CHAPTER XII.
HE HAS COME.
BAREFOOT stood, one Sunday afternoon, at the house door, looking dreamingly into the vague distance, when the grandson of Charcoal Mathew came running down the village street, and nodding to her from a distance, cried,—
“He has come, Barefoot; he has come!”
Barefoot’s knees sank beneath her, and with a trembling voice she cried, “Where is he,—where?”
“At my grandfather’s, in Moosbrunnenwold.”
“Where? Who? Who sent thee?”
“Thy Dami. He is below in the forest.”
Barefoot was obliged to sit down upon the stone bench before the house, but only for a minute; then recovering herself quickly with the words,—“My Dami! My brother!”
“Yes, Barefoot’s Dami,” said the boy, good-humoredly, “and he promised me you would give me a farthing if I brought the message to you. Now give me one.”