Soon as she had finished milking, she hastened to Mariann to ask her what she should do. Mariann was lying severely ill. She had become extremely deaf, and could scarcely understand a connected sentence, and Barefoot could not venture to shriek the secret which she had partly trusted, and which the old woman had partly guessed, so loud that people in the street might hear. Thus she had to return uncounselled to her home.
She was obliged to go out into the fields, and stay the whole day, planting. At every step she hesitated, trembled, and was on the point of going back to tell the stranger every thing. Yet a feeling of duty to her employer, as well as calmer reflection, held her to her task. If he is so inconsiderate as to act without reflection, then he cannot be helped; he will deserve no better. Engaged is not married. With this she consoled herself—but she was all day uneasy. When she returned in the evening to milk the cows, Rose sat with a full bucket before a cow that had already been milked, and sang in a voice loud and clear, while she heard the stranger in the neighboring stall consulting the farmer about a white horse. But whence comes this white horse? Hitherto they had none. Then the stranger asked, “Who is that singing?”
“That is my sister,” said the farmer. Hearing this, Amrie sang the second part, thinking it would induce the stranger to ask whose was the other voice? But her singing prevented her from hearing the question, although he did really ask. As Rose went with her full pail across the court-yard, where they were still looking at the horse, the farmer said, “There—that is my sister. Rose, be quick! and see what there is for supper. We have a relation for a guest. I will soon bring him in.”
“And the little girl who sang so well the second part,” asked the stranger, “is she, also, your sister?”
“No, that is only an adopted child. My father was her guardian.” The farmer very well knew, that such a benevolent action would give a good report to a family, and therefore he avoided calling Barefoot a servant.
She was secretly rejoiced that the stranger had noticed her. If he is prudent, she justly thought, he will inquire of me about Rose, and then if the knot is not tied, he can at least be preserved from ill fortune.
Rose carried up the supper, and the stranger, not knowing that he was expected, was much astonished that so excellent a guest’s repast could be prepared at such short notice. Rose made excuses, saying, “He was no doubt accustomed to much better fare at home.” She imagined, not unwisely, that any thing complimentary to one’s home, was always well received.
Barefoot remained in the kitchen to prepare every thing for Rose’s hand. Again and again she besought her to say who the stranger was. “Pray, Rose, tell me who he is? What is his name?” Rose gave her no answer. At length the mistress solved the riddle by saying, “You should know already—it is Farmer Landfried’s son John, from Zusmarshofen. Is it not true, Amrie, that you have a remembrance from his mother?”
“Yes, yes!” said Barefoot. She was obliged to sink down upon the hearth; her knees wholly failed her; she would otherwise have fallen. How wonderful was it all! He was the son of her first benefactress! “Now I must indeed help him,” she said to herself, “and if the whole village should stone me for it, I can endure it.”
The stranger went forth; they would have followed him, but upon the steps he turned again and said, “My pipe has gone out. I would rather kindle it myself with a coal in the kitchen.” Rose pressed in before him, and standing exactly before Amrie, who sat by the fire, she gave him a coal with the tongs.