only Mariann led the quiet observation of Amrie upon another trace.
The quail began already to be heard in the high rye-fields; near Amrie, the field-larks sang the whole day incessantly. They wandered here and there, and sang so tenderly, so into the deepest heart, it seemed as though they drew their inspiration from the source of life—from the soul itself. The tone was more beautiful than that of the skylark, which soars high in the air. Often one of the birds came so near to Amrie, that she said, “Why cannot I tell thee that I will not hurt thee? Only stay!” But the bird was timid, and removed farther off. Then Amrie considered quickly, and said, “It is well that the birds are timid, else we could not drive away the thievish starlings.”
At noon, when Mariann came to her, she said, “Could I only know what a bird, all through the live-long day, has to say; and, even then, he has not sung it all out.”
Mariann answered, “Look, an animal can keep nothing back to reflect upon and resolve it in himself. But in man something is always speaking; it does not cease, although it is never loud. There are thoughts that sing, weep, and speak, but quietly; we scarcely hear them ourselves. Not so the bird—when he ceases singing, he is ready to eat or sleep.”