“Well, but I am not grown to thee.” He seemed more decided than ever.
Barefoot felt again all the agitation of uncertainty, which she had experienced in childhood; but she went not now for counsel to the wild service-tree, as though that could answer her doubts, as out of all question the conclusion was clear, “It is right for him to go; it is also right for me to remain here.” She secretly rejoiced that Dami could take so bold a resolution; it indicated so much manly strength of mind; and though it affected her deeply to be left alone in the wide world, she thought it right and noble that her brother should act with so much healthy courage. Yet she did not entirely trust him, for the next evening, when she met him, she said in passing—“Say nothing to any one of your plan of emigrating, for if you should not carry it out, you will be laughed at.”
“You are right,” said Dami, “but not because other people are to influence me; for as certainly as I have five fingers on this hand, so certainly I shall go before the cherries are ripe; even if I must beg or steal the means to go. Only one thing I am sorry for, that I must go away and not serve Schecken a trick that he should remember during his whole life.”
“That is true man’s revenge”—Barefoot hastened to say, “that is real wickedness of heart, to leave behind one the memory of injury. There, over there, lie the graves of our parents—come! come with me, and repeat there, if you can, what you have just said. Do you know who is the most worthless of men? He who would injure another. Give me the axe. You are not worthy to hold in your hand what has once been in our father’s. Give up the axe, or I know not what I shall do. If you do not instantly tear out that thought, both root and branch, from your soul, I know not what I shall do! Give me the axe. No one shall have it who talks of stealing and murder. Give it to me, or I know not what I shall do!”
Dami said in a whisper, “It was only a thought; believe me, I did not mean it, I could not do it; but as they always call me milksop, I thought for once I would curse and threaten. You are right, and if you wish it I will go to-night to Schecken, and tell him that I harbor no malice, no bad thoughts in my heart against him.”
“That is not necessary; that would be too much, but since you are reasonable, I will help you all I can.”
“It were best that you went with me.”
“No, that I cannot—I know not why, but I cannot! I have made no vow that if you write me you go on well with our uncle, that I will not follow you; but it is so uncertain, so in the mist, when one knows nothing; and then I do not willingly change. I am very well here. Now let us consider about your own affairs.”
It is the case with many emigrants, and it discloses a dark side of human nature, that they take what they hope may remain unpunished revenge. With others, the first act in the New World is to write home to the officers of justice, and reveal secret crimes. It was on this account that Amrie felt so much excitement lest her brother should associate himself with those who strike in the dark. She felt doubly joyful when Dami conquered his desire for revenge. No benevolent deed is so refreshing to the soul, as that of turning another from vice and error.
With her usual clearness of intellect, Amrie weighed all the circumstances. Her uncle’s wife had written that they were doing well—thus they knew the place of their residence. Dami’s savings were very small, her own would not go far, and though Dami thought the parish were bound to pay something, his sister would not hear of it—“That,” she said, “should be the last recourse, if all others failed.” She did not explain her intentions, but her first thought had been to write to Farmer Landfried’s wife. She feared how such a begging letter would strike the farmer’s wife, who perhaps had no ready money. Then she thought of Farmer Rodel, who had promised her a place in his testament: she would ask him to give her now what he intended for her, if it were ever so little. Then it occurred to her, that perhaps Schecken, who was now so prosperous, might be moved to lend her a small sum—she said nothing to Dami of all this, but as she collected his garments, and with much trouble persuaded Mariann to let her have upon trust a piece of her treasured linen for shirts, which she sat up all night to cut out and make,—all these preparations made Dami tremble,—he had indeed acted as though his plan of emigrating was unalterable, and yet it seemed to him now as though he was constrained and forced by the stronger will of his sister to carry his plan into execution. She even appeared to him hard-hearted, as though she wished to get rid of him. He did not venture to say this distinctly—he only brought forward little difficulties, which Barefoot treated as necessary obstacles to leave-taking that would vanish when he went. She hastened to Farmer Rodel, expressly desiring that he would give her now what he promised to leave her in his will.