Poor Nelly's lip quivered as she tried to speak, for, humble as it was, what would she have given to have had even such a “home”? And now, passing through a little garden, Hans halted, and assisted Andy from the cart.
“Where are we, at all? Sure this is n't a place to stop the night in!” cried the old man, querulously.
“Hush, Andy, hush!” whispered Nelly.
“'Tis thieves and vagabonds, maybe, lives here, Miss Nelly,” said he, in a low voice.
“No, Andy, no; it is a kind welcome that awaits us.”
“Ayeh!” exclaimed he, “I know betther than that!”
Hans by this time had approached the door and raised the latch,—for in the Tyrol the night rarely calls for other fastening. Nelly heard the sharp, clear sound of an old woman's voice above the hum of a spinning-wheel, and then the glad burst of joy as the mother recognized her son. Unwilling to interrupt their happiness, Nelly moved away out of hearing, when Hanserl came running out, followed by the old woman.
“This is the Fräulein, mother,” cried he, with a burst of delight; and the old woman, taking Nelly's hand, kissed it with deep respect.
With native courtesy she welcomed Nelly, and, as she entered her house, pointed with pride to a Madonna of Nelly's own carving, which stood on a bracket against the wall.
“You see, Fräulein,” said she, “how I have known you for many a day back; and there is your Saint Christopher, and there the 'Blessed Agnes at the Well.'” And so was it. The groups and figures which she believed to have been sold by Hanserl, were all stored up here and treasured like household gods. “Many a traveller has come here just to see these,” continued the old peasant-woman, “and many a tempting sum have they offered if I would sell them, but in all my poverty I did not stoop to this.”