This little occurrence, which was indeed so natural, made her instantly happy. Her thoughts went out over mountain, fields and woods, and the whole day she was cheerful. She could not say why, but it seemed as though a new joy opened in her soul, she knew not whence it came. At noon, when she leaned against the door, she shook her head, as she thought of this strange occurrence. “It must be,” she thought, “it must surely be, that some one has had good thoughts of me; and why may it not happen, that a dove should be the silent messenger to bring them to me? Animals live in the same world where the thoughts of men are floating about, and who knows whether they are not the bearers of them all?”
Little could the people who saw Amrie, as she leaned on the door, imagine the strange life passing within her.
CHAPTER XIII.
OUT OF A MOTHER’S HEART.
WHILE Barefoot, whether in the village, the field, or the wood, dreamed, and toiled, and sorrowed,—sometimes trembling with strange anticipations of joy, sometimes feeling as though thrust out from the whole world,—two parents in another parish were sending out their son, that he might return to them far richer than he went forth.
In Allgäu, in the hall of the great farm-house sat the farmer and his wife, with their youngest son. The farmer began,—“Listen, my son; it is now more than a year since you returned from your journey. I know not what happened to you, but you came home like a whipped hound, and said, you would rather seek a wife here in this place. I do not see that you are likely to succeed. Will you, for once, follow my advice. Afterwards, I will never say another word.”
“I will,” said the young man, without looking up.
“Good! try again; once seeking is nothing. You will make me and your mother happy if you take a wife from the place we came from; especially from where your mother came from; for I can tell you, wife, to your face, that in the whole world there are no better women; and if you are wise, John, you will find one of the right sort; then, upon our death-bed, you will thank us that we sent you to our home for a wife. If I could only go with you, we would soon find the right one. But I have spoken with our George; he will go with you if you ask him. Ride over, and propose it.”
“If I may speak my mind,” said the son, “if I must go again, I would rather go alone. I am so made that I could not bear a witness. I could not advise with any one. If it were possible, I would rather be unseen and unknown. If there were two of us, it might as well be cried out by the town crier, and give them all time to make themselves up for the occasion.”