“An old hermit’s soul is concealed within thee,” was the final sentence of Brown Mariann.
CHAPTER VI.
DIE EIGENBRÄTLERIN—HER OWN COOK.
A WOMAN who led a solitary, reserved life,—who cooked and ate her food alone,—was called her own cook,—Eigenbrätlerin,—and to such an one was given all sorts of peculiarities. No one ever had more right, or more inclination, to be her own cook, than Brown Mariann, although she never had any thing to cook, except oat porridge and potatoes. Potatoes and oat porridge were her only food. She lived always retired within herself, and conversed willingly with no one. Towards harvest only was she full of excited restlessness. At this time she was heard talking with herself, and also speaking to all the men, especially strangers, who went through the village. She inquired of them whether the masons from here and there had returned home to their winter rest, and whether they had said any thing of her John. When the linen which she had been bleaching through the summer was finally ready to wash, she remained up the whole night, and was heard to murmur to herself. Nothing was understood, except when she divided the webs she was heard to say, “That is for thee, and this is for me.” She said, daily, twelve pater-nosters for John; but, on washing-night, they were innumerable. When the first snow fell, she was wonderfully cheerful. “Now, when there is no more work; now, he will certainly come home.”
At this time she told her old white hen, which she kept in a coop, that she must die, for John was coming home.
Thus she had been for many years. The villagers represented to her that it was foolish always to be thinking of John’s return. But she did not change, and was only every year more ungracious to the people.
It was eighteen years, this autumn, since John left her. Every year there was a notice written in the newspaper to “John Michael Winkler” to return, even should it be in his fiftieth year. He was now six and thirty.
The report went about the village, that John had joined the gypsies, and his mother kept a young gypsy with her, who looked strikingly like the lost John; he had the same dark face, and was not unwilling to be regarded as her son. The mother placed a proof before him. She had yet in her possession the hymn-book and the confirmation certificate of her son. She tried them in this manner: one who did not know who had been his god-father, or remember the day when Brosis’ Severin, with the English woman, arrived; and later, when the new town-house fountain was opened, and other remarkable things, must be false. Yet Mariann sheltered the young gypsy, whenever he came to the village; and the children in the street shrieked after him, “John! John!”
Every year the schoolmaster sent a letter to Mariann, written to John, which she laid in the hymn-book, not knowing where to send it. It was well that she knew not how to read, for this year he sent her the letter of another, instead of the one desired. For now a strange report was murmured through the whole village. Where two met together they spoke of it, and whispered, “Say nothing to Mariann. It would kill her! it would make her insane!”