“And is she good and gentle and affectionate?” asked I.
“She is far too good and true-hearted to be in such company as ours. Would that some rich person,—it should be a lady,—kind and gentle and compassionate, could see her and take her away from such associates, and this life of shame, ere it be too late! If I have a sorrow left me now, it is for her.”
I was silent; for though the wish only seemed fair and natural enough on his part, I could not help thinking how improbable such an incident would prove.
“She would repay it all,” said he. “If ever there was a nature rich in great gifts, it is hers. She can learn whatever she will, and for a word of kindness she would hold her hand in the fire for you. Hush!” whispered he, “she is stirring. What is it, darling?” said he, creeping close to her, as she lay, throwing her arms wildly open, but not removing the handkerchief from her face.
She muttered something hurriedly, and then burst into a laugh so joyous and so catching, it was impossible to refrain from joining in it.
She threw back the kerchief at once and started to her knees, gazing steadfastly, almost sternly, at me. I saw that the old man comprehended the inquiry of her glance, and as quickly whispered a few words in her ear. She listened till he had done, and then, springing towards me, she caught my hand and kissed it.
I suspect he must have rebuked the ardor of her movement, for she hung her head despondingly, and turned away from us both.
“Now for the road once more,” said Vaterchen, “for if we stay much longer here, we shall have the forest flies, which are always worse towards evening.”
It was not without great difficulty I could prevent his carrying my knapsack for me, and even the girl herself would gladly have borne some of my load. At last, however, we set forth, Tintefleck lightening the way with a merry can-zonette that had the time of a quickstep.