“Shall I make a record of that also?” asked the Secretary of the Council.
“Yes,” said Barefoot, “write it down; for only what is written has any value here.” She signed the record. In the mean time Dami was told, that, as a stranger, he had permission to remain three days in the village; at the end of that time, if he had not found some means of support, he would be expelled; and, if necessary, he would be carried by force beyond the limits.
Without another word Barefoot left the hall, taking Dami with her, who wept because she had constrained him to bear this unnecessary humiliation. It would have been better to remain in the forest, and to have been spared the mortification of being expelled as a stranger from his birthplace.
Barefoot would have answered, that it was better to know distinctly the worst that could happen, but she felt that she needed all her strength to keep herself firm. She, also, was expelled with her brother, and stood alone before a world that supported itself by might and law, while she had nothing to oppose to it but her empty hands.
She held herself firmer than ever. Dami’s unhappiness and misfortune did not weigh her down, for thus we are made; when an all-absorbing sorrow fills the heart, another, however heavy, is more easily borne, than if it had come alone; and as Barefoot was oppressed by a secret grief, against which she could make no resistance, she bore herself more proudly against that which was known. She gave not a single minute to reverie, but with strong arms and clinched hands, she asked, “Where then is the work, even if it be the heaviest, I will undertake it, if it will only save me and my brother from dependence and indigence.” She often thought of going with Dami to Alsatia, to work in a factory. It was terrible to her, that they should be obliged to do this, but she would accustom herself to the thought, and when the summer was over they would go, and then, “Farewell, home! We shall be at home with strangers!”
The nearest advocate that both the orphans had in the place was now powerless. Old Farmer Rodel was lying dangerously ill, and the night after the stormy meeting of the Council, he died. Barefoot and Mariann were those who wept the most genuine tears at his funeral. On their return home, the old woman mentioned as especial reason for her tears,—“He was the last among the living, who danced with me in my youthful days. My last partner is now dead.”
Soon after she held a different opinion of him, for it appeared that Rodel, who for long years had consoled Barefoot with the promise of remembering her in his will, so far from leaving her any thing, he did not even mention her. As Mariann would not cease scolding about it, Amrie said to her,—“It is all the same, misfortunes never come single. They hail now from every side upon me, but the sun will surely shine again.”
The heirs of Farmer Rodel presented Barefoot with some of his old clothes. She would gladly have refused them. But could she now venture to show more pride? Dami, also, refused the old clothes, but was obliged to yield. It seemed to be his fate, to spend his life in the clothes of the departed.
Dami found a home with Mathew. The wood-carrier told him that he should begin a process, for as he had no home, his silence would be giving up all right to one. The people made themselves merry, that the poor orphans had neither time nor money to begin a lawsuit. Dami was quite happy in the solitude of the forest. It suited him exactly, not to be obliged to dress or undress. It was with the utmost difficulty that Barefoot could make him wash and dress himself on Sunday afternoons, when she would sit with him and Mathew. Little was said by either of them. She could not prevent her thoughts from wandering about the world, in search of him who had once, for a whole long day, made her so happy; indeed, had lifted her into heaven. “Did he, then, never think of that, or of her? Can a man forget another, one with whom he has been so happy?”
One Sunday morning, towards the end of May, every one had gone to church. It had rained the day before, and a cool refreshing breath came from mountain and valley, while the sun shone brightly. Barefoot intended to go to church as usual, but she sat at the window, listening to the church-bells, till it was too late. This had seldom or never happened before. But as it was too late for church, she would remain in her room and read her hymn-book. She looked over her drawers, and was surprised at the quantity of things she possessed. Then she sat upon the floor, and read a hymn, then sang it, softly. Something moved at the window. She looked around, and there was a white dove standing upon the sill, and looking at her. When the glances of the maiden and the dove met, the latter flew away, and as Amrie looked after him, she saw him soar away far over the fields before he descended to alight.